by Sara Bennett
The truth was he wanted Marissa to disagree.
He rubbed his hands down his face and when he looked at her again he could see he’d frightened her. No wonder. She probably thought he’d lost his mind.
“I’m sorry.” He dropped to his knees and wrapped her in his arms. For a moment she was stiff and unresponsive, but gradually she slipped her own arms about his neck and rested her cheek against his, and he felt her body soften in that sweet, trusting way he was so worried he was going to lose forever.
He tilted her face up and kissed her. Then kissed her again, deeply and intensely, showing her how much he desired her with tongue and lips and teeth. Soon she was kissing him back, his rejection forgotten, and when he placed his hand on her thigh through the layers of her clothing, she made no objection.
She was on fire, eager to experience all he could give her, not at all shy about letting him know how she was feeling. He loved that about her. He didn’t believe in his heart there was another woman like her in all the world.
Valentine groaned, then couldn’t speak at all when she slid her hand down his body, cupping the bulge in his breeches.
He’d forgot why he’d brought her here. Rational thought caught flame and turned to ashes. He forgot everything but the need to be inside her, part of her, deep in the pleasure of making love with this woman.
His hands slid under her skirts, seeking her soft, warm flesh. She pressed against him as he opened her thighs, brushing aside the soft cloth of her bloomers and slipping his hand into the opening to touch her slick, swollen folds.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please, Valentine, this time.”
Yes, he thought wildly. Yes, he would take her. She wanted it and so did he. What did it matter about the future? It was nothing, it meant nothing. Only the present had any importance.
Somehow his breeches were open, and he was lifting her toward him. Her hands tugged his buttocks, drawing him closer, but he didn’t need any urging. He wanted her with a single-minded desperation he’d never known before. The head of his cock brushed her soft flesh and she whimpered.
He tightened the muscles of his buttocks and thighs, preparing to push himself deep inside her, aching for the sheer bliss of being sheathed within her beautiful body.
Now, he thought. Now!
But even as he began his thrust forward he was slowing, then stopping. His taut muscles went to jelly, and wearily he dropped his brow against her hair. His body was shaking with the effort it had taken to deny himself something he thought he wanted with all his heart and all his being.
“Valentine?” she wailed, squirming against him.
A chuckle forced its way through the lump in his throat.
“Valentine!” She was distraught, her hands thumping on his chest, and tugging at his arms and shoulders. “You’re laughing. Why are you laughing?”
He felt light-headed. He wanted her so much but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it and he knew why. But when he looked down into Marissa’s flushed, worried face he knew he wasn’t going to tell her the truth, not entirely.
“You are a vibrant and beautiful woman. You deserve someone young and untarnished, someone who isn’t set in his ways.”
Her eyes widened. “But you do want me. I know you do.”
“Oh, I want you. I also know that I will not take away your chance to change your mind, no matter how much you think you want me to.”
Wanting her could lead them into very murky waters. There wasn’t always a happy ever after. That was something he knew and she didn’t, not yet.
Now there were tears in her eyes. She reached up to touch his face, her palms sliding to cup his lean cheeks. “Valentine, I appreciate your care of me, really I do, but there is no need. I thought we understood each other on that. Don’t you believe me?”
“You deserve better than me. I’m afraid I could never make you happy,” he said.
She sighed. Her lips trembled and she bit into them to make them stop. “You are a very stubborn man.”
“Another of my myriad faults,” he replied with a shaky laugh.
“Oh, you have a great many,” she agreed with a lopsided smile. “Can—can you hold me? If you do not think it will compromise my spotless reputation.”
He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly and forcing back the heat of the passion that remained lurking just beneath the surface. This is enough for now, he thought, and almost convinced himself into believing it.
“Valentine, I am going to make you change your mind,” she said, her voice muffled against his jacket. “I haven’t given up, you know.”
“Now who’s being stubborn,” he said.
