‘I am eager to reclaim some land that was gifted away by my grandfather to Arthur Wingrove, Lady Wingrove’s father-in-law, for saving his life when they had fought together in the Anglo-Burmese war back in the twenties. My father thought the land too insignificant to care about, but to me it is a matter of honour not to allow it to remain in another’s hands.’
‘But—I don’t understand the significance. What has any of that to do with me?’
‘Over the years I have made several offers to your grandmother to buy back the land, but she will not move an inch for less than my promise to marry you. If I agree to her terms, it would come as a portion of your dowry. It is a matter of some irritation that Lady Wingrove’s proposition prevented me from choosing my own wife. Since Nadine died I have learned to be wary of marriageable young ladies who were invariably possessed by matchmaking mothers—or, in this case, grandmothers—to whom my wealth and unmarried state acted as a magnet, and I’ve become adept in walking away.’
‘I can understand your dilemma. Was that the reason you came to see my grandmother the morning after the ball—to ask to buy back the land and she then made her proposal that you marry me?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what was your reply?’
‘I told her I would consider it.’
Marietta stared at him through eyes huge with righteous indignation. Until that moment she wouldn’t have thought she could feel more humiliated than she already did. ‘So you are telling me that the two of you have discussed this—this settlement without consulting me—without considering my feelings?’
‘Knowing how proud and stubborn you can be, I did not imagine you would accept putting more importance on a parcel of land than on you. I told her that your feelings must be taken into account. After our altercation concerning the incident of you pushing Lady Murray into the fountain, I could not imagine you would welcome the prospect of marriage to me. For that reason I took the liberty of asking if we might wait a while before discussing the matter further.’
The disappointment was too much for Marietta. ‘Of all the treacherous, despicable, underhanded...’ She ran out of words to express her turbulent animosity. Although her glorious eyes were glaring defiance at him, the thought was beginning to form in her mind that what he had told her could be turned to her advantage. Humiliation and hurt lay heavy on her, but she had more than enough stubborn courage to withstand it, and she was not so angry that she couldn’t understand the logic of her grandmother’s thinking. ‘I suppose having the land returned to you would make marriage to me more palatable. I am willing to accept what my grandmother proposes if you are.’
Max’s entire face instantly became hard, shuttered and aloof. His brows snapped together with brittle anger and a feral gleam appeared in his narrowed eyes as they locked on hers with angry disgust. ‘Now you do insult me,’ he said, his voice so controlled that Marietta felt an icy chill sweep down her spine. ‘I cannot be bought, Marietta. And what makes you think you are worth a parcel of land?’
Marietta gasped. ‘Now it is you who insults me,’ she flared, anger rising up inside her like flames licking round a dry log, furious with herself for being stupid enough to think he might marry her.
‘If you want to marry so badly, then it should not be a problem. You have plenty of money to buy yourself another husband—which shouldn’t be too difficult. You have other assets to your credit besides your money,’ he ground out with suave brutality, his insolent, contemptuous gaze raking over her.
Max’s jibe, savage and taunting, flicked over Marietta like whiplash. Stung to anger by his harsh words, hot colour flooded her cheeks and her soft lips tightened as she exerted every ounce of her control to keep her temper and her emotions in check. ‘I apologise. It would seem there has been some misunderstanding on my part.’
‘Yes, there has,’ he replied, his anger beginning to melt, but his voice remained hard. ‘I confess the land is important to me, Marietta, but when I marry again I will do the asking. It will be on my terms and it will not be in return for a parcel of land.’
‘Not even as part of my dowry?’ she persisted.
‘No. Be sensible. Can’t you see what it would look like if I were to marry you on those terms? Would you like to think I was marrying you in order to get my hands on the land?’
‘No—not really, but if it came as part of the marriage settlement, then I cannot see anything wrong with that. Lots of dowries come with similar settlements.’
Max looked at her curiously. ‘Why are you so intent on marrying me? Only yesterday you were telling me you had no intention of marrying just yet. It hasn’t taken you long to change your mind.’
