Second Chance Marquess (Second Chance Series Book 1)

by Jessica Jefferson

  Her eyes grew wide. “You’d have me believe you were simply a victim of circumstance?”

  Finally, some light had come to those green eyes of hers. It was a welcomed sight even if it was at his expense. “Not at all,” he answered. “We had already progressed to the bedroom when she finally took off the mask. I could have stopped it then. I would have had a fair amount of explaining to do, but Lawrence would have understood. He wouldn’t have been pleased, but he would have forgiven me. Not immediately, but with time. I could have salvaged our friendship.”

  “You didn’t stop it?” Her tone was full of judgement. Willie never hesitated to saddle up and sit atop her moral high horse.

  “No, I didn’t,” he stated boldly, without a moment’s hesitation. “I considered it, briefly. I could have quite easily gotten up and walked away. I could have left her there, on the bed, alone. I could have taken my leave and headed out to spend the rest of my evening in a brothel, or better, I could have gone home and slept it off. But I didn’t. I stayed and I made love to her, knowing exactly who she was and what the price of our hour together would cost. I did it without giving Lawrence’s feelings on the matter a second thought.”

  George didn’t say it so bluntly to shock her, but because saying it any other way would be coloring it a more optimistic color than it deserved. He’d spent years coloring stories to his advantage, shading the situation with nuance and making himself the unfortunate victim of a jealous peerage. It was always someone else’s fault, never his own. His father had taught him to always deflect and never admit. It wasn’t cowardly, but rather the only way one could truly get ahead in life. Because in their world, you couldn’t trust anyone because they were all after what you already had. But this wasn’t just another defense against the papers, another vain attempt to bolster his own reputation. This was his confession—the truth, several years in the making.

  He couldn’t lie to Willie, nor did he want to.

  “And the other stories?” she asked, not even blushing despite his language.

  He leaned back against the padding of the bench, his arms spread out against the top of it. “I suppose there’s a little truth in all the stories.”

  “The seduction of young theatre ingénues?”

  “True,” he answered. “That’s one of my favorites.”

  “Refusing to marry despite ruining the reputation of the Duke of Brisbane’s daughter?”

  “Mostly true, though terribly exaggerated.”

  “That sordid tale with the sisters from Russia. Weren’t they some sort of royalty?”

  “Both of them, and yes, true.”

  He watched Willie’s expression turn from curious to…disappointed. “Have I shocked you?”

  She shrugged. “I would have been more shocked had you answered false.”

  Of course, he thought ruefully. He was exactly the man she expected him to be.

  Willie turned back to the window, leaving him alone to contemplate their exchange. Their brief relationship had burned quite intensely, but eventually consumed by those same flames. Ten years later, and he could still remember every exchange, every awful thing they’d said to each other the night it had all fallen apart. It had taken months for him to recover, even though he would later swear to his father that he’d forgotten all about her in a matter of days. On reflection, he’d never forgotten about her entirely. Every so often, he’d sit by the fire in his study, deep in his cups, trying to remember how her hair, corn silk in color, felt in his hands, how comically long her feet were, and how much he missed their conversation.

  He let the anger consume him to the point that he became everything her aunt, and Willie, had proclaimed him to be. The decade of debauchery that followed had solidified his reputation as a complete and utter libertine, a scoundrel beyond redemption. Of course, the mommas of London wouldn’t let a little thing like a dubious legacy overshadow his fortune and title, but he’d vowed to stay far away from marriage, even if that meant forgoing the opportunity to produce an heir.

  He lived for himself and no one else.

  And for once, he felt wrong for it. Seeing her again, he knew the truth. She’d experienced that and so much more, and was better for it. She’d managed to make amends with the past while taking care of both a dying husband and a spoiled half-sister. He could barely take care of himself. The only constant in his life was a sour old butler and a younger, yet equally sour valet, whose name he couldn’t even remember half the time.

  He watched her stare out the window. Her small nose turned up slightly at the tip and her lips parted with every exhalation – small details that were scorched onto his memory. Though he was appreciative of her appearance, he wanted more. He wanted to know what she was thinking, how she was feeling having been plunged into such an unimaginable circumstance.

  The carriage began to slow and then it turned suddenly. Something was wrong. Willie turned to him, her eyes wide. He quickly threw himself to her bench and braced her with one of his arms, the other holding on to the seat as they jumped erratically to and fro. The rain was deafening now. Thunder shook the carriage and lightening illuminated the inside with every strike. Even if Willie screamed, he couldn’t have heard her over the chaos.

  They were rocking so severely it took all his strength to keep them both on the bench. The carriage hit a bump and suddenly they were both propelled in the air. He grabbed for her, but she’d been thrown out of reach. In a flash of lightening, they were spinning. The carriage had been upturned and was falling. He was thrown into the side of the carriage, then the ceiling, and then all was still. They’d come to a sudden halt.

  George quickly gathered his wits and started to fell around him, searching for Willie in the darkness. He felt the silk of her gown and the soft flesh underneath.