He would give her time to realize how unsuitable a prospect he was for her, and eventually she would realize it. But he already knew the truth. He’d seen it, clear as day, when he was on the verge of irrevocably making her his. The future, spread before him. And he’d been afraid.
Marriage, domestic life, children…he’d be committed to the lot. But what if the past repeated itself? What if the misery of his life with Vanessa returned? He had survived once but this time, with Marissa…Marissa, the woman he was beginning to love with a single-minded passion. No, he didn’t think he could bear it if one day she turned to look at him as if he was a beast.
He would be utterly destroyed. There would be no way back.
How could he take the chance?
But even as he made his decision there was an odd ache in his chest, an agonizing sense of loss. He wondered what was worse, committing himself to Marissa and taking the chance of destroying her life and his sanity, or living the rest of time without her.
Chapter 21
It seemed as if Marissa had barely closed her eyes and fallen asleep, after an evening filling in Lady Bethany and Jasper on the search at Canthorpe, while inwardly obsessing over the problem of Valentine’s pigheadedness. She was woken by knocking on the front door and a loud shout for entry. Then more voices began shouting and doors slamming, all with an increasing sense of urgency.
Marissa sat up in her bed, hair in her eyes, and stumbled out barefoot, searching for her robe. She’d been dreaming of being wrapped in Valentine’s arms, and now it was a shock to find herself alone in the darkness. Ever since he’d spoken to her about his concerns she’d felt as if she was in limbo, knowing he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but unable to convince him to take the final step.
She thought there was probably an element of self-preservation in his behavior. He’d been through one bitter experience and was shy of facing another. Marissa couldn’t blame him for that, but she wished he would just throw all his doubts aside.
But if he did that he wouldn’t be Valentine, would he?
By now she’d wrapped her robe over her nightgown, and made her way out to the landing. Leaning against the balustrade, she peered down into the hall. Lamplight wavered, showing Morris standing shivering in his nightgown and his nightcap, while Valentine, in hastily donned breeches and a crumpled shirt, questioned a disheveled-looking young man who shuffled his boots as he gave his answers.
“Lady Longhurst begs you come, my lord,” Marissa heard him say. “She’s beside herself, she is. Hy-hysterical.”
Lady Longhurst? The name was enough to send Marissa down the stairs in her bare feet, not caring if it was proper or not. Since she’d come to Abbey Thorne Manor she’d been kicking society’s rules and conventions out of her path like autumn leaves.
“What is happening?” she said, glancing from one to the other.
Morris answered her, his voice stiff and his gaze a little wild.
“It seems that Lady Longhurst has been assaulted, Miss Rotherhild.”
“Assaulted?” Marissa cried. “Is she injured?”
“Aye, me lady,” the lad said, eyes wide, relishing the dramatic situation he found himself in. “A foreigner came and she offered him her—her hospitality and he betrayed it.”
Marissa turned to Valentine, seeking illumination.
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“It seems Von Hautt charmed his way into Lady Longhurst’s house,” he said, troubled anger in his eyes.
The lad interrupted. “She needs you to come at once, me lord. Will you come?”
Morris cleared his throat, his jowls wobbling. “My lord, I don’t think it wise of you to go riding off into the night. You barely know this Lady Longhurst.”
“I know she’s a lady in need of my help, Morris,” Valentine retorted.
“I thought you said you weren’t Sir Lancelot?” Marissa murmured, with a questioning glance. “You are acting very like him.”
“I am behaving like a gentleman,” Valentine retorted, and turned back to Morris. “Get Bartholomew, Pinnock, Nesmith up out of their beds, with whoever else who wants to come, and tell them to ready the horses. I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Make sure there’s a horse for me,” Marissa said briskly. “Lady Longhurst will appreciate a woman’s support in such a delicate situation.”
Valentine opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. “Very well,” he said. “You are probably safer with me anyway. I don’t like the thought of Von Hautt wandering around the countryside unrestrained.”