‘I know, but I’ve had all night to think about it.’
Her flippant reply brought a tight smile to his lips. ‘Coming from anyone else that remark would have surprised me, but it is the sort of remark I have come to expect from you. Do you want to get married?’
She shrugged. ‘My grandmother thinks I should—in fact, she is bent on it, but for myself...’ she sighed ‘...I don’t know.’
‘Then why are you here?’
She met his gaze head-on. ‘Because if I have to marry anyone, I would like it to be you.’
Deeply touched by her simple statement, Max shook his head slowly. ‘Marietta, you are nineteen years old. I am merely trying to spare you what will be a very embarrassing and extremely futile ordeal in the future.’
‘Futile? How dare you?’ she cried, her anger quick to ignite. ‘You—you arrogant—’
He cut her short by jerking her to him sharply, his dark brows pulled together. ‘Careful, Marietta,’ he warned, his voice deadly calm. ‘Your temper is showing.’
She swallowed hard as his silver-grey eyes bore down into hers, pulling herself free.
‘Shouldn’t you take the opportunity to look over the other eligible suitors before you settle on me?’ he suggested coldly, giving her a look that was a hundred times more deadly than his anger had been a moment before.
His tone suggested such finality that Marietta turned away. It shouldn’t hurt so much, being told she wasn’t wanted, she thought, but it did. She had done her best to persuade Max to marry her. She couldn’t force his consent.
It was all a mistake. He didn’t want her. He wanted her to find someone else. He was trying to get rid of her. How could she have been so unutterably gullible and blind and stupid as to believe he might actually care for her? She fought to control the wrenching anguish that was strangling her breath in her chest, tears of humiliation burning the backs of her eyes. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she tried to recover her shattered pride. She couldn’t face him and couldn’t run from the room without giving her feelings away. Taking a deep breath, she ploughed on.
‘You are quite right. That is an excellent idea,’ she said, turning her head sideways and looking blindly at the closed door, wishing she could disappear through it without having to cross the room. When she next spoke she tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Unlike my grandmother and like you, I must confess I, too, have some reservations about our suitability.’
Max heard the catch in her voice and his conscience tore at him, but he remained adamant. Moving quickly to her, he put his hands on her shoulders.
‘Take your hands off me!’ she hissed, jerking away out of his reach.
‘Then turn around and look at me.’
Feeling utterly wretched and in danger of her control collapsing, she shook her head. She almost choked then, as the tears came to flood her throat, but she strangled them with a great effort. If she turned now, he’d see her distress and she would rather die than suffer that. Left with no recourse but to extricate herself from this awkward situation as gracefully and as quickly as possible, she walked calmly to the door. Now he was no longer close, her composure—along with a stirring of anger—began to return. Taking a deep breath, she turned and looked at him.
With a great effort she made her voice cold, implacable and
determined. ‘Yesterday I told you you would always be a duke, whereas I would always be the daughter of a tradesman—a rich tradesman, I grant you, but not so rich when one considers that a large part of that wealth was obtained by dishonest means. So taking that into account, how could I possibly have imagined for one moment that I am suitable for you? And I cannot imagine for the life of me how my grandmother could have thought you were suited to me. I should not have come here. I will trouble you no further.’ When she saw him take a step in her direction, her hand shot out to stop him. ‘All things considered, it would have been best if I had never met you. Please don’t try to prevent me from leaving.’
He raked her with a contemptuous glance. ‘Stop you?’ he jeered. ‘I’ll order you the carriage.’
On that note, Marietta opened the door and swept out, slamming it behind her, almost colliding with a servant carrying a tray of refreshments. Apologising, she walked blindly on, calling herself every kind of fool she could think of. She should have known that no one could push Max Trevellyan into any decision not of his own making, and for the first time in her life Marietta knew the real meaning of isolation and the icy coldness of its grip. From the moment she had taken it into her head to marry Max, it was as if, without warning, she had been swept off her feet by a strong current, borne along by a great, silent force over which she had no control—only to come back down to earth with a thud.
