Nothing to Commend Her

by Jo Barrett

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm not caught yet."

  He chuckled. “Why bother running from the inevitable? You care for her, it's plain to see."

  Crittenden sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “It will take some—adjusting to. A long engagement, I think."

  He shook his head. “She isn't the sort to wait for long. She'll be wanting to go home soon, I imagine."

  Crittenden lurched forward in his seat. “Home?"

  "Home to America,” he said with a nod, and wondered if Agatha wished to return to her father's townhouse in London. Although she'd promised to stay, that was before she knew the truth.

  Barstoke appeared and announced dinner.

  Magnus rose to his feet, the weight of his past, his future, his fears weighing on him. “Dare I ask if the ladies will be joining us?"

  They'd taken the midday meal in a different part of the orangery where they could work at their formulas on paper while they ate. He'd spied Agatha through the glass, having a need to catch the faintest glimpse of her. If she were to leave him, how would he bear it?

  "No sir, they have elected to have a tray sent to Lady Leighton's rooms."

  With a sigh of resignation, Magnus and Crittenden made their way to the dining room and ate in dismal silence. Each thinking on the woman who'd managed to wrap herself around their hearts.

  Agatha bit into her lip and set her tea aside. She had to ask her friend's opinion, she had no one else to speak to in matters of the heart. Hattie was too far away, now on her honeymoon, and Lady Crittenden had left, although she didn't feel comfortable enough with the woman to discuss relations with her husband.

  That left her friend, Katherine, whom she had the distinct feeling wasn't exactly naive regarding men. Not that she thought her anything less than a lady, but she did have five brothers, after all. One could hardly avoid learning some distinctive details in such a situation.

  "Katherine, I—"

  "Yes?"

  She sipped her tea, tasting nothing, as she peered over the cup.

  Averting her gaze, she set her cup aside. “I need to ask your opinion on a certain matter, but I'm afraid it's rather—personal."

  "You can discuss anything with me, Agatha, and it will always remain in the strictest confidence."

  "I know, it's just rather awkward,” she said, wringing her hands.

  "My father always says if you don't put a problem on the table, how will you ever begin to dismantle it?"

  Agatha grinned. “I can see where you get your sense of science from."

  "Yes, there are several in the family.” She reached across the settee and touched her hand. “Tell me what's troubling you. If I'm of no help, no harm will be done. But I want to help."

  "Well it—he—that is to say—” She took a deep breath and looked her square in the eye. “Magnus is afraid I will be repulsed by his scars if he and I were to attempt to have marital relations.” There, it was out, and she felt only slightly relieved, but took a deep breath in any event.

  "Oh, dear,” Katherine said, as she sat back, her gaze drifting away.

  "I hope you're not too shocked by the topic, but I've no one else I can speak with."

  She jerked her head around an understanding smile on her face. “Of course not. It is a rather dire problem."

  "Yes, quite. I'd hoped that with your knowledge of men, having so many brothers, that you might have some idea of how I can convince him that— well he simply doesn't believe me when I tell him that his scars are of no consequence."

  "Well.” She jumped to her feet and paced a moment or two. “Each of my brothers is quite different, but I suspect Magnus is most like my brother Reginald. He is the most stubborn of them all, always thinks he knows best for everyone.” She tapped her chin with a finger then paused and grinned down at Agatha. “However..."

  She lurched to the edge of the cushion. “What? What have you thought of?"

  "I overheard, quite by accident of course,” she said with a wink, “that his wife had seduced him and he had no choice but to marry her."

  "Oh my,” Agatha gasped.

  "Not to worry, it was a plot to get my brother to move on with things. He loves her dearly and she him, but he had a severe case of cold feet and refused to pop the final question. He was constantly coming up with all sorts of reasons not to marry. But in the end everything turned out rather well for them both.” She spun around and looked about the room. “But this won't do. Not at all."

  "What do you mean?"

  A sinister grin stole over her friend's lips. “Here is my suggestion, and mind you, it isn't for the faint of heart."

  A few hours and quite a bit of brandy later, Magnus climbed the stairs, hating himself for deceiving Agatha, wondering yet again, if he'd been honest at the first if she would've stayed with him. Now there was little question in his mind if she would or not. Her continued silence and avoidance of him was proof enough. He would not be surprised if both she and Miss Reynolds made for London at first light.

  He entered his dressing room and tugged at his neck cloth. His valet appeared.

  "I've no need of you tonight, Simmons.” He wanted to be left alone, completely with his disfigured self.

  He dropped into a chair and tugged at his boots.

  "Allow me, my lord.” Simmons quickly removed his boots and was gone with a wave of Magnus’ hand. The man knew when he was in a mood, he'd witnessed his recovery first hand.

  Magnus rose and peeled the shirt over his head as he crossed to the bedroom. He tossed it to a chair in front of the fire and stood there watching the flames.

  "I'd wondered when you were coming to bed,” Agatha said from behind him.

  He spun around and reached for his shirt, and put it back on swiftly while keeping his left side facing away from the bed.

  "I thought you had retired,” he said, staring into the flickering flames.

  "I have."

