by Trisha Telep
She took her seat, perching on the edge of the sofa, ready to bolt. Clearly, it would take more than one drink to settle her nerves.
“I’ll have a brandy. And please make it a big one,” she said in a clipped voice.
He bit back a smile and poured out two glasses of the finest French brandy his ships could smuggle into England.
After handing her the glass, he settled into a chair opposite the sofa. As much as he wanted to crowd her, something held him back. That damned remorse, he supposed, or the strained look around her eyes and the slight quiver of her pink mouth. Marissa had always been pluck to the backbone, but tonight she seemed as fragile as a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
“Have you reached your decision?” His voice came out on a husky pitch.
“I have,” she said, her air both tragic and dignified. “I will agree to your terms if you will defer my brother’s debt to his satisfaction and provide appropriately for my daughter.”
His heart stopped, then started again, thumping out a painful tattoo. His intellect had told him she would agree – she had no real choice – but his bone-deep sense of her had expected more resistance.
“I’m gratified by your decision,” he said, struggling to keep the sound of relief from his voice. The last thing he wanted was for her to realize the power she still wielded over him.
He came to his feet and moved to sit next to her. She stiffened, but didn’t shy away.
“I’m curious, though,” he continued. “Why did you decide to agree?” He was more than curious. Suddenly, it seemed imperative he know the reasons why – as if his future depended upon it.
“Not for Edmund’s sake, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said with a scowl. “You were right about him – he’s not worthy of the sacrifice. I do this to provide for my daughter.”
Her azure eyes briefly met his. She looked pathetically valiant, like a tragic queen in a melodrama. Or Joan of Arc consigning herself to the flames.
Frustration had him clenching his teeth as it dawned on him that he had no desire to take a martyr to his bed. Not even if that martyr was Marissa. Her noble self-sacrifice would freeze him more thoroughly than a winter storm in the North Atlantic.
“Is that the only reason?” he growled.
Her startled gaze flew to his. He didn’t bother to hide his irritation.
She studied his face, probing for answers to unspoken questions. Then she blushed an enchanting shade of pink and dropped her gaze.
“No,” she whispered. “It’s not the only reason.”
He waited impatiently. “Well?” he finally prompted.
She met his eyes, and he saw a hint of her old fire. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”
“So, you’re offering yourself up as a means of atonement, is that it?”
Her mouth kicked up in a wry smile. “Something like that.”
He took a gulp of brandy, feeling gloomier by the minute. This was not how he had envisioned the scene playing out. He should be feeling triumphant after all those years spent developing his schemes, step by careful step. Vengeance against the Joslins – against her – had given his life purpose. And now, when he had prevailed and Marissa was finally under his thrall, what did he truly feel?
Not triumph. Not even simple satisfaction. What he felt was . . . hollow. As if he’d lost something important he could never get back.
Anthony captured her elegant chin between his fingers. “Did you mean what you said today?” he asked harshly. “That you were desperate to find me?” She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I want the truth, Marissa. No more lies or secrets. Not any more.”
Her pupils dilated as she drew in an unsteady breath. She seemed almost frightened.
“It’s all right,” he murmured, giving in to the compulsion to reassure her. “You can tell me.”
Her eyes grew soft and misty. “Yes. I would have given anything to find you. My heart was broken with the thought of never seeing you again. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said my father locked me in a room for a month. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape. And no one would help me.”
Her gaze filled with anguish, an anguish that became his. He brushed her cheek, wiping away a single fallen tear.
“Then what happened?”
“When I told Father I would never marry anyone but you, he lied to me. He said you had boarded a ship to America and were never coming back. He threatened that if I didn’t marry Richard, he would exile me to one of his smaller estates in the country – indefinitely.”
His heart ached with guilt and he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her. All these years he had failed her, never knowing the truth but choosing to believe the worst.
She sniffed and tried to look brave. Anthony extracted a handkerchief and handed it to her.
“Father was determined I not break my engagement to Richard. I know I was weak, but I simply didn’t have the strength to fight him any more,” she said with an unhappy shrug. She scrubbed her cheeks with her handkerchief, finishing with a prosaic wipe of her nose. “What happens now?” she asked, looking wary.
He got up and crossed to the mantel, needing to put distance between them. “Nothing,” he said. His chest ached, as if someone had punched him in the ribs.
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re free to go. I’ll write to your brother tomorrow, setting out reasonable terms to pay back what he owes me. You have my word that no harm will come to your family.”
He forced himself to look at her. She seemed dazed, frozen into immobility. He should have derived some satisfaction from that, but it only confirmed she had expected the worst of him.
“I’ll ring for my carriage.” He felt like the lowest kind of villain. “You may return to Berkeley Square immediately.”
He crossed the room, reaching for the bell-pull. As his fingers wrapped around the cord, a slender hand touched his forearm.
“Anthony, don’t,” she murmured.
He pivoted. She gazed up at him, her cheeks flushed with colour and her eyes luminous with unshed tears. Never had she looked as beautiful as she did in that moment.