Max watched her go, trying to calm down, but the effort was futile. Why was she so hell-bent on marrying him when she had shown nothing but hostility towards him since their meeting in London? The only plausible explanation for her ridiculously volatile proposal was that she might think she was in love with him. She probably thought he needed the land so badly that he would fall in with her suggestion.
Cursing under his breath, he flung open the door. He didn’t need her, and he sure as hell didn’t need the responsibility of a nineteen-year-old girl who didn’t know the difference between sexual desire and that nebulous emotion called love. She’d be better off without him. He’d be better off, too. He’d meant it when he’d told her to find someone else.
With some half-formed notion of proving that to her, he stalked after her and, seizing her shoulders, spun her round to face him.
‘Let me go,’ she said fiercely, struggling within his grasp. ‘Do you make a habit of behaving with so little dignity in front of the servants?’
‘Then since we need to reach an understanding before you leave, we will return to the study.’ His long fingers curved around her arm, then abruptly tightened like a painful vice. He marched her across the hall and back into his den. Closing the door firmly, he pressed her against it, his glittering eyes only inches from hers as he leaned over her.
‘What do you think you are doing? You are despicable,’ she seethed, longing to slap that arrogant, insufferable face.
‘Really!’ he drawled. ‘Yet only a few minutes ago, you were proposing marriage to me.’
‘It was a mistake. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want you. You are much too old for me. I realise that now.’
‘Do you, indeed?’ His gaze dropped meaningfully to her lips and he placed his hands on either side of her face. ‘Then perhaps you need a reminder of the times you found me desirable.’
His mouth swooped down, seizing hers in a ruthless kiss that was meant to punish and subdue—twisting, bruising, rousing. Marietta struggled in furious earnest, and finally managed to twist her head aside. ‘Don’t,’ she cried, hating the terror and plea in her voice. ‘Please don’t... Please let me go.’
She was pinned against the door and completely at his mercy, but there were still traces of stormy rebellion in those long-lashed eyes and the stubborn set of her chin, a courageous defiance that was gaining strength in the few moments he’d held her still. She was magnificent even in her defiance.
‘Not a chance.’
Taking her in his arms, he tightened them around her and placed his lips against her neck. He trailed a light kiss over her smooth cheek before taking her mouth in a kiss, teasing her lips with his tongue, urging them to part, and then thrusting through like a brand, searing her, possessing her. Instead of sweetly offering him her mouth, she tried to turn her head away. He felt her rejection like a physical blow and, taking her chin, turned her face up to his and stared down at the tempestuous beauty in his arms, her face both delicate and vivid with her stormy olive-green eyes and soft, rosy lips. In his mind he saw her smiling up at him as she had when they had been together in Hong Kong, and his stomach clenched at the memory. He mourned the loss of that girl, of the tenderness and passion and warmth she had shown that day, when he had brutally rejected the offering of her lips.
‘Please—don’t...’ she murmured.
‘Marietta,’ he whispered thickly as he purposefully held her chin firm and lowered his mouth to hers, ‘kiss me back.’ He smothered any objection she might make with a hungry, wildly exciting kiss, temporarily robbed of his anger that had fortified his resistance when she arrived and found him removing all trace of Nadine from the house.
Marietta couldn’t free her mouth from his, so she fought him with rigid, unmoving indifference, and Max fought back, using all of the sexual expertise he’d acquired during years of dalliance with the opposite sex and his marriage to Nadine. He ruthlessly laid siege to the defences of an inexperienced, virginal nineteen- year-old until her traitorous body lost its power to struggle, and the cry of warning issued by her mind was stifled by her pounding heart and the shocking pleasure of being in his arms. His tender assault was more than Marietta could withstand. With a silent moan of despair, she yielded to his kiss, her lips parting beneath the sensual pressure and, at that moment, his tongue slid between them, invading her mouth and taking possession of her.
