by Diane Gaston
He’d do it!
Marc threw the glass down, wanting to hear it shatter, but, instead, it bounced off the curtain and rolled across the carpet. He retrieved it and poured the remains of the brandy into it, finishing it off.
Why had he not thought of this before? Give them money. Free Tess and free himself from this insanity.
He’d tell her. Tell her now. It seemed as good a time as any. Why not? Her room was just a few feet away from his door.
He placed the empty glass on the table and walked carefully out of his room, his gait unsteady from the brandy. Still in bare feet, he padded over to Tess’s door and raised his arm to pound on it.
That would not do. He’d wake the whole house.
He rapped lightly. ‘Tess. Are you awake? Want to speak with you.’
He heard her voice faintly through the closed door. ‘Marc?’
‘Let me in. Need to say something.’ He swayed and steadied himself against the door jamb.
‘One minute,’ she said.
His head spun, but he ignored it.
Finally she opened the door. ‘What is it?’
In the dim light of the hall sconce, she appeared little more than a shadow. The scent of lavender wafted around her and intoxicated him even more than the brandy. Lavender. The laundress always scented the bed linens with lavender. Now whenever he lay between the sheets, he’d think of her. Her feet were bare, too. Like in the cabin. The memory of her warm against his body slammed into him.
He lowered his voice. ‘May I enter?’
She opened the door wider and he stepped inside.
The only light in the room was from the fireplace. It turned her nightdress and robe a ghostly white, like an apparition. A dream. A pleasant dream. Marc shook his head.
He watched as the apparition took a taper to the fire and used it to light a lamp on a nearby table.
She blew out the taper. ‘What is it, Marc?’
She was so lovely, so much like the woman in the cabin and the beauty who’d dressed in green for the dinner party. His senses flared with desire.
Why had he come to her bedchamber? He tried to remember. All he could think of was making love to her. She looked like a woman who needed to be well loved.
He shook his head and remembered. He’d come to talk about money.
He came closer. ‘Wanted to tell you...’ The scent of the bed linens reached his nostrils again and the words disappeared.
He touched her shoulder and fingered a lock of her hair. ‘You look lovely, Tess.’
What would it feel like to slide his hand down her body and explore the softness beneath her nightclothes? He remembered her curves when they’d lain together on the cot in the cabin.
A sound of discomfort came from her throat. ‘You came to tell me something?’
He nodded. By God, the drink affected him. He couldn’t stand without swaying. He couldn’t think. ‘We have to marry, Tess.’
She stood very still. ‘Did you come here to tell me that?’
No, it felt more likely he’d come to feel her hair beneath his fingers. To taste her lips.
He leaned close, so close those lips were a mere touch away. He had almost tasted her lips earlier. If he kissed her, would it ease this sudden hunger for her? How would she taste if he plunged his tongue inside her mouth? If he plunged himself inside her?
Why not? They’d be married within days.
He closed his eyes and his mind cleared for a moment. He leaned away.
She stepped back. ‘I think you should go back to your room, Marc.’
He nodded and, still gazing at her, backed away.
‘We will marry,’ he said again when his hand was on the latch of the door. Before he weakened and changed his mind, he walked out and closed the door behind him.
* * *
Tess stared at the closed door, her body a-tremble. What had happened?
He’d been drinking, clearly.
What did it mean that he’d come so close, touching her hair, her arm, making her senses come alive? She was quivering with the mere memory of his touch.
Had he wanted to bed her? Before marriage? Her old governess used to lecture Tess and her sisters to beware of men who’d imbibed too much wine or brandy. Too much drink drove men and women into bed with each other, the governess said.
It was true. Tess had seen her mother drinking wine with a gentleman who’d called upon her. She’d been in her mother’s sitting room, a place she’d been forbidden to enter, so she’d hidden behind the curtains. Through a slit in the curtains, she’d seen them kiss. And undress. And—and—
She’d never told anyone of that.
But now all she could think was that Marc had wanted to do that with her. She should have been shocked. Appalled.
Instead, she’d wanted to feel his hair between her fingers, put her hand on his shoulders. She’d wanted him to kiss her. She’d wanted him to lie with her in the bed like her mother had lain with her gentleman.
Perhaps she was more like her mother than she ever dreamed she could be.
Tess extinguished the lamp and walked back to her bed. She climbed in. Sleep would be difficult to achieve when every part of her seemed on fire. Was this what her mother had felt when gentlemen came near?
She had never felt this way when Mr Welton shook her hand or leaned close. This was something carnal, something with a power all its own. Something she wanted.
It was unforgivable for Marc to come to her in such a state, was it not? Tess tried to muster up anger or outrage or even embarrassment, but, even now, she wished he would come back.
If Marc Glenville returned to her room this moment and wished to be carnal with her, she would not stop him.
* * *
The next morning Marc slept later than usual. When he roused himself, his head ached and his stomach roiled. He washed, shaved and dressed, all the while hoping Staines could not tell he was trying not to cast up his accounts.
In the dining room, the smell of kippers and cheese nearly set him off. He quickly took a piece of toast and poured a cup of coffee and was very glad he was alone in the room.
Not for long, however.
Tess entered.
He thought he must look like hell, but she was as fresh as the air after a storm. Her hair was simply dressed atop her head. She wore a dress of sprigged muslin, blue on white, with blue flowers embroidered on the shoulders and around the hem.
She paused when she saw him.
He stood. ‘Good morning, Tess.’
She did not look at him. ‘Good morning.’ She went directly to the sideboard.
The footman appeared, but only long enough to bring her a pot of tea. Marc was drinking coffee. Lots of coffee.
She sat not too close to him, but not as far away as she might have. She kept her attention on her food, a piece of bread with jam.
He needed to say something. ‘I owe you an apology, Tess.’
She gave him the briefest glance.
‘I came to your room last night.’
She finally gave him a direct gaze. ‘I know.’
He met her eye. ‘It was unforgivable of me to wake you and to come to your room. I had too much to drink.’
‘Why did you come?’ she asked.
He did not wish to tell her of his brandy-laced plan to buy her off. It would not have worked. It would have left her in more scandal, with a ruined reputation and little chance of making a respectable marriage.
He shook his head. ‘I do not remember.’
Her brows rose.
‘I will say,’ he went on, ‘that I am not in the habit of drinking to excess. It will not happen again.’
She nodded and glanced back to her food.
A footman came in. ‘Lord Northdon wishes to see you in the library, sir.’
A summons from his father never meant anything good. ‘Thank you. I’ll see him directly.’
He stood again. ‘What are your plans today?’ he asked Tess.
She looked up at him. ‘Your mother wishes to take me shopping again.’
‘Do you mind?’ Not everyone shared his mother’s passion for shopping.
‘No. I enjoy it.’
He was not sure if she was being completely honest, but her kindness to his mother meant a great deal to him.
He walked over to her, needing to touch her, just a little, before he left the room.
He touched her shoulder. ‘You should have spending money of your own. I will make sure you have some before you leave.’
She grew quite still under his hand. ‘Thank you.’
He lifted his hand, his fingers still feeling the warmth of her. He bowed to her and left the room and made his way to the library.
* * *
When he stepped into the room, his father swung around in his chair. ‘About time. What took so long?’
‘Eating breakfast.’ And touching Tess.
His father looked him up and down. ‘Your colour is poor. Are you ill?’
‘Not ill.’ He was not going to explain that he’d consumed an entire decanter of brandy and almost seduced his fiancée. ‘You have need of me, sir?’
His father picked up a rolled document and handed it to Marc. ‘A messenger brought this earlier. Your special licence.’
Marc’s stomach protested.
He took the document into his hand and unrolled it. ‘It seems in order.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I must tell Tess it is here.’ He turned to the door.
‘Wait,’ his father cried. His expression looked strained. ‘No one else knows. If you need more time—’
Marc shook his head. ‘There’s no need to wait.’
Truth was, he did not want to wait. He’d search today to find a clergyman to perform the ceremony as soon as possible.
‘Why the devil are you marrying this woman, Marc?’ His father sounded exasperated. ‘Why the hurry if she is not with child? It does not make sense. There is something you are not telling me.’
He owed it to his father to hear the truth from him. ‘There is more to it.’ He hoped his breakfast would stay down. ‘When I was riding back from Scotland, I came across Tess on the road in a rainstorm. She was suffering greatly from the wet and the cold. I found a cabin and took her there to get her warm. We were forced to spend the night. In the morning Lord Tinmore’s men found us and Tinmore declared I had compromised her.’
His father’s face turned red. ‘You compromised her? How could you be so foolish?’
Marc stared at him. ‘I did nothing you would object to. If I had not taken her to the cabin, she would have died from the elements.’
His father averted his gaze, then gave Marc a sceptical look. ‘There must be more to it than that.’
Only that Tinmore had threatened to impoverish her, her sister and brother, but what purpose would it serve for his father to know that? ‘I am honour bound to marry her.’
‘How many knew of this? Could it not have been kept quiet?’
Marc shook his head. ‘Tinmore was having a house party at the time. With luck most will have forgotten it by the time those guests and Tinmore arrive in town, but there may be some gossip about it.’
‘More talk...’ His father spoke more to himself than to Marc.
‘I am sorry, Father.’ Marc meant it. He never wanted to cause anyone to talk of his family.
‘You need to do this, then.’ His father’s voice sounded more resigned than dictatorial.
‘I do, Papa.’
His father rose from his chair. ‘If only she came from a better family. Her parents—’
Marc cut him off. ‘Do not say a word about her parents.’ Surely his father could see the hypocrisy in complaining about her parents.
His father walked up to him and gripped his upper arms. ‘I did not mean that. I meant—well, I thought—I thought you were marrying her because she had a pretty face.’ He looked earnestly into Marc’s eyes. ‘I feared you would make the same mistake.’
‘As you did with Maman?’ Marc shrugged him off. ‘You have told me many times of your regret at marrying my mother. I do not need to hear it again.’
His father shot back, ‘Credit me with wanting to save you pain.’
Marc grimaced. ‘Now you are saying marriage to my mother gives you pain. You cause her pain, too, you know.’
His father looked as if Marc had slapped him. ‘I think of it. Every day.’ His expression turned to concern. ‘I do not wish you to have regrets, my son. Perhaps if I had said these things to your brother—’ He broke off and waved those words away. He pointed to the special licence. ‘Let me lock the paper up in a drawer. We can think of a way out of this.’
‘I will marry her. It is the only way.’ Marc rolled up the special licence again and put it in a pocket inside his coat. ‘We’ll be married as soon as I can arrange it.’
His father nodded. The man suddenly looked smaller and older than he had a moment before.
Marc patted him on the back. ‘It will work out, Papa. It is not like Lucien.’
He wanted to marry Tess and there was nothing impetuous about it. He must marry her to spare her reputation. There was no reason they could not do well together.
Especially if he banked his passion and kept it under tight control. There was no reason they could not have the rational sort of marriage he’d planned with Doria.
If he could indeed bank his passion and keep it under tight control.
He left his father and went to get Tess some spending money. He’d venture out that very morning and search for a clergyman to perform the ceremony.
* * *
Later that day Marc walked through Mayfair on his way back to his parents’ town house. He’d spent hours searching for a clergyman. Finally he found a man from St Clement Danes who agreed to perform the ceremony in three days’ time.
It should not have been so difficult, but, as it turned out, many men of the cloth were not eager to perform a service for Lord and Lady Northdon’s son. He did not know why he should have expected a different reaction. Such treatment he’d experienced his whole life.
He turned down Berkeley Street from Piccadilly and decided to stop in Gunter’s Tea Shop for some sweets for his mother, sister...and Tess. He entered the shop and who should be there, peering into the glass-covered cases displaying treats of all kinds and colours, but Doria, attended by her maid.
He had not expected to see her so soon. Or even at all, for that matter.
She looked over and smiled. ‘Marc. What a surprise.’
‘Indeed.’ He walked over to her. ‘How are you, Doria?’
She continued to smile. ‘I am well.’
They stared at each other until he turned to the case. ‘I came in for some sweets.’
‘As did I,’ she said.
A clerk approached and she made her order.
Another waited on Marc.
Their packages were ready at the same time and he walked out with her, her maid following.
‘What did you select?’ she asked.
‘Ginger candy, sugar drops and some French nougat,’ he responded. ‘My mother is particularly fond of French nougat.’
She gestured to the maid who carried her package. ‘And my father adores liquor comfits.’
They stood outside the shop. ‘I want to thank you again for inviting my family to your dinner party. I think Amelie will talk of nothing else for weeks.’
‘I am glad,’ Doria responded.
They stepped aside for a gentleman and lady to enter the shop.
She went on. ‘Your Miss Summerfield seems like a lovely person.’
He did not know what to make of that. ‘I am glad you think so.’
She glanced across the street to the square where there were benches for Gunter’s customers to enjoy his ices during the summer months. Most were empty this day.
‘Would you sit with me for a minute?’ she asked. ‘I wish to say something to you.’
‘Of course.’ He escorted her across
the street.
Her maid sat a discreet distance while he shared a bench with Doria.
She seemed to steel herself. ‘I think you realise that everyone expected you to make an offer to me—’
He interrupted her. ‘We never spoke of it. I never offered marriage to you.’
She held up a hand. ‘Yes, I know you did not. There was a time I assumed it would happen, though.’
‘I am sorry, Doria,’ he said.
‘Wait.’ She shifted her posture. ‘This is difficult to say. I want you to know that I would have refused you.’
He leaned back in surprise.
Her brows furrowed and her voice turned very low. ‘The truth is, you are too much a reminder of Charles. Every time I look at you, I remember he is gone. My father very much wanted me to marry you, but he and I must move on from Charles’s death. I know we cannot do that if you—if you are constantly present.’
He took her hand. ‘I miss Charles, too.’ He quickly released her. ‘I want you to know, no matter what gossip you hear, that I want to marry Tess. We will be married in three days.’ He gave her a wan smile. ‘You are the first to know that.’
She took his hand back. ‘I am genuinely happy for you.’
* * *
Tess gazed out of the carriage window as Lady Northdon and Amelie discussed what to do with the pieces of fabric they’d purchased. Nancy sat in rapt attention to their every word. Tess could barely attend to any of it. She was tired from a fitful night’s sleep and a lot of shopping. This day they had visited a corset maker and ordered several types of corsets for her, as well as looking in on yet another linen-draper where Nancy found a silk ivory fabric she declared perfect for Tess’s wedding dress. To Nancy’s great pleasure, Lady Northdon and Amelie heartily agreed.
Tess’s thoughts drifted to Marc. How it felt for him to be so close, to touch her, to have his blue eyes look at her in such a way that made her know he wanted to bed her. Could a man who did not want to marry her still want to bed her?
It must have been the drink. That was the only explanation.
The carriage drove slowly by one of the squares that seemed to be everywhere in Mayfair. This was Berkeley Square, she remembered. They were only a short distance from the town house, thank goodness.