“Don’t send me away.” Her voice was throaty. “I couldn’t bear it. Please . . . I don’t want to lose you again.”
Anthony gazed down at her, looking stunned and at a loss for words.
“Are you sure?” he finally managed in a hoarse voice.
Marissa pressed a hand over her pounding heart. Taking a deep breath, she stepped off the cliff.
“I’m not sure about anything except my feelings for you. I want to be with you, Anthony, more than you could ever know.”
Shyly, she placed a hand on his chest. His heart pounded drumlike beneath her fingertips. With renewed courage, she stretched up and pressed a kiss on a jaw carved from stone.
As if her touch had unleashed a genie from a bottle, his powerful body roared to life. Arms lashed about her waist, pulling her up flat against his chest. She shuddered, relishing the feel of all that solid muscle plastered along the length of her body.
“That’s all I needed to know, my sweet.” He trailed a pattern of shivery little kisses across her cheek. “I’ll take care of everything else.”
She wriggled her arms free and took his face between her hands. For long seconds they simply gazed at each other, drinking in the wonder of the moment. His bright stare smouldered with passion and a fierce, complicated love.
That look tore through her, blasting away the heartbreak and suffering of all those lonely years, infusing her with a joy so transforming it almost frightened her.
“I love you, Anthony,” she whispered. “I never stopped loving you.”
His lips covered hers in a kiss so raw and needy she could have wept. This was the Anthony she had known. Loving, claiming, protecting her. She had forgotten for a while – they both had – but now they remembered. Now they had at last
found their way back to each other.
She clung to his neck, opening her mouth to draw him in. Energy, hot and carnal, flowed between them. Desire licked through her body, settling deep in her womb.
Anthony reached up to gently grip the tidy braids of her hair, pulling her head back as he kissed his way down from her mouth. She pulled in a sobbing breath as his lips fastened on her neck with a teasing suck.
“Anthony,” she moaned.
He gave a soft, guttural laugh, then licked the base of her throat as he gently pulled her back into an arch. Her breasts, aching in the confinement of their stays, rubbed against the silk of his waistcoat. Sensation streaked out from her nipples, gathering in the cove between her thighs. She whimpered and shamelessly rubbed herself against his erection. It was all so delicious, so overpowering, her senses swam.
“Wait,” she gasped, clutching his shoulders.
He growled in frustration but eased her away from his body. “Damn it, Marissa! I’ve been waiting thirteen years for this. And you want to stop me?”
If she hadn’t been so light-headed, she would have giggled at the aggrieved masculinity in his voice. “Anthony, my legs feel like jelly. Can we please sit down?”
A predatory grin curled the edges of his sensual mouth. “I’m yours to command, My Lady,” he purred.
He swept her up – this time she did giggle – and carried her to the sofa. He set her down and began to pull her clothes off with impatient hands.
“Anthony,” she squeaked as one of her buttons popped, ricocheting off the low table in front of the sofa.
“I’ll buy you a new dress. I’ll buy you a hundred new dresses,” he said through clenched teeth. “But right now I’m getting you out of this one.”
A moment later, he tossed her gown over a chair. A few moments after that, her stays and chemise followed. Leaving her stockings on, he lifted her in his arms and carefully placed her on the sofa.
“Now you,” she murmured, reaching for his waistcoat. “I want to see all of you.”
He pulled off his coat, ripping a seam in the process, and then divested himself of the rest of his clothing. As he turned to her, candlelight flickered along the hard vaulting of his ribs, his broad shoulders, and the dense, tightly knit muscles of his chest and abdomen. She caught her breath at the impressive size of his erection – that part she had somehow managed to forget – and her innermost flesh grew soft and damp.
He came down on her, pressing her into the velvet cushions of the sofa.
“Open for me, darling,” he whispered, as he settled between her spread thighs.
Marissa groaned and let her head fall back. Draping her arms loosely around Anthony’s shoulders, she gave herself up to all the fantasies she had ever had about him.
But the reality was so much better.
He propped himself on his elbows, studying her body through slitted eyes of gold. Marissa panted as her breasts quivered and her nipples stiffened under his gaze. She squirmed, trying to increase the contact between their bodies.
A long breath hissed out between his teeth. His dark head lowered to her breast and his tongue flicked one nipple. Once, twice, three times.
“Please,” she gasped, arching up into his chest. “Anthony, I can’t wait.”
“God, Marissa,” he groaned, “neither can I.”
He clamped his calloused palms around her face, holding her still for his devouring kiss. As his tongue slid between her lips, hot and demanding, he pressed his length against her. He slipped one hand down to her bottom, tilting her hips up to meet him. Then, with a long, low thrust, he pushed inside.
She cried out, breaking free of his kiss to thrash her head against the velvet pillows. It was like nothing she remembered. He filled her, possessed her, as he had never done before. Anthony was no longer a boy, but a man, with a man’s power and a man’s way of loving a woman.
He flexed his hips, moving slowly at first until she heard her own voice – breathless and needy – begging for more. And he gave her everything she needed, taking her with long, powerful strokes. The end came quickly, like a rip tide, driving her to a shattering climax.