Lost in a stormy sea of pleasure, desire, confusion and yearning, Marietta felt his hand splay across her lower spine, forcing her closer to him, and she responded by sliding her hands over his shoulders, unwittingly moulding her melting body to the hardening contours of his. A shudder racked Max’s muscular body as she fitted herself to him and his hold tightened, while one hand lifted, cupping her breast, crushing her to him, his thumb brushing back and forth across her hardened nipple beneath the fabric of her clothes.
The endless drugging kiss, the provocative firmness of his hand pressing intimately against her back, the taut strength of his legs and thighs pressing against hers, overwhelmed her, seduced her, so that she could think of nothing else.
But then it was over and he slackened his arms. Surfacing slowly from the mists of desire, she stared into his hypnotic eyes, dazedly watching their colour and mood change from the smoky darkness of his passion to their usual light silver-grey. Raising his hand, he ran his finger gently along the line of her chin.
‘If you decide to consider other suitors, Marietta, now you will know how I compare.’
It was his words, not the seduction of his lips, his hands and his body, that crumbled Marietta’s resistance. It was like acid on a burn. Some stubborn, protective instinct warned her that she must never let herself trust him again, never let him take advantage of her like this again. When he bent his head to claim her lips once more, reality set in and she managed to step away from him, breathing hard.
‘Thank you for the demonstration, your Grace. I shall endeavour to grade you fairly when the time for comparison arrives.’ Whirling round, she took hold of the door handle.
Feeling a stirring of admiration for this impertinent, proud, sweet and courageous girl, Max gazed at the curls in the nape of her neck. From the moment they had met in Hong Kong, some bond had sprung up between them, and nothing she’d said or done today had convinced him she wanted to break it, or that she didn’t want him—quite the opposite, in fact. He placed his hand on her upper arm. ‘Marietta, I did not mean to hurt you.’
Looking back at him, she glowered. ‘Not for one minute will I be deceived by your pretence of tender concern. You don’t want me—you to
ld me so. And now, if you will kindly remove your hand from my person, I am going home.’
‘Don’t you want to listen to what I have to say?’
‘I am not interested,’ she burst out, blinded with wrath and humiliation, her anger in full spate—an anger she hadn’t realised she was capable of. ‘I’m still hurting from what you have said already. I’m glad that you refused me, glad I have been saved from marrying you. The mere thought of tying myself to you for the rest of my life is abhorrent to me.’
Thrusting him away from her, she opened the door and stalked out, holding her head high as she tried to preserve what little there was left of her dignity and pride. Max Trevellyan did not deserve that she debase herself for him. As she crossed the hall, without so much as a backward glance, she slowed her pace, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing her flee like a terrified rabbit.
This time there were no tears clogging her throat and her eyes were clear, her head held high as she let herself out of the house, barely resisting the wild urge to jerk the heavy oak door shut behind her with a crash. Climbing up into the carriage, she was relieved Ben was up on his perch and Yang Ling in her seat so she didn’t have to go looking for her.
‘Drive on, Ben,’ she ordered sharply, wishing to put as much distance as possible between her and his Grace, the Duke of Arden. In a state of consuming misery, she sat back and closed her eyes. She cursed herself for her gullibility and her foolishness, and for the night past she had spent dreaming about a man who did not deserve to be called a gentleman. Her mind tormented her with images of the times in Hong Kong when she had gazed up at him like a stupid, besotted schoolgirl. How boring her inexperience must have seemed to him. Shame surged through her and she almost moaned aloud, but the mortifying recollections wouldn’t cease.
* * *
Left alone with a raw ache inside him, in restless fury Max’s mind was locked in furious combat with the desire to go after Marietta and the urge to forget her, but he knew the latter was impossible. As her carriage drove off, the awful, ominous silence lengthened until the air seemed to crackle with tension. He stood with his hands braced against the fireplace, staring into the fire with anger emanating from every inch of his taut, powerful frame—anger directed at Lady Wingrove for putting him in this intolerable situation in the first place, for setting down conditions that were impossible for him to agree to without hurting Marietta.
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