“I am more than a match for the baron,” Marissa assured him.
“Of course she is.” It was George, standing on the stairs and yawning. He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll come, too, just to be on the safe side.”
Valentine gave him a narrowed look. “I thought you were ill in bed, George.”
“I was. I’m better now.”
Marissa left them to it. She wanted to tell Lady Bethany what was happening before she left for Canthorpe, and after a soft knock on her door, opened it a crack and peered in. Her gasp sounded very loud in the silence.
The room was lit by the moonlight coming in the uncovered window so there was no mistaking what she saw. Two people, Lady Bethany and Jasper, lay curled in each other’s arms, their mouths ajar in sleep, the covers tucked around them. They looked remarkably handsome together—which probably had a bit to do with the moonlight—and very peaceful.
Marissa couldn’t decide whether she was outraged or horrified or any of the other things a respectable young lady should be. But the truth was she wasn’t particularly upset; she wasn’t even particularly shocked. She was well aware of her grandmother’s attitude when it came to making the most of her life; she even shared some of her ideals. Marissa could only wish the lovers well.
Gently she closed the door and tiptoed away.
By the time she’d dressed and made her way out to the stable, the men were assembled.
“I don’t want to be uncharitable,” she said in a low voice to Valentine. “Perhaps the lady really is in dire need. But why has she sent for you and not one of her closer neighbors or relatives?”
Valentine gave her a grin. “You’re jealous, minx.”
“I’m suspicious,” she corrected him. It had been obvious to her from the first that Lady Longhurst had set her sights on Valentine, and husband or no husband she was most unhappy when he slipped out of her grasp. Now she’d found a reason to draw him back into her web, and she must have known he would respond to her plea for help—how could Valentine the proper gentleman refuse?
But Marissa was adamant that Valentine was her gentleman and Lady Longhurst was not going to use his more heroic qualities to trap him. If anyone was going to hunt Valentine then it was Marissa.
I am hunting him, she thought in surprise. Is he the one I want to marry and live with happily ever after? Was George simply a wrong turn in my journey? Whatever the answer, this husband hunting no longer feels like a game; it is deadly serious. A matter of life lived to the full with the man I love, or a lifetime of regrets.
Love? Marissa was dizzy. Was it true, did she really love him? Her practical side cast doubt upon her emotional response, until she felt as if there was a battle going on inside her. But there was no time to sit down and properly consider her situation. A moment later they set off, galloping into the night, heading for Canthorpe, and she knew she must put her own feelings aside and concentrate on the here and now.
“Do you think Baron Von Hautt followed you?” George called out, as the horses spread out along the narrow road. “Or is his spy supplying him with our information?”
“I hope he’s not following us,” Marissa said, glancing behind her. She might boast she wasn’t afraid of the baron but that didn’t mean she was keen to come face-to-face with him in the dark.
For the first time she began to have an uncomfortable feeling about this whole business. She’d been dismissing Lady Longhurst as a manipulative creature, but what if she was being unfair? What if she was wrong? Von Hautt was a dangerous man who had shown himself capable of any mischief, and for some reason he had a grudge against Valentine.
“What I don’t understand is, where could he be living? He must be nearby. Surely someone has seen him?” George had brought his horse up beside her, calling across her to his brother on her other side.
“I’ve made inquiries about the village.” Valentine began to catalogue his efforts to find the baron in a grim voice. “I’ve sent men out to scour the woods and the countryside for miles. But I always get the same answer—no one has seen him. I’m starting to wonder if he’s a ghost and can appear and disappear at will.”
“Not a ghost,” George said. “A magician, a trickster, that’s what Von Hautt is.”
A short time later they saw the village below them, and then shortly after that, Canthorpe, the entire house ablaze with light. Several servants could be seen in the formal garden, either guarding the house or searching the grounds, or both. Valentine’s group was allowed past after one of the servants held a lantern up to his face.