  “Willie? Willie are you all right?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Chapter 7

  She’d been enjoying a book under the giant willow that graced the bank of the small stream behind her great aunt’s country property when he first dared to approach her alone.

  The sound of his heavy, boot-clad steps crushing the dry leaves that covered the autumn ground roused her from her distraction. It had been her hiding space, the place she went when she wanted to be alone and allow herself distraction from the responsibilities that weighed on her slim shoulders since the death of her father and stepmother. Even though her great aunt had been kind enough to take both she and Kitty in, she knew she was a burden, though Aunt Louisa would never have said so. For once in her life she felt uncertain about where her life would lead her, which was a terrible thing for someone who’d always been so self-assured.

  She looked up, and there was her neighbor to the west. She’d recognized him from the first day they’d arrived. The Marquess of Chesterton and his wife had come to visit, bringing their eldest son along. Their youngest had been away at Eton.

  He was an Earl or something of the sort. She’d never met any of the peerage before, having only ever read about them in the gossip pages. He was terribly attractive, with black hair that was strewn out of sorts and a fine form that lead her to think he was more inclined to sport than leisure. She’d heard some girls talking in the village and knew she wasn’t the only one who thought so. He’d garnered a reputation for breaking hearts and ruining more than one reputation during his extended holidays from school.

  Now, he was grown and settling in at this estate, one of the many homes the family owned across England. The girls of the village were thrilled, the prodigal son had returned along with their hopes of snagging a titled husband.

  “My Lord,” she greeted, setting down her book and sitting up to greet him properly.

  “No.” He held up his hand to stop her mid-rise. “Please don’t get up. You look far too comfortable. In fact, I’m sorry that I disturbed you.”

  She smiled at his kindness. “I was just reading. Are you looking for my father?”

  He looked toward his house and then back
again, his hands wringing about the handle of the woven basket he was carrying. “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh? Then what brings you all the way out here?” This particular spot was a considerable distance from either one of their homes and it was quite unlikely that anyone would simply stumble upon it by accident.

  “A walk,” he answered. “I was just taking some air and thought this looked like a grand place to sit and enjoy my lunch.”

  She bit her lip. “Of course. I’ll go so you can—”

  “No,” he interrupted, taking a seat on the ground across from her. “Don’t go. Join me.” He placed the basket between them and began removing its contents. “There’s plenty here. There’s ham and bread, cheese and some fruit preserves. If none of those suit your fancy, there’s tartlets and wine.”

  She watched the unloading of the buffet in utter confusion. “You walked all this way to have yourself a picnic lunch?” What a perfectly frivolous idea, she thought.

  He hesitated before passing her a plate. “Not exactly.”

  “Isn’t it a bit far from your home. I can barely see your castle from here.”

  He laughed. “My castle? Hardly.”

  “Well, it looks like a castle to me.” Indeed it did. She’d never seen a residence as grand as his. She’d only rode past it on horseback, the white limestone exterior standing out from the surrounding landscape like a beacon of opulence.

  He poured himself a glass of wine. “I’d heard this spot was particularly lovely and thought I’d see for myself.”

  “Really?” she asked, surprised. “I’ve never seen anyone else out here. I honestly thought it was my own little secret.”

  He handed her a glass, but she shook her head. “I do apologize, but I really can’t join you. My aunt would turn me out on my ear had she learned I dined with a gentleman without any sort of escort.”

  “I insist,” he said, urging her to take the glass.

  “I’m afraid your insistence can’t compare with the wrath of Lady Whitehead.”

  He took back the glass, looking rather dejected. “Perhaps you can stay a while and eat, and we can occupy the same space, but we won’t consider it dining together.”

  She laughed. “Semantics hardly change the situation.”

  “Oh no,” he argued. “It’s the semantics that turn it from some torrid meeting into a proper lunch. If your aunt asks you what you’ve been doing these last few hours, you can tell her that you enjoyed a bit of ham and bread without feeling any guilt for lying because you’re not. By clarifying that we are not dining together, but rather by ourselves, just in close proximity to one another, it exonerates you of any wrong doing.”

  She felt the thrill of butterflies flutter in her stomach. It was wrong and she knew it, no matter what combination of verbs she used. But if neither one were to tell anyone, then what harm could there be?

  “Fine,” she said, careful not to encourage him with anything like a smile. “I’ll take a slice of bread and some of that divine smelling marmalade.”

  He smiled wide like a young boy receiving a much wanted present. “You won’t regret not dining with me.”

  “I’m certain I won’t,” she played along. “There’s so much food here. I’m a bit surprised your cook would pack so much for one person. Why, you’d have to be rolled home if you ate all this yourself. Even with me, you’ll still have quite a bit left over.”

  “I always pack extra. You never know when you’ll stumble across some company.”