  Her voice virtually purred and he tampered down the surge of desire rising in his blood. “I thought you weren't speaking to me."

  "Oh, that was simply to give me time to think."

  He turned as she sat up and he realized she was naked. Her pale skin glowed in the flickering firelight. She was an angel, with her hair down about her shoulders and those exotic eyes wide and deep looking up at him from behind her spectacles.

  He swallowed...hard. Resisting her would be the hardest thing he ever did, but he had to or else he would lose her.

  And yet, he'd thought he'd lost her but an hour ago. That was why he'd remained in his study with Crittenden getting as close to foxed as a man could get without crossing the line. Her safety was the only thing that had stopped him. He had to be alert to watch over her, whether she wanted him to or not. But now...she was here in his room, in his bed, as bare and as beautiful as ever.

  She rose and crossed to him where he stood before the fire. He could see her hands shaking just the slightest bit, but she didn't hide her body from his view. To have her as his wife, body and soul, would be the greatest gift he'd ever received.

  Stopping before him, she reached out and spread her hands across his chest, running over his covered skin, then began to work the buttons free. “I've seen them, Magnus. They are unpleasant, they make me hurt inside for what you suffered, but they are not you."

  He stilled her hands at their work.

  Tears pooled in her eyes as she gazed up at him. “Don't turn away from me because of the past. Give us a chance for a future together."

  Slowly, he dropped his hands and let her do as she wished. If this is what she wanted, although he knew she would turn away in the end, he could not deny her anything.

  With a tremulous smile, she unfastened the remaining buttons and slid his shirt from his shoulders. His jaw popped, he clenched it so hard, but he dare not move an inch.

  He sucked in a breath and clamped his lids closed as the tips of her fingers brushed across his skin and over the harsh ridges of his scars. But she d
idn't merely examine his old wounds, she examined the rest of him as well. He felt the warmth of her breath, then her soft lips as she moved from his right side, mangled and deformed, across to his left with delicate kisses. Kisses so soft and sweet, they tore a groan from his throat.

  "I see you, Magnus. All of you, and I shall never turn away."

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tilted up her chin and savored the sincerity in the depths of her eyes. He slipped her spectacles from her nose and placed them on the mantle, then lowered his head. She'd seen him, touched him, and still remained. It was enough to give him the courage to love her.

  He brushed his lips across hers then led her back to the bed and laid her against the pillows. Her hair spread out around her like a dark halo, her deep brown eyes shimmering up at him filled with excitement and so much more.

  That image remained with him as he banked the fire, allowing the darkness to wrap around him, concealing him from her view as he disrobed. He would show her no more ugliness.

  He climbed into the bed beside her and hesitated, afraid to touch her, afraid to begin, for he knew there would be no turning back.

  She rolled toward him and curled against his side. He was grateful that at least it was his good side facing her, so she wouldn't feel the brunt of his scars against her delicate skin. But she laid her hand against his chest and gently followed the horrid ridges down across his hip to his leg. As she neared his throbbing shaft, he clasped her hand before she could venture any further.

  "Does it bother you so much, my touching you?” she asked.

  He chuckled roughly. “Hardly."

  "Then why did you take my hand away?"

  "Because I like it too much."

  "I see,” she purred, and settled her body atop his.

  He sucked in a breath at the feel of her full breasts pressed against his chest, and her moist heat nestled against his erection.

  He swallowed hard. “Are you sure you want this—me? You've seen what I am."

  "I would think the answer is obvious,” she said, her lips brushing back and forth across his. “But I have to admit, I'm not sure how to manage the, um, rest of this. They only put just so much information in books, I'm afraid. And my aunt was rather vague on the subject before we married."

  He could feel the smile on her lips and easily pictured her body flush with both desire and embarrassment.

  "I think I can assist you, my lady,” he said, his heart light and full of hope, for although she trembled, he knew it had nothing to do with his scars.

  "Please do, my lord,” she said with a heavy breath.

  Grasping her hips, he lifted her just enough until she could feel the tip of his erection against her opening.

  "Oh my. That feels..."

  "Yes, it does,” he growled as he slid into her heated core, then rolled her to her back and held himself above her on his elbows while he kissed her thoroughly. With a single thrust, he broke through her maidenhead.

  She gasped but held onto him tightly.

  "It will ease in a moment,” he said, and laid butterfly kisses across her lips and cheeks, holding back the burgeoning need to plunge into her time and again. “If I could have spared you that, I would have."

  "I know,” she said with a smile against his lips, and began to move beneath him.

  He responded in turn, and like a dance, they rode the waves of their passion, exploring, touching, tasting...exploding.

  She called out his name on a sweet shrill note, and it brought him to an explosive end. He filled her with his seed, as she fed his heart and soul with her cries of passion.

  His heart pounding, his head spinning, he lay back against the pillows with his wife in his arms and stared into the dark, thanking God for bringing her into his life.

  "I had no idea it was like that,” she whispered.

  He chuckled. “It isn't always."

  She lifted her head and he saw, in the faint light of the moon seeping between the curtains, her perplexed scrutiny.

  "It's different for different people,” he explained.

