He brought the tea, but climbed back into bed and settled himself, his back against the padded headboard before he passed her a cup. “Now drink up, and then I’ll leave you to dress.”
“I should wear black.” Not being a saint, she thought wistfully of the pretty clothes the sisters had brought yesterday. She would have to put them aside.
“A black armband will suffice,” he said. “We will have blacks made for you for public appearances, but you will not be going into public much.”
“No.” She could not, because of her father. She had no desire to do so.
“And not today or tomorrow,” he reminded her. “We will officially hear the sad news the day after tomorrow. Julius only heard this early because Tranmere rode ventre à terre to bring him the news. Even though the stage was slower than private transport, the coachman made good time, so we can expect the news to arrive more slowly. We will marry first, before we go into mourning.”
“We?”
“Gates was a distant relative, brought closer by our union,” he said firmly. He took a sip of his tea. “But I will have you close, so put your mind at rest about that. The decision is out of your hands.”
Her grief had ameliorated to a dull sadness today. Only when she thought of it—she would never see her father again, sit with him in the evenings, or discuss the affairs of the estate—did a sharp pain bring tears. Not being a person who enjoyed torturing herself, she would avoid that until she could think of those happy memories without weeping.
Her father would be pleased for her, and she would do her best to do him justice.
Not that she would not miss him. Sudden recollections of him would not bring the tears for some time, but she had to face what lay ahead with as whole a heart as possible.
Marcus was as good as his word. Once he had drunk his tea—telling that two tea-dishes were on the tray the maid had brought in—he kissed her and left her. When she would have prolonged the embrace, he gently disengaged.
“I meant to bring you comfort, nothing else,” he told her.
But she had felt his erection beneath his nightshirt and knew he still desired her. He had refrained for her sake, and he was right. They should not make love fully in the wake of such sad news. She did not want her first experience of full lovemaking to be comforting rather than passionate.
She spent the morning trying on the new clothes, standing still while her new maid stuck pins into the fabric and occasionally into her. Then Drusilla surprised her by bouncing into the room and asking her how soon she could be ready.
“We have ordered a visit from the mantua-makers,” she said firmly. “You need so many new things. We would go out, but Marcus has ordered you stay indoors.”
A pang of regret struck Viola when she realized she might have no clothes at all, except what lay here. The thieves had destroyed their belongings, which probably included her wardrobe. Her life as she had known it had emphatically ended.
So Marcus had ordered, had he? “Is he always so autocratic?”
“Sometimes.” Dru tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “But not as firmly as I heard him this morning. He was most emphatic.”
Of course, she could not venture outdoors, not without a veritable phalanx of footmen to protect her. Someone wanted her dead. Or captured. They were still no closer discovering what the consequences of their wedding might be, and she suspected Marcus of planning a busy day for her.
The mantua-maker brought bolts of cloth, lace, and trimmings, and quite turned Viola’s head. She was so busy deciding what she would have and which trim should adorn which fabric she had little time left to think of her current problems. But think she must. Not until the cobbler had come and measured her feet, and then a milliner arrived to fit her for new hats. “We may order underwear and stockings without fittings,” she said, although even that gave her pause. It appeared that a lot of effort went into being a lady. Also, a great deal of money. Not that she was allowed to think about that. Even when she demanded the cost of an item, the mantua-maker was extremely reticent to disclose the answer, discussing discounts and patronage as reasons.
Just before dinner, when she was sitting quietly with a dish of tea and a book, Marcus came to her. “I have been all day at Doctor’s Commons,” he said. “At least it feels like it. I sat and waited. I made it perfectly clear I was going nowhere. People walked past me and stared, and others joined me on the hard seats. It’s an old building and the floor and walls are stone. The chill struck right through to my bones.”
“Should I send for a hot water bottle?” Her solicitous air carried humor, because the day outside was still fine.
“No, indeed, I am not so old as to need artificial warming. Although I’m sure a kiss would help.”
Giving a long-suffering sigh, she put down her book, rose, and crossed the rug to his sofa. He pulled her down, folded her in his arms, and kissed her. She enjoyed the kiss so much she almost forgot the import of his errand. Nestled in his arms, she said, “I collect you had no luck?”
“I had a great deal,” he said. “I have the license, handily dated to the beginning of today, so we may marry tomorrow.”
Viola caught her breath. It was real. He meant to marry her. “Do you need to make the sacrifice to ensure I’m safe?”
“No,” he said, and kissed her again.
His negative made her feel better. It implied all kinds of things, but mostly he wanted to marry her for herself and not just to protect her.
“While I appreciate your concern, I want you to get something from the bargain.”
“I will.” He smiled down at her. When he did so, creases appeared beside his mouth and his eyes warmed, just as when they were in company and he laughed without moving his mouth. “I will get parents who are not constantly reminding me they want to see my heir before they are completely in their dotage. I get someone to warm my old bones in bed, and I get a…friend.”
That sounded far too lukewarm for her taste. She would have responded, but he touched a finger to her nose and followed it with another kiss.
“Friendship is too often disparaged. Good friends, constant friends, are one of life’s joys. When we Emperors were children, we banded together. Our outrageous names at first made us constant targets for others, and we fought them and decided to bear our names proudly. Even without the current troubles, we would be friends. But outside the family, I have few. I don’t seem to have the knack of making friends.”
“I was your friend.”
“For a brief time when we were children. But you had an indelible effect on me. You made me believe friendship was possible, that I could talk to people as if they were human beings and not objects of terror.”
The confession sounded odd, until she realized what he was telling her. He was an earl, heir to a great title, something that could prove a burden to a boy of natural reticence. He was a clever boy, she remembered. The teasing he received from his siblings when he preferred to read a book than go outside and play. She would sit by his side, enjoying the tranquility, before going off to get into yet another scrape with Livia or Claudia. Dru had always been quiet, like her brother.
She had thought him pompous and pedantic. He was not. He was only shy.
To have to face people when inside he was burning to run away took a great deal of courage, yet Marcus did it every day. Or had. The social mask he had perfected even fooled her. She had assumed he had grown into a man who took dignity for granted. Until recently, that was. Their race to London had taught her a great deal about him, some things she was only beginning to realize. He was potently male, powerfully built and…shy. His good breeding drove him to cover it up with formality.
A man of power needed to take the reins and do everything equally well. Marcus had accepted the challenge, leaving his siblings free to take their own courses in life.
Of course she knew Darius’s secret, but it was one that might have dire consequences. Darius was not
drawn to the fairer sex. He would probably never marry, become what society termed “a confirmed bachelor.” So Marcus had protected Darius, too. If he had given way, his brothers might have taken that part. Doing so would have put Darius in even more peril. To love a person of one’s own sex, to love him physically, was punishable by death.
Now Marcus wanted to put all that protection her way, to put her above all others as the marriage service required.
The urge to curl into him, to let him take control and shield her, overwhelmed Viola, but she resisted it with everything she had. She would not do that. She would not become another burden for him to bear.
“Perhaps we should wait to marry,” she said.
“No. If you are not married, you are in even more danger. Northwich will take you and force your union to one of his sons. He is searching for the girls for that reason. If I marry you, that renders you useless in his eyes.”
“Forced marriages are not legal,” she pointed out. The same law that had compelled him to seek a license before their marriage had declared abduction and forced marriage illegal. They could be annulled. Very little could be annulled, but the law laid out the rare circumstances, and that was one of them.
“If they discover it.” He touched her cheek. “Northwich’s sons are handsome, they are wealthy, and they could make such a marriage palatable.”
Marcus was always fair. She was discovering that, too. “But marrying me would put you in danger. If he has you murdered, I would be a widow.” Tears filled her eyes at the reminder of her father’s end and what might happen to Marcus. “I want to meet this man, or I will make a demon out of a human being.”
“When we are married,” he said firmly. “After we have discovered who wants you, who is sending men to find you.”
“Could it be both?” she asked.
“It could,” he admitted. “Northwich is a supporter of the Young Pretender. But he is firstly for himself. If he can benefit his own ambitions, he will, over everyone else.”
What a world this was!
After dinner, his lordship had asked her into the study. She had never entered the room before—a dark place, redolent of port and maleness. His man of business was there, someone Viola knew slightly because of his visits to Haxby. “I know you have no man of business, my dear, but we have been as fair as we can.”
With no dowry, Viola had assumed she would not sign a contract to marry. She had very few belongings, and after the attack on the Scarborough house, no idea of their condition. She stared at the small print, honor bound to read it all.
“Allow me, ma’am.” Mr. Gordon outlined the conditions. Viola listened in horror. Her pin money amounted to what appeared to her to be a fortune. “I cannot take that amount out of the estate,” she protested.
“His lordship wants to give you more,” Mr. Gordon said, his mouth tightening into an almost invisible line.
“No!”
From behind her, Marcus put his hand on her shoulder. “You need clothes, trinkets, carriages, horses, and any number of personal items we do not want charged to the estate. Don’t argue, sweetheart.”
Oh. He had called her the name in public now, well, in front of his father and his man of business.
Mr. Gordon explained where she would live if her husband died early and what her daughters could expect in the way of dowries.
The more he outlined, the more she wanted to sink into the ground. “I will cost you too much!” she protested. She had not thought this far, to imagine what a drain on the estate a bride without a dowry would be. “I can’t do this!”
“You may still change your mind,” Lord Strenshall said quietly. Their eyes met, and for the first time she recognized his reluctant acceptance of his son’s choice.
“Sign it,” Marcus said. He sounded strained.
If she did not marry him, the contract would not be valid. And she could economize, not spend so much. Pay the estate back.
“You’re stressed,” Marcus said this time. “Please, just sign.”
The “please” did it. She signed where the lawyer told her to and then demurely excused herself.
Chapter 12
When the lawyer had gathered up his papers and left, Marcus faced his father. “I would like to know what you are about, sir. I had no intention of making Viola sign a contract.”
“She must. Every bride in our family needs to sign one. We need to make it clear what her role is to be.” Lord Strenshall shook his head. “I have remained silent through this. I suggest that if you wish me to remain so, you leave the room now.”
“No.” Marcus wanted this discussion now. “She has very little of material value; you know that. It is not as if we cannot afford to support a woman with nothing. You have made it clear to her how little she brings to the estate, and now she feels worse than ever.”
Lord Strenshall stared back at his son, unmoved. “I like Miss Gates. She proved an excellent helpmeet to her father when she came of age. But she is trouble, Marcus, whether she wants to be or not. Bringing her into the family is taking protection too far. Were you aware I was in negotiations with the Earl of Spenlove about his daughter for you?”
“Yes,” he said shortly. “The discussions were in their infancy, with nothing decided or agreed. I am sorry for Lady Myra, but if she had any hopes, I will have to disappoint her.” Myra was an insipid, though pretty, miss. She would have bored him in a week. Lord knew why he imagined he could ever be happy with her. But before Viola had re-entered his life, happiness was not one of his considerations for marriage.
It was now.
“I have sent a note to tell him the impossible has happened and my son has fallen in love. How else to explain your sudden start? This is most unlike you, Marcus.”
“Perhaps not,” Marcus said. Since his father had begun, he took the seat Viola had just vacated. It was still warm from her body. The thought of having her in his bed all the time sent a shot of heat to his groin.
“Tell me, Marcus. Do you love her? Is this the reason for your sudden decision?”
“She is in danger,” he reminded his father. He did not want to think about the question. Brought up to discard the idea of love as a necessary part of marriage, he had not factored it into his decision. Or tried not to. “I can protect her more efficiently by marrying her. If she is married, she is less of an interest to the Dankworths. And I can stay close.”
Lord Strenshall snorted. “If that were your concern, we could have married her off to a more suitable candidate and protected them both. We are not short of houses to send her, or we could purchase one. With a ring of servants between her and the outside world, we could protect her flawlessly. You do not have to become involved. We will not abandon her. Of course that would be out of the question. We could hand her to Julius. He has even more ways of protecting an innocent threatened by the Dankworths.” He said the word as if it were poison on his tongue. “It is not too late. The contract is only in force if you marry her. And you have not signed it yet.”
No, he had not. Still simmering with anger, he seized the quill from the pot, ensured it was charged with sufficient ink, and scrawled his signature on the document. He threw the quill down when he’d done. “Then that is one consideration dispensed with. I will not abandon her now.”
“But what kind of marchioness will she make?”
“A damned good one,” Marcus growled. “She’s lovely, she’s intelligent, and she’s—” Mine. He left the word unsaid. Appalled, he wondered when he had turned into a troglodyte. But he would not back down. The notion of marrying Lady Myra, or anyone else for that matter, left him feeling hollow and unsatisfied.
Was that love? But love was supposed to bring happiness, was it not? “Did you love Mama when you married?”
His father shocked him by saying “No.” The devotion between his parents was evident for everyone to see. The children had grown up in an atmosphere of love, knowing their parents were together
in all things. He held his tongue while his father spoke. “I imagined myself in love with a girl who would have made a very unsuitable marchioness. She was the daughter of—never mind, that is not the point.”
But oh, it was. Marcus longed to discover who the paragon who had taken his father’s heart was.
“Tell me of her,” he said. “What made her unsuitable?”
“She was pretty, sweet, and charming. On the face of it, a perfect marchioness. But the responsibilities would have killed her. When my parents informed me I was to marry Frederica, I will tell you I was appalled. I refused outright. I wanted Amabel.” He closed his eyes briefly. The only Amabel Marcus knew was the daughter of a local businessman in Haxby. She was sweet, but she had put on weight over the years. She was also the contented wife of a prominent member of the Chamber of Commerce. Her? Surely not!
“But if it is the lady I am thinking of, her understanding is a little less than average.” And she could gossip for hours. That would surely give his father a headache. She must have been pretty indeed.
“The point is I nearly sacrificed the marquisate for a whim. I soon fell out of love with her and learned to love Frederica. It could not have been a lasting affection, if I was so easily persuaded into a different connection.” Lord Strenshall sat up, facing his son.
This was always his way, to reason Marcus out of any rare start he might have. He would continue until he won, once he had the bit between his teeth. His tenacity had worn down many an opponent. But not this time. He would not best his son.
The notion of anyone else taking personal care of Viola made Marcus feel ill. And marrying her off for protection? No. Except that was what he had planned for himself. He gripped the arms of the chair, dug in his nails, and tried to make himself return to the utterly perfect reasoning that had brought him to this point.
It was no good. The thought of having her in his bed had taken hold. Already the predictable result had begun, heating his groin. “I am more rational where Viola is concerned. Good God, sir, she is a daughter of the Stuarts. Her grandfather was an anointed king!” Taking that into consideration she deserved better, not worse.
Dilemma in Yellow Silk (Emperors of London) Page 15