  She watched as he carefully layered ham and cheese between his bread. He was particularly neat, quite the opposite of her own plate with the marmalade haphazardly smeared atop her own bread. “Well, had I not been here, I’m afraid you would have been forced to enjoy this fine meal by yourself. There’s never anyone else here and I come here quite often. In fact, I’m surprised you were even told about it.”

  He put down the sandwich. “Well, I wasn’t exactly told about it.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “Not really. More like, it’s somewhere I stumbled upon.”

  “Oh?” She stopped eating. “During a hunt perhaps?”

  “One could say that,” he answered nonchalantly. “Now, what brings you here?”

  She resumed devouring her bread, the tangy marmalade playing havoc on her mouth. She’d always had a sweet tooth, and marmalade was certainly her Achilles’ heel. “I found it after we came to live with my aunt. I’d gone exploring one day and just followed the stream to this tree. I usually have some time to myself after my studies and this seemed the ideal location to enjoy a good book.”

  “What are you being tutored in?”

  “Nothing in particular. I’ve never had anything like a tutor. My family could never afford anything like that. But I continue working on what my mother taught me – some history, some Latin. Now, my aunt has already seen to providing a tutor for my younger sister. My father would have been thrilled to know she’ll have the best education a lady could ask for.”

  “Your father must have valued education then?”

  “A great deal. He owned a small farm, but he was quite well read and insisted that I be the same.”

  “And I’m sorry, but where are your parents? I’m sure someone’s told me, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.”

  “My mother died when I was a small child and my father and his last wife passed last summer in a carriage accident,” she stated it matter-of-factly, though her stomach always seemed to drop into her knees whenever she spoke the words aloud.

  He nodded. “And that’s why you’re living with Lady Whitehead.”

  “My great aunt, yes.” She found herself smiling. He didn’t bother to apologize for asking, or apologize for the death of her parents. She was tired of the pity, the sympathy. It was a fact of life and she didn’t want anyone to be sorry to hear of it. There was nothing anyone could do to change it, so why apologize for something that was impossible to remedy? He acknowledged her parents’ death with a respectful nod and for that, she couldn’t have been more grateful.

  “I didn’t know this was here.” He looked around the small pasture. “I’ve been coming every fall for my entire existence of four and twenty years and not once have I wandered out this far. I can’t believe I didn’t know something this beautiful was so close.”

  She felt her pulse quicken at the sweet words. “Surely you’d noticed it before. Didn’t you just say you’d discovered it hunting?”

  He turned to her. His eyes were a very bright blue, framed in sooty black lashes that had no business belonging to a man for they were so lush to warrant coveting by any woman. His stare was intense and burned straight through her, and she had the most disconcerting feeling that she’d remember exactly what they looked like for quite a long time after this.

  “I lied,” he said, his voice softer than it had been. “I never hunted this land. And no one’s ever told me about it either. I was riding one day and I saw you walking this way. And then the next day, and the day after that. I would watch for when you returned home, and after two weeks of cowardly stalking, I finally summoned enough nerve to follow you here. The basket of lunch, well, I thought perhaps you’d be more inclined to allow me to visit you awhile if I were to bring refreshments.”

  She was flattered, beyond flattered actually, that this handsome man had taken such a keen interest in her. But still, she couldn’t help but be warry. “Why would you want to visit with me? Surely you have better things to do with your time than to lounge around the wood with someone like me?” She’d meant for false modesty, but the shock of it all had rendered her a bit more self-deprecating than she’d meant to be.

  He reached out with his handkerchief and she flinched. “You have a bit of marmalade…there.” She sat perfectly still and allowed him to dab at the spot on the corner of her mouth, her body outwardly frozen, but inwardly she quivered like jelly.

  “I knew after first meeting you that I wanted to see you again. You were quite brilliant you kn
ow. I’d never met someone that could keep my father on his toes before, but you managed splendidly.”

  She felt her face burn. “My aunt told me I was too forward and needed to be seen more and heard less.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, leaning back on his elbows, his long, lean form made even more evident. “I thought you were perfect. I’ve never met a woman with so much to say.”

  She could barely stand to listen to anymore. “Oh, that’s awful.”

  “No,” he laughed. “That’s wonderful. You’re beautiful and you’re brilliant. It’s no wonder you have me skulking about the woods waiting for you.”

  She giggled, her heart soaring at the compliments. “When you put it that way, you sound like an absolute degenerate. You give me mind to gather my things and run for home.”

  “I suppose I do sound a bit frightening. Like some sort of dodgy old troll who lies in wait for lovely young maidens to cross his path.” He turned to his side. “So, what would make you feel more comfortable?”

  She averted any and eye contact whilst he lay in such a suggestive pose. “Oh, I suppose we could just talk a bit longer and get to know each other better.”

  “Sounds fair. Now, we’ve had proper introductions, but I’d like to know your Christian name. I believe you can know quite a bit about a person by their names.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Take a name like George – it sounds quite respectable. A man with a name like that must be quite a gentleman, well-mannered, brave, intelligent, and probably very handsome as well.”

  “Your name is George, isn’t it?”