  "Oh. I see,” she said, her voice uneven, and laid her head against his chest. She seemed to have no qualms running her hands over his scars or any other part of him, and he reveled in it.

  He slid his fingers into her tangled locks. “It wasn't like this with her."

  "You don't have to tell me anything, Magnus. I don't want to—"

  "Shh.” He pressed a kiss to her brow. “I want to tell you."

  Her hand, splayed across his chest while her fingers moved in slow circles above his heart, waiting for him to continue.

  "There was never any love in this house. Only hate and pain,” he said. “My parents were forever at each other's throats, leaving little time to give a child any attention. I had great hopes for Elizabeth and myself. I wanted to fill this house with happy sounds, sounds of family. I'd thought I could love her when I asked her to marry me, or at least come to care for her as I'd hoped she would come to care for me, but it wasn't to be."

  "She didn't love you."

  "No. Not long after we wed, she confessed that she'd married me for my title and money. She despised me for taking away her youth, her life. She called me monster long before the scars."

  Her fingers clenched into a fist. “And yet you tried to save her life."

  He settled her fingers back over his heart. “We were arguing over some silly party she wanted to have, but I was too busy to have a house full of her friends, people I would've been forced to entertain, or so I told myself. Perhaps I merely wanted to hurt her as she had hurt me. Whatever the true reason, I told her no and stormed out. There was a crash in my wake, but I ignored it. She enjoyed throwing things when she was angry, not unlike my mother."

  "The fire."

  "Yes, it was several minutes later when I realized what had happened. She'd thrown a lit lantern and within moments it had licked up the curtains and set the room ablaze. By the time I reached her, it was too late."

  "It wasn't your fault, Magnus."

  He stroked her bare shoulder with the tips of his fingers. “Perhaps not all, but I must claim my part."

  "Yes, I suppose you must."

  "For nearly a year, as I lay in my bed mending, forcing my limbs to obey me, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd become just like my father. Spiteful and cruel. I wondered if I would ever know love, if this house would ever ring with happy voices."

  She lifted her head and slid her hand to his cheek, her touch warm and gentle. “We each have a bit of our parents in us, we cannot deny that, but we are each our own person as well. Your life, this house, is what you make of it, and nothing more. You cannot let the past determine your future."

  His heart warmed all the more with her fierceness on his behalf, and he decided to expose the last of himself to her. She'd welcomed him into her body, he prayed her heart would do the same.

  "It won't,” he said. “Not any longer, not with you in my life. You drove out all the ghosts and brought life into this house.” He slid his hand through her tangled curls to the base of her neck and brought her lips close to his. “I love you, Agatha,” he said, and kissed her softly.

  He felt a tear splash against his cheek as her lips trembled against his. He brushed his fingers across her damp face and studied her in the dim light. Fear threatened to cut through him, but he held it at bay, determined to make no assumptions, to give them both a chance.

  "Why do you weep?"

  "I-I hadn't wanted to hope.” She sniffled. “I knew a man could desire a woman and not love her.” She swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “And I love you so much. I was afraid you would never feel the same about me."

  "You—” Too choked with emotion to speak, he pulled her against him and let her tears dampen his chest as his own slipped from the corners of his eyes.

  They lay together for several minutes, holding one another in the dark.

  "I'm sorry I'm such a watering pot,” she mumbled against his skin
.

  He laughed, rolling her to her back, and braced himself above her on his arms. “You, my love, can be anything you like. A countess, a scientist, even a watering pot—just as long as you are mine."

  "Always,” she whispered. “As I hope you are mine."

  "I wouldn't have it any other way.” He kissed her tenderly, then loved her with everything he couldn't say with mere words.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  "Ah, so the happy couple is happy once again,” Crittenden said, strolling into the dining room the following morning.

  Magnus enjoyed the blush stealing over Agatha's cheeks. “You could say that,” he said, and winked at her, bringing a deeper hue to her flushed face.

  "In that case, perhaps I should take my leave of you today. Now that you two are set to rights, and the last, save one other guest, has left, I thought it might be best if I followed suit. But I will gladly stay if you wish it."

  "I don't see why you should,” Agatha said, then looked at Magnus, her beautiful eyes wide. “I mean, the decision, of course, is yours, darling."

  He chuckled, and covered her hand atop the table. “Agatha's right. After all, there's not much more to do but sit and wait for this lunatic to strike again.” He knew his friend was trying to stave off the marriage trap, they'd discussed it at length last evening, but doubted this last effort to run would do him any good. “But I would appreciate it if you remained, another set of eyes, and all that."

  "Mr. Clarkson may have some luck,” Agatha added.

  He sighed and shook his head. “I've little hope there. The list of suspects is too long."

  "Then you finally agree that it is not a ruse or misdirection?” she asked, her eyes dancing.

  He chuckled with a nod.

  Crittenden took a place at the table with a filled plate. “Then we should re-examine your past, my friend,” he said, pointing his fork at Magnus. “There has to be a clue there somewhere.” He shoved a large helping of kippers into his mouth.

  Magnus slid his hand from Agatha's and sat back in his chair. “The one woman who despised me is dead."