The Marriage Lesson

by Victoria Alexander

  No doubt he wasn’t fine at all. He was probably quite scratched and scraped and bruised, although it didn’t appear that he’d broken any bones or suffered any serious injury. Aside from his pride, of course.

  So much for Thomas and adventure.

  She smiled into the night. It really was rather sweet of him. Was she being foolish to continue to refuse his offer? Probably. She heaved a heartfelt sigh. Still, he didn’t love her and even his gallant attempt at adventure could not make up for that.

  A faint tapping sounded from across her room.

  Thomas?

  She stepped back inside, crossed the room and flung open the door.

  Thomas stood before her, his expression somewhat dazed. “I’m . . . fine.”

  Even in the faint light from the fire it was apparent he was anything but fine. His shirt was torn, one shoulder was bare and his trousers were ripped.

  Her heart twisted at the sight. “Good Lord, Thomas.”

  He thrust out the bouquet, which was as tattered as he was. “Your token.”

  “It’s, um, lovely.” She grabbed what was left of the flowers with one hand, pulled him into the room with the other and closed the door with her foot. “Do sit down.” She pushed him to a chair and he sank into it without protest. “Let’s see just how fine you are.”

  She set aside the bedraggled bouquet, lit a candle and placed it on the table beside him. And then wished she hadn’t.

  He looked much better in the dark. Where the shirt was ripped, long angry scratches marred his arms and chest. His face and neck had fared somewhat better. She picked up his hands and examined them. They were covered with small cuts and scrapes. “You looked like you’ve been attacked by an angry cat.”

  “That’s the price one pays for adventure.” He grinned weakly.

  “Oh, Thomas, you are mad.”

  “Sweet madness,” he murmured.

  She dropped his hands and stepped to a half-filled pitcher sitting in a bowl on the dresser. She poured water into the bowl, grabbed a washcloth, then returned to kneel before him.

  “This might hurt.” She dipped the cloth in the water and dabbed it over the scratches on his chest.

  “Yow!” he yelled and sat upright. “Stop it!”

  “Quiet.” She pushed him back. “These need to be attended to.”

  “But it hurts.” He sounded very much like the boy he’d been when he’d last climbed the ivy.

  “It’s the price you pay for adventure, remember?” She sat back on her heels and frowned. “I can’t do anything with that shirt on. Take it off.”

  “With pleasure.” He grinned wickedly, then flinched. With her help, they managed to get the shirt off. He leaned back and studied her. “Now you may have your way with me.”

  “Oh, I am a lucky woman,” she said wryly, starting to clean the wounds on his arms. They weren’t as bad as they’d originally looked. Just surface scratches, really, with scarcely any blood, although he’d probably be quite sore in the morning. “What were you thinking, anyway?”

  “I was thinking—ouch—only of you—ouch.”

  “I suppose, then, I should be grateful you weren’t thinking more of me.” She turned her attention to his chest. “You’d probably be dead.”

  “Ah, but what a—ouch—delightful way—ouch—to go.”

  “What? Attacked by ivy? Falling off the side of a building?” She swirled the cloth in the bowl, twisted out the excess water and started on his hands.

  “No, trying to—ouch—capture the hand of the fair Lady Marianne.”

  She sniffed, dipped the cloth and wrung it out. She got up on her knees and washed the cuts on his face. “There are better ways to do it.”

  He caught her hand, his voice abruptly serious. “For instance?”

  “For instance . . . ” Her gaze met his. You could love me. She swallowed back the words. “I’m sure I don’t know.” She pulled her hand from his and dabbed at the scrapes on his neck, avoiding his gaze.

  “You’re not terribly helpful.”

  “My apologies.” She sat back and studied him. “There, that’s better. How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been in a brawl.” He touched his cheek and winced.

  Impulsively, she leaned forward and brushed her lips along the side of his face. “Does that help?”

  “Infinitely.” He turned his head and pointed to the other side of his face. “It would help there, too.”

  “Very well.” She placed a gentle kiss where he indicated.

  “And here.” He raised his chin and she obligingly kissed his throat. And his neck.

  He ran his hands over her back and drew her closer, settling her between his knees.

  “Thomas,” she murmured against his shoulder. His flesh was warm against her lips and his scent filled her senses. Desire as only he could provoke washed through her. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “I think it’s a very good idea.” He pulled her tighter against him and trapped her with his legs. Through the fabric of his trousers she was well aware of just how good an idea he thought it was.

  His hands drifted lower to caress her buttocks through the thin fabric of her nightgown. He pushed aside the neck of her gown and nuzzled the sensitive skin at the base of her throat and she shivered with desire. She shifted to press closer to him, rubbing against his hard arousal and meeting his lips with hers.

  “Tell me if this hurts,” she whispered.

  “It hurts.” He nibbled at her lower lip and then gent-ly kissed the corners of her mouth. She moved her hands carefully over his shoulders in a light, fluttering caress—the restraint between them heightening the need gathering inside her.

  He sighed under her touch. His lips brushed against hers. His hands slipped lower and he gathered her gown in his fists until he could slip his hands under the fabric and run his fingers along her legs and higher.

  “Take it off,” he growled softly.

  “With pleasure,” she said with a smile. She leaned away from him, pulled the garment over her head and tossed it aside. He wrapped an arm around her waist and bent forward to take her breast in his mouth.

  She moaned with delight and reveled in the sensual indulgence of his touch. She could gladly spend the rest of her days like this. With him.

  “Wait.” He stood abruptly and pulled her to her feet. Quickly he took off his breeches, then settled back in the chair.

  “Thomas.” She laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “I have paid the price for this adventure.” There was that wicked smile of his again. “Now it’s your turn.”

  He pulled her down to straddle his lap and slid easily into her. She welcomed him with a shiver of erotic pleasure, closed her eyes and let her head drop back. Her breasts were on a level with his mouth and he took full advantage of the position, suckling one, then the other.

  She hooked her heels around the legs of the chair and pushed against him, needing him buried inside her. He thrust beneath her, the narrow confines of the chair making his movements shorter, deeper, harder. Her excitement rose and she met the drive of his hips with her own. They rocked together in an ever increasing intensity of pleasure until the chair creaked in protest. In a corner of her mind not fogged with desire she wondered if the chair would splinter beneath them. And didn’t care.

  She leaned into him and clutched at his back and he held her tighter. They moved in a rhythm at once familiar and always, always thrilling. Delight spiraled within her higher and higher until at last he groaned against her skin and glorious release shook her body.

  She clung to him for a long moment and rested her head on his shoulder, trying to catch her breath. His chest rose and fell against her and she could feel the beat of his heart.

  She raised her head and smiled down at him. “I will say one thing for you, my dear Lord Helmsley: You certainly have a way with adventure.” She brushed her lