by Diane Gaston
Her heart surged with hope. Surely such a profound experience provided a strong foundation for a marriage. They could build upon this night and perhaps create a marvellous future together. He was a decent man, after all, a good man.
He stirred and opened his eyes. To merely call them blue did them no justice. They were rimmed in navy with flecks of light and dark radiating from the pupil. Having his eyes focused on her was like being pinned with a sabre to the chest.
She could not tell what he hid in the depths of those eyes. Would he open himself to her?
‘Good morning,’ he murmured, his lashes lowering. ‘How do you fare?’
She smiled tentatively, suddenly needing to pull back from the intensity of her emotions. ‘I fare very well. And you?’
He moved towards her, taking her in his arms and pulling her naked body against his. ‘I’m well.’
His arousal pressed against her and the delicious aching returned.
He drew her into a kiss, opening his mouth. Her lips parted and he touched his tongue to hers. She gasped and dug her fingers in his unruly hair, holding him in the kiss.
He eased her on her back and, still kissing her, climbed atop her. His hands stroked her. How could she have known how wonderful his hands would feel on her body? How glorious a kiss would feel?
She opened herself to him again and he entered her and drove her again to the unimaginable pleasure. While she still quivered from her release, he spilled his seed inside her.
When he lay next to her again, his arm around her, all the stress, anger and regret she’d lived with since being discovered with Marc in the cabin washed away. Like the day after a rainstorm, everything seemed fresh, bright and new. They would make this a good marriage, in spite of being forced to marry. Perhaps they had just made a baby together.
How more wonderful could life be?
* * *
Marc lay with her in his arms, sated and satisfied, but with his heart racing as if he’d just run a league. He already wanted her again, needed her again. He wanted her all to himself. Wanted their own rooms, their own household, away from his family, away from everyone.
And he wanted to flee.
The power of his need for her shook him to his core. Surely this is what his father had felt, what Charles and Lucien felt?
Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure: Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.
His father’s words again.
Had he married her for this—this explosive lovemaking? Was this lovemaking the pleasure in that line from the Congreve play? He cared nothing of grief and repentance. He only wanted her.
And he would do anything to have her again.
Anything.
Were these the sentiments that drove Lucien and Charles to their deaths?
Some wiser part of him threw off the covers and rose from the bed.
His abrupt movement woke her.
‘Are you rising already?’ she asked in a raw, sleepy voice.
All he heard was an invitation to return to the bed, make love to her again, but he needed to get himself under control.
‘I had better get up.’ Some hint of good sense made its way to the fore. ‘Too much could make you sore.’
She patted the bed where he’d been lying. ‘I do not mind.’
Good God. ‘No!’
Her face fell. His sharp tone wounded her, obviously.
He dared to lean over her. ‘Do not be distressed, Tess,’ he managed. ‘I—I sound as I do because I want you so strongly and I know we must not...’ He paused, almost forgetting what he needed to say. ‘Overdo.’ He stroked her cheek with his finger, not willing to risk touching her with even his whole hand.
She softened again, but moved towards his touch in a way so alluring he was tempted to tell his head to go to the devil.
He straightened. ‘I think I will take Apollo for a run.’ He made himself smile at her. ‘That should cool me off.’
She looked disappointed, but she said, ‘Apollo will be happy. Will I see you at breakfast, then?’
‘Better not wait for me.’ Who knew how long it would take to sort himself out? ‘I would not wish you to be hungry.’
She smiled. ‘Hungry enough for soggy bread and cheese?’
The reminder of the cabin pierced him like a sabre thrust. ‘Never that hungry again,’ he murmured.
‘No food ever tasted so delicious,’ she said.
He gathered up his riding clothes and dressed himself, all the while very aware that she watched his every move. After he was dressed, he started for the door, but instead turned and walked back to the bed where she was now sitting up and holding the linens over her lovely breasts.
He leaned down and kissed her. She reached for him and held him in the kiss and passion throbbed inside him. He drew away.
He ought to tell her how captivating she was, how she had pleased him, but he said only, ‘I will see you later.’
He hurried out and soon stepped out of the door on to the street.
The cool, fresh air filled his lungs and cleared his mind.
What was this foolishness overtaking him? Why should he and Tess not forge a happy marriage? The passion they shared should bode well for it. And she was a woman worthy of loving and deserving of happiness. Why could he not give them both that? He could make it happen. He’d do it for Lucien and Charles—and even for his mother and father. He’d be happy for all of them.
He stepped on to the pavement with renewed hope. Renewed resolve.
A man approached him. ‘Mr Glenville?’
‘Yes?’ Marc frowned. Something in the man’s manner put him on alert.
The man handed him a letter. ‘This is for you. I am told it is urgent.’
Marc accepted the letter, broke the seal and unfolded the paper.
It read:
Come immediately. It is vital. You must come. Something has happened that cannot be written in a letter. Do not delay. I will explain all.
Yours, etc.
Lord Greybury
Hope turned swiftly to foreboding.
Marc looked up at the messenger. ‘I will come straight away.’
He hurried on to the mews, but he’d not be riding Apollo for pleasure.
* * *
The stable boy saddled Apollo quickly and Marc set out for Horse Guards. Even the horse seemed to sense the urgency. The streets were filling with carriages, wagons and other riders, but Apollo pulled through. Marc announced himself to the sentry and handed Apollo’s reins to a waiting attendant. The building seemed to be a-bustle and the air filled with tension.
He made his way quickly to Greybury’s office. The clerk waved him by before he could say anything.
He knocked on Greybury’s door and opened it. Two other men Marc recognised as working for Castlereagh stood with Lord Greybury. This must be something important.
They all turned when he entered.
‘Ah, gentlemen, here is Renard.’ Greybury gestured Marc forward.
The other men likely knew Marc’s true identity, but since Greybury used his code name, it sounded like he was back on the job.
‘What is this about?’ Marc asked.
Greybury glanced from one gentleman to the other and back to Marc. ‘We received word today that Napoleon has escaped.’
‘Escaped!’
Napoleon had been exiled to Elba after the Treaty of Fontainebleu.
‘He’s making his way to Paris,’ said one of the men.
‘Castlereagh warned the Allies this could happen,’ the other gentleman said. ‘He warned them.’
‘We need you in France, Renard,’ Greybury said. ‘Napoleon will seek power again and we need to know all that transpires as a result.’
‘Suffice to say that every nation on the Continent and our United Kingdom are at risk!’ the first man added.
The stakes were high, that was for certain.
Marc’s insides turned cold. ‘I cannot go.’
Greybury str
aightened. ‘You must.’
‘I cannot,’ Marc insisted. ‘You must choose another man. I was married yesterday. I cannot leave my new wife.’
‘You will leave her. There is no other man to replace you.’ Greybury glared at him. ‘Recall that you made a vow to serve your country when needed. You are needed.’
No. He could not do this to Tess. Make love to her and leave her?
Greybury leaned towards him. ‘I cannot stress how vital this is. I am sorry that your private matters impinge on this situation, but your duty is to your country. Napoleon will take up the sword again. He is not a man of peace. Without the information only you can gather, countless men will no longer be able to return to their wives.’
Marc was bound by duty. He could not refuse.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I can be ready by tomorrow.’
‘Not tomorrow.’ Greybury spoke firmly. ‘Today. Now. There is a boat waiting at Dover to take you across the Channel.’
Tess would be hurt. How could she not be?
It was all his fault. If he’d maintained his distance from her, not shared his bed with her, he would not hurt her nearly as much. But, no, he let passion rule, just as Charles and Lucien had done and, because he’d done so, he’d grievously injure Tess.
How more monstrous could he be? Love her and leave her.
Better he’d lost his own life than wound her so.
Perhaps it was better not to spend another night with her. It would be cruel of him to make love to her another night.
And it would be cruel of him not to.
‘Very well. Today. I can be ready in a few hours—’ With hard riding, he should be able to reach Dover before nightfall.
‘No!’ Greybury pounded a fist on his desk. ‘You must ride to Dover now.’
‘Even a few hours can make a difference,’ added the second man. ‘We must know immediately Napoleon’s whereabouts and his plans.’
‘The usual network is in place,’ Greybury said. ‘Your trunk has already been sent to Dover.’
The office kept a trunk packed with weapons, clothing and such so he could easily slip into the role of Renard.
An announcement of his marriage would appear in the Morning Post this very day. As soon as all of society learned of his marriage to Tess, they would also learn he had left her. What could he say to her?
He felt sick inside. ‘I cannot leave without speaking to my wife.’
‘Write your wife a letter.’ Greybury pushed paper and pen towards him. An inkpot was on the desk.
‘No.’ Marc pushed them back. ‘I speak to my wife or I do not travel to France.’
Marc started for the door.
‘Wait!’ Lord Greybury cried.
Marc stopped and turned towards him.
Greybury stood. ‘Very well. We will do it your way. Speak to your wife. But be quick about it.’
He’d take whatever time was necessary.
Greybury rubbed his face. ‘Say nothing to your wife about where you are going or why, though. Remember Rosier.’
Rosier had confided in his wife, but a clever French spy tricked her into talking. Rosier’s deception and his mission were discovered. And worse, Rosier and several colleagues were killed.
Marc would not tell Tess the truth. If she knew nothing, she could divulge nothing. What would he say to her instead?
‘I know my duty.’ Marc bowed and left the room.
* * *
After breakfasting alone, Tess spent her morning writing letters to her sisters and brother, informing them of her marriage.
Would they write her back? She’d received nothing from them so far, but perhaps not enough time had passed for them to answer her first letters. She’d tried to tell them she was well, but this morning she’d been tempted to write to them about how wonderful marriage with Marc would be. How could she put in a letter that it had been his lovemaking that filled her with hope? Or that something in his manner this morning brought her worries back?
If she could talk to Lorene and Genna, it would be different.
Even if there were some things she could never tell them.
Maybe they would reassure her that Marc had not been eager to be away from her this morning. Maybe they would say it was merely due to a morning mood or something.
She ought not to worry, in any event. Marc had been her steadfast protector since that moment he’d found her in the rain. He’d never failed her. Never lied to her. She even believed him about Miss Caldwell.
Hadn’t she?
At least through her letter to Lorene, Tinmore would learn Tess kept her part of his bargain. If he kept his word this time, Genna and Edmund’s futures should be secure.
Marc would never break his word.
Would he?
She sent a footman to post the letters and waited in her bedroom for Marc to return from his ride. If he did not knock on her door, she’d at least hear him go to his room to change from his riding clothes.
Then she’d learn her worries were baseless.
Nancy came in and out of the room, always hiding a smile and obviously trying very hard not to ask about the wedding night.
Tess blushed to think that the servants would all know she and Mark had made love. The evidence would be on the bed linens.
Had her mother been concerned about such things? Tess wondered. Did Lorene think of such things?
She could not imagine Lorene and Lord Tinmore—
She thought of the pleasure Marc created in her, a pleasure she’d never dreamed she would experience. Her body came alive again and she ached for his return.
Tess paced the room, restless and more uncertain with every tick of the mantle clock.
When the knock sounded at her door, though, she jumped in surprise.
She swung around. ‘Come in.’
* * *
A last shaft of agony sliced through Marc as his hand gripped the latch. He took two deep breaths and opened the door.
‘Tess!’ He walked in with a firm step. ‘I have something I must tell you.’
She took a step towards him, but seemed to think better of coming closer. ‘What?’
‘I encountered some friends of mine when I was out. At the park.’
She blinked. ‘Some friends?’
He faced her and tried to keep emotion out of his voice. ‘They are bound for Switzerland today and I am going with them.’
‘Going with them?’ Her expression turned confused. ‘To Switzerland?’
He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I realise the timing is not ideal, but I cannot pass up this opportunity. I have always had a strong desire to hike through the Alps.’ This was at least true. ‘The possibility was denied to me during the war, but now there is no reason not to go—’
‘No reason?’ Her voice raised an octave. ‘You were married yesterday.’
Yes. And his leaving would hurt her.
‘Ordinarily I would not leave,’ he explained. ‘But I cannot pass up this opportunity.’
‘Walking in mountains is so vitally important?’
He made himself look directly at her. ‘It is what I wish to do.’
‘You wish to leave me!’ Her face turned red with anger.
‘For a few months.’ He acted as if it were a trifle. ‘I do not even need to pack much. We will purchase what we need when we reach the mountains. Sturdy boots and such. These are the same men I travelled with through Scotland. They will not make this trip again.’
‘You choose them over me?’ Her voice trembled.
‘I am not choosing them over you.’ Good God. He did not want her to think this had anything to do with her. ‘It has nothing to do with you. I merely wish to take this trip.’
She swung away from him. ‘I do not believe this. This does not sound like you. You would not do this to me.’
‘Would I not? You do not know me.’ He kept his voice steady. ‘Heed this, Tess. I will do as I please. And it pleases me to take this trip. Ask my parents if I d
o not leave when it pleases me to leave. It is something to which you must become accustomed.’
‘Must I?’ Her eyes flashed.
He pretended to be severe with her. ‘You will do very well without me. You’ve settled in here, especially with my mother and sister. Soon your sisters will be here. You will be invited to social events, events I would not wish to attend. You will be well entertained.’
She blinked. ‘I do not care a fig about all that!’ She swallowed, as if she were trying not to weep. ‘What do you think people will say about you leaving me the day after our wedding?’
He shrugged. ‘People will talk no matter what. Besides, it is not as if we can pretend this is anything more than a marriage of convenience, not when Tinmore and his guests come to town.’
Likely she would never forgive him for this. When he returned to her, what could he expect? A marriage of estrangement like his parents?
‘Do not make light of this, Marc,’ she shot back. ‘You are leaving me to bear the scandal of our marriage alone. And you add the additional humiliation of leaving after the wedding night.’
He cursed himself. If only he had not given in to his desire for her, her pain would not be so great. He’d been right to have been so shaken when he left her bed this morning. He ought never to have been there.
Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. ‘How could you make love to me and then leave me so callously?’
Misery swept through him. He could not answer her. He fancied he felt every bit of her pain.
‘Go, then,’ she rasped. ‘Leave me. It is not as though I have not been left before. I dare say your absence will not be as devastating.’
Marc had no choice but to turn and walk out of the room.
As soon as he closed the door, though, he leaned his whole body against it. ‘Tess,’ he murmured. ‘I am sorry. I am so very sorry.’
Chapter Thirteen
June 1815, three months later—Brussels, Belgium
Tess, with Amelie at her side, glimpsed the Parc de Bruxelles for the first time and gasped.
‘It is magnificent!’ Amelie exclaimed.
As soon as they’d arrived in Brussels, nothing would do but for Amelie to see the park. So while Lord and Lady Northdon rested in their rooms at the Hotel de Flandre, Tess and Amelie walked to the park.