“I’m sorry, m’lord,” he apologized.
“Is Lady Longhurst inside?”
“Yes, she is.”
“My men are here to help in any way they can.”
“Thank you, m’lord. I’ll set them to searching the wilderness.”
Valentine sprang down from the saddle, followed by George and Marissa, and hurried inside.
The maid Marissa remembered from their visit yesterday came flying across the hall, her cap askew, spirals of hair tumbling from beneath it and into her eyes. When she saw who they were she seemed to fold in on herself with relief. “Oh, my lord,” she cried, eyes big and frightened. “Thank heavens you’ve come. This way. My lady is in the small saloon.”
She showed them the way, glancing behind her all the while, as if worried she might lose them even over such a short distance.
“Lady Longhurst is a great beauty, so I’ve heard,” George murmured in Marissa’s ear.
She flicked him a look and recognized the knowing expression on his face. “Is that why you’re here?” she asked disapprovingly.
“I want to see Valentine play the hero.”
A frown creased her brow. “He said you met up with Von Hautt in Magna Midcombe and that he threatened you.”
“Yes,” he said with a grimace. “Not one of my finer moments.”
“Why do you think he’s pursuing your family, George? What has he against you?”
George shrugged. “In my opinion he has bats in his belfry.”
The maid had reached the closed door to the small saloon. “Lady Longhurst is in here,” she said in a quiet voice. She hesitated, and then tapped lightly. When there was no answer she tapped again.
“Open it,” Valentine ordered.
With a jerky nod, the maid tried to do so, but the door was locked.
“Lady Longhurst,” he called out, knocking loudly. “It is Kent. You sent word for me to come and I am here. Please, unlock the door.”
“My poor lady is beside herself,” the maid whispered. The tears in the girl’s eyes welled over her lashes and began to trickle down her cheeks.
“When did Baron Von Hautt leave?” Valentine said.
“Hours ago, my lord. At least, we think he left. But my lady doesn’t
believe it. She believes he’s still hiding somewhere about the house.”
“Lord Kent?” a husky, wavery voice came through the door from the other side. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it is me. Unlock the door, Lady Longhurst.”
The scrape of the key in the lock, and the clunk of the bolt being released. Valentine twisted the handle and the door opened wide.
There were candles everywhere—a year’s supply of wax gone up in one night—and the blaze of light was so bright it made Marissa blink. Lady Longhurst stood in the center of the room, a shawl wrapped around what appeared to be her chemise, in her stockinged feet. Her hair was tangled and falling down around her face. She was more like a tragic victim than the beautiful elegant lady Marissa remembered. Her lower lip was swollen and caked with dried blood, and there was evidence of tears streaking her cheeks. She clutched the door key in her hands, twisting it around and around, while her gaze was fixed on Valentine.
“Lady Longhurst?” Valentine was as startled as Marissa.
“He seemed such a gentleman,” the lady said, her face pinched and white. “Such a—a gentleman.”
The beauty Marissa remembered was still there, but now there was a ravaged quality to it. She felt a wave of pity.
“Lady Longhurst?” she said gently. “Are you able to tell us what happened?”
The woman shuddered. “What happened?” she cried in a rising, wavering voice. “I was assaulted, that was what happened.” She lifted her tangled hair from one side of her face, and disclosed a livid mark high on her cheek. Then she tilted her head, showing another mark on the side of her neck. “There are others,” she said, “but I will not show them to you.” She closed her eyes for a moment, withdrawing into herself. “What will my husband say?” she whispered. “Dear Lord, what will he say?”
Valentine took her arm, his touch, his voice gentle. “I am so sorry you suffered at Baron Von Hautt’s hands. Can you tell us what happened after we left? It may help us to find him.”
She looked up at him and her face came to life. Tears streamed out of her eyes, dripping down onto her shawl, while her mouth shook and trembled. Her hands continued to twist the key, until Valentine placed his hands over them, and held them tightly within his own.
