“I’ll ask the housekeeper where she keeps them,” Marcus said. “I would appreciate your opinion.”
Lady Nerine simpered and lowered her eyes in mock modesty. “I will do my best.”
Did Ruth imagine Marcus’s eye-roll? Surely he was too well-mannered for that? She could not be sure, because he turned away to address a servant.
Ruth sat with Lord d’Argento to one side and Lord Ormshaw to the other, which left Mr. Carrick and his mother to fill the spaces in between. Lord Ormshaw must be a baron, otherwise his title would be different to his surname. Even then, not all barons followed that convention. Ruth was not used to mingling in such exalted company, but she was fast coming to the conclusion they were people much like anyone else. They were not particularly different, apart from their manners and dress, but deep down, they were the same.
Much comforted by that thought, Ruth discovered her appetite was not quite as fugitive as she imagined. She concentrated on her food and made an excellent dinner.
Conversation was easy, apart from Lady Nerine’s constant attempts at flirtation. Even her sister tired of it after a time and tried to steer her ladyship away from the cloying behaviour obviously not pleasing Marcus. However, Lady Nerine appeared oblivious to any attempt to curtail her fan-fluttering and coy glances, none of which Ruth had seen in the nursery. Deep satisfaction warmed Ruth’s heart. Although her pleasure was mean-spirited and unchristian, to adopt Lady Ormshaw’s remark, Ruth felt she deserved some recompense for the way the younger lady treated her earlier.
Ruth took part in the conversation as well as she could. At the end of the meal, which lasted for some time, she led the ladies to the drawing room, where a maid brought in the tea tray. Ruth poured tea into the delicate china dishes brought for her to dispense, and there her role ended. The ladies gathered together and talked. They discussed people Ruth did not know and events she had not witnessed. After half an hour she was convinced they were doing it deliberately, all but Lady Damaris, who occasionally tried to include her.
All Ruth’s mellow mood evaporated. She was fuming, but she did her best not to reveal her inner anger, pressing her lips together to prevent a sharp retort. Eventually she got to her feet. The gentlemen were obviously making a night of it, and she could not blame them. Who would enter this room to experience such appalling behaviour? She glanced above the mantelpiece, at the portrait of a great lady from a bygone age. Her white ruff stood around her shoulders like a hedgehog’s prickles. She seemed as pleased as Ruth to see such manners. Ruth would not let them draw her into misbehaving so only one option remained to her.
“I need to attend to my duties. I must retire.”
If they heard her, they gave her little attention, apart from Lady Damaris, who glanced in her direction and gave her a terse nod.
Ruth left the room with all the dignity she could muster. She need not have bothered because when she looked back as she was leaving, nobody had paused. She was obviously superfluous to the evening, and they’d made her feel it.
Upstairs in the nursery she found the new nursery maid settling into the room she had vacated, or somebody had done it for her, to be more precise. Andrea paused to greet her, but the babies were asleep and it was obvious she was not needed. Night had fallen, the sky dusky with the last rays of the sun.
Ruth decided she might as well go to bed, wherever that was. Despondent, her heart in her boots, she found a footman, one of the new members of staff, and asked him to show her the way. He took her down to the main hall, the one with all the animals disporting themselves in the Garden of Eden. The painter had enjoyed himself, showing the various creatures. Some of them appeared to be figments of his imagination. Had anyone ever seen a striped horse? She moved to that wall for a closer look.
“You like the zebra?” someone said.
She knew the voice and despite her mood, her heart leaped. With a small scream, she spun around to confront him, her hand pressed to her chest. “Goodness, sir, you gave me quite a shock!”
Marcus smiled down at her. “I thought you heard my approach. I did not creep up on you.”
“I thought you were the footman coming back.”
“I want to show you myself.”
The double meaning of his words brought the heat to her cheeks. “There is no need. Won’t the guests need you?”
“Lord Ormshaw declared the evening at an end. He is collecting his family and departing, otherwise, he says, they will never get home. They live this side of York, barely two hours away. For some reason he does not wish to stay the night. Stay here and we’ll bid them goodnight together. Then we may go to bed.”
This time she did not mistake his meaning. She could not allow him to do this to her, otherwise she would become a mistress in truth. Then what would she do? Fall into a hole she could never climb out of, that was what. She would never resist him, not until the day he disposed of her and moved to someone new.
The other reason was her treacherous body. It yearned for him, her body softening for him in preparation to receive him, her breasts increasing in sensitivity. She would speak with him. For that reason, she wouldn’t immediately refuse him. If he was not teasing her. If he meant what he implied.
Ruth stood on shifting sands. She had no experience to draw on, no references to make, only her own instincts and sense of what was right. Her body yearned for him, as he so effectively taught it to do, but her mind screamed for her to leave and do it now, before she was completely ruined.
Or should she damn herself completely now, with all hope of respectability gone?
The guests came down the stairs, and a footman appeared as if by magic, carrying the gloves and hats the visitors had arrived in. D’Argento followed the group, his expression revealing nothing. He had behaved impeccably all evening. No wonder Ruth found reading his mood so difficult. He made it no easier as he bowed over each lady’s hand and expressed regret their visit was but a fleeting one. “You filled this great house with laughter and conversation,” he said to Lady Ormshaw.
Marcus joined in the outrageous flattery. “Indeed you are very welcome here, whenever you should decide to visit. I am delighted you could come.”
Ruth presented them with her best curtsey, which was not too different from her worst, not as graceful as most but at least acceptable. “I will probably not be here when you come again, but I was delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Lord Ormshaw harrumphed. “Thank you, ma’am, but I have a meet to attend in the morning.” He was going hunting. That explained his anxiety to return home. Not the malevolent glare his wife cast on Ruth before she left the house, her son in her wake.
Marcus shot her a sharp glance. She ignored it and concentrated on the guests. The door was thrown open, and the Ormshaw carriage waited outside. The young man gave Ruth a longer look and hung back. “I never thought fallen women looked like you,” he said to her, before they left.
Chapter Twelve
Ruth’s blood ran cold. D’Argento made a swift movement to stand in front of her, and by her side, Marcus went totally still. “They will not be coming back,” he said softly, so only the people closest to him could hear.
Once the door was closed, heedless of the footman who stood nearby, Marcus moved closer to Ruth. She could not step away, as d’Argento blocked her exit. Tension rose, sealing them together, rising like a living thing to surround them. “Did he really say that?” d’Argento wondered. “Or did he mean something else?”
“He said it. He meant it.” Marcus stood like an iron bar by her side. “That was why they left. Hunting be damned. Who calls a hunt in August?”
D’Argento turned and regarded them thoughtfully. “I will leave here and go to York in a day or two. The Ormshaws will not spout their nonsense abroad. I will ensure it.”
How he would do so, Ruth had no idea, but she would not like to get on the wrong side of the Ital
ian. Despite his exquisite appearance, powerful muscles occasionally made themselves apparent under the silks and satins he wore. He wielded his clever mind like an extra weapon.
“No, do not do this,” Ruth said.
“Too late, it’s done,” d’Argento said, a grim line to his mouth. “The boy is a fool. It remains to be seen if his parents are of the same cast of mind.”
“She is,” Ruth said dully. “She hardly spoke a word to me in the drawing room.”
“So I found you down here,” Marcus said softly. “You should be in bed.” With me, she heard in her mind, but that must be a product of her imagination, for he would hardly say aloud.
“I would speak to you tomorrow, Marcus,” d’Argento said. “Before I leave.” His silver-eyed stare brooked no denial.
Ruth blinked. D’Argento usually referred to Marcus as Lyndhurst, in the way men did to each other. Using his first name was unusual.
“In my study,” Marcus said. That was close to where they stood, the estate office where Marcus and his steward, when the man was in residence, attended to his many holdings. They would be least likely to be disturbed there.
“Very well.” D’Argento bowed to her. “I bid you goodnight, ma’am, and do not give the matter another thought.”
Of course that was just what Ruth did not do. At Marcus’s terse, “Come,” she meekly followed him. She would like to know where she was going to sleep, after all. So this was what it would be like as a fallen woman. Even staying under the same roof as Marcus, albeit a very large roof, would castigate her. While she was little better than a servant, her presence was accepted, but now she stepped out of that protective shelter, as his guest, she was subject to condemnation.
She could not take that step. Although seriously considering taking any offer Marcus was prepared to offer her before, she knew she couldn’t do it. Whatever had her sister been thinking when she followed him to London? To become his wife? Her lip curled.
They reached the landing and walked the few steps to where the stairs took off for the bedroom floor. Even in those few steps she passed a Van Dyck portrait and a side table holding a large Chinese vase which would have cost a king’s ransom. The house was full of treasures such as those, proclaiming Marcus’s wealth and status for all to see. What did Ruth own? A valise with a few clothes, a notebook and a journal. On quarter day she would be ten pounds richer, but that was months off yet. She possessed a generous salary, even for a governess, and she was but a nursery maid.
No, she could not even think of it. While she appreciated their indignation on her behalf, she could not stay here much longer, or her reputation would be completely destroyed, whatever she did.
D’Argento bade them goodnight on the next landing and walked towards his room, calling loudly for his valet as he did so. Marcus and Ruth watched him go, and then he turned to her. “Shall I show you to your new room?”
Before she could protest she would ask someone else, he took her hand. The touch seared through her, but she could not shake him off. She didn’t even try, but let him take her up the well-lit hallway, past the duke’s room and the duchess’s room, where he was still sleeping, to a room at the end. He opened the door and glanced up the corridor. It was empty.
Then he followed her inside.
The door barely closed before he had her in his arms, his mouth on hers. She gasped, then sighed, her body softening under his assault, even though she had every intention of repulsing him. Just one kiss, just one.
Ruth wasn’t sure how her arms ended around his waist, but it meant he could press closer to her. His lips left hers, just far enough for him to murmur her name, and then he returned to push his tongue into her mouth. She opened and tilted her head back, accepting him, even while she firmed her resolve. She must not forget.
He broke away and dropped his forehead to touch hers. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I missed you.”
She’d missed him too, but wild horses wouldn’t drag that admission from her. “You have everything planned, do you?”
“If you agree.” He lifted his head, smiling down at her. “You should let me ask first.”
She put her hands on his shoulders. Despite the powerful muscles flexing under her palms, she shoved him away. “Ask,” she said, tight-lipped.
He frowned. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Taking her hands, he drew her back with him, into the room.
For the first time she took in her surroundings. Her valise sat by the dressing table, standing out because of its shabbiness, the leather worn and scratched, the brass fastenings dulled and scuffed with age. The dressing table was a feminine concoction of sheer white drapery and silver-topped crystal bottles and dishes, with at least two silver hairbrushes neatly placed on it. In the centre of the room stood a draped bed, the canopy suspended from the ceiling. The drapes were green velvet, the tiebacks gold tasselled. The floor was partially covered by a carpet that reflected the decoration of the plaster ceiling above them.
She loved it.
Marcus took her to the bed and pushed her back, so she sat. The soft mattress gave under her weight, settling like a cloud around her. She tried not to be impressed. Ruth had never slept in a bed this fine, nor ever expected to.
He sat next to her, and held her close, his arm around her shoulders. “Sweetheart, tell me.”
“You want a complacent mistress,” she said bitterly. “You barely acknowledge me in the presence of others, yet you expect me to warm your bed at night?” He made a soothing sound but she would not let him stop her now she’d started. “Another woman might accept a wife’s leavings, but I will not. I am poor and helpless, it’s true, but I have my pride and I respect myself far too much for you to make me one of your possessions!”
“I would never ask that.” He spoke quietly, his eyes wide. “Who has been talking to you? D’Argento? I’ll kill him with my bare hands for telling you.”
“Lady Nerine. She told me you and she have a contract. You will marry as soon as possible. She came to you to remind you, since you appeared to be in no hurry. Tell me it isn’t true!” How much she longed to hear from him that it was a lie. She waited, her heart pounding, for his answer.
“You know it’s true.”
Her heart plummeted. “There’s no hope then.” She would not, although her body clamoured for her to do so. “I am not mistress material, Marcus. The new nursery maid has arrived and my work in the nursery is done for now. I’m a governess, not a nursery maid.”
“I would still like a responsible woman to oversee it. After all, I might make children of my own soon.” Tears pricked her eyes. She spun in his hold, but he put his other arm around her waist and refused to let her go. “Wait. Let me speak.”
Although she struggled, he held her firmly and would not let her go. Her breath shortened. He would not—no, he wouldn’t. “Then have your say and let me go.”
“Why do you think I went to York?” An edge of anxiety rasped his voice.
“Business, Lord d’Argento said.”
“Concerning that damned contract. Believe me, sweetheart, I entirely forgot it before d’Argento came to remind me. The agreement was over a parcel of land, with a daughter thrown in. I was an inducement for Lady Nerine’s father to sell. Both our fathers are dead, and I did not think that they took the condition any more seriously than I did. I had not realised her family reared her to expect the match, until she came here and taxed me with it. It was as I supposed. The contract is not worth the paper it’s written on.”
Her breath stopped completely. “You went for that?”
“Why else? I vowed to come to you entirely yours. I am, Ruth. I am yours. I did not come to conduct some hole-in-the-corner affair. That is not worthy of you.”
“Worthy of my sister?” She could not resist the taunt. He had treated her sister in such a way. She sat completely still, so he would not hold her even close
r. She could not bear that.
“No. That was different, and you know it.”
He’d paid for his lapse. Besides, a wench offering her services meant two people were involved in the decision. However angry she was with him, if matters indeed transpired as he described, she could not blame him for taking what was offered.
He was talking to her. She felt his agitation as if it was in her blood. Unless that was her own, of course, that was always possible.
“How can you be mine?” she asked then. He said much, but promised nothing. “I own nothing, I can bring you nothing. We are friends, and I treasure that. What happened between us was a mistake, and I should never have succumbed, but I blame myself as much as you. I forgot the realities. I know them now. I am a country girl, the daughter of a squire, destined to become a governess.”
“Or a duchess.”
Ruth lost her ability to breathe.
“That contract is not enforceable in law. If Lady Nerine tries, then she will find herself thwarted by the courts. The law cannot pledge the futures of two named people in a contract, particularly if they are minors.” He released her then, while she was gaping in shock, and slid to the floor, going down on one knee. “I can think of better places to do this, but needs must when the devil drives—” He gave a short laugh. “Never mind.” He took her hands, and she let them lie limply in his. “I’m asking you to marry me, Ruth. To become my wife.”
“I cannot.” Tears poured down her face, unbidden but unheeded. Why should she hide what she felt? “You know it isn’t possible.”
“Why not? Why should we care what the world thinks?”
“It matters, you know that. You are a duke. You have business affairs, family networks to join—”
He put two fingers over her mouth. “I have enough. More than enough. I want you, Ruth. I will not be happy unless you grace my life. You deserve more than mistress status, you deserve everything I can give you. I will settle an amount on you as a dowry. Better still, a small estate, enough to make you respectably married. I will not allow anyone to look down on you.”
War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5 Page 18