Anthony came with her, growling out her name as he thrust into her one last time. She gripped him with her arms and legs, curling around him as joy flooded her soul, obliterating years of shame and denial in an overwhelming rush of emotion.
He collapsed on to her, big, sweaty and heavy. Marissa didn’t care. She wanted to lie there all night, with him inside, loving her as it was always meant to be. She was safe, home at last.
Her eyes flew open.
Home. Where Antonia was. Anthony’s daughter.
Suddenly, he was crushing her. A surge of panic squeezed her chest and throat. “Anthony,” she gasped. “I can’t breathe.”
His head came up. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, but he moved, shifting their bodies so that she came to rest between the back of the sofa and his chest. One big hand stroked down the length of her spine as he murmured soothing words and planted soft kisses on the top of her head.
Under the influence of that comforting voice and hand, her breath slowed and her reason returned. Of course she had to tell him that Antonia was his daughter. He would know it, anyway, as soon as he caught sight of her eyes. Unless Marissa intended to hide Antonia away – which would be well nigh impossible – he was bound to meet her sooner or later.
She squeezed her eyes shut, snuggling into the warmth of his body as his arms tightened around her. She should tell him, right now, but she couldn’t force the words past the lump in her throat.
Tomorrow. She would tell him tomorrow. Or the next day, after she’d thought about the most sensible way to break the news. After all, Anthony might not want a ready-made family. Or he might be furious that she hadn’t already told him. Marissa couldn’t bear the thought of ruining this moment between them – not when they had just found each other after so long apart.
And she had to think about Antonia, too. What in God’s name would she say to her daughter about all this?
Anthony’s deep voice rumbled through his chest and into her body, startling her out of her uneasy reverie. “What troubles you, my sweet?”
She looked up. He gave her a loving smile, but his eyes were sombre and watchful. Her heart twisted at the idea that he might reject Antonia. He might reject her, too, for keeping such a dark secret.
Tomorrow, whispered the coward’s voice in her head.
She stretched up to kiss him. “Nothing, my love. Everything is just perfect.”
Anthony strode along Bond Street, feeling as light as a gull skimming over the whitecaps. For the first time in years, all was right with the world.
As he skirted a pair of dandies preening at their own reflections in a shop window, he patted his waistcoat to check that the small box from Phillip’s jewellers remained safely stowed in his pocket. Marissa’s engagement ring was a stunner – a large sapphire surrounded by diamonds. The stone matched her eyes. That made him a sentimental fool, of course, but he didn’t care. He would propose to her this evening, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
As he made his way to a hackney stand on Piccadilly, he spied a woman walking hand in hand with a young girl as they turned into Hatchard’s bookshop.
Marissa. He’d recognize her graceful figure anywhere. The girl must be her daughter.
He smiled. No time like the present to meet his future stepdaughter. Not that he would drop any hints, but surely Marissa couldn’t object to introducing him, especially under these circumstances. Meeting her might even be easier this way – running into them in a casual fashion. And he had to admit he was eager to meet the child. Marissa obviously adored her, and Anthony had every intention of loving her, too.
He crossed the street and followed them into Hatchard’s. After a short search, he found them looking through a pile of books, their backs to him as he approached.
“Lady Paget,” he said, affecting surprise. “How do—”
Anthony’s mind whirled as he stared into a living picture of himself as a child, especially her eyes. He had never seen eyes like that anywhere but reflected in the mirror.
After he managed to pound his brain into a semblance of order, he dragged his gaze to Marissa’s dead-white face. Her desperate eyes pleaded for mercy.
“How old is she?” he rasped. “She’s older than you told me, isn’t she?”
Marissa pressed a hand to her mouth, looking like the world had just come to an end. Maybe it had – for him, anyway.
“I’ll find out, whether you tell me or not,” he threatened.
“My daughter is twelve,” she finally whispered.
He could barely comprehend the words, or even hear them through the roaring in his ears. Not that he needed to. Proof was in that childish gaze, darting back and forth between the two adults.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he growled at Marissa.
She cast an anxious glance around the store. “Captain Barnett, please keep your voice down.”
The girl tugged on her mother’s arm. “Mamma, what’s happening?”
Marissa dredged up a weak smile. “Just a small misunderstanding, darling. Don’t worry.”
Anthony gave a harsh laugh. “Is that what people call it these days?”
“I’ll explain everything later,” she replied, looking frantic. “But I beg you, don’t make a scene.”
Anger and a sickening sense of betrayal lifted him on a cresting wave. “Beg all you want, Lady Paget. But tell your brother I expect payment in full by the end of the week, or I’ll see every last Joslin rotting in debtors’ prison.”
How could he have been such a bastard?
Anthony paced from one end of his office to the other, re-enacting the disastrous scene at Hatchard’s in his head. What a brute he’d been, making threats in front of a little girl – his own daughter. No matter what Marissa had done, it could never excuse such unforgivable behaviour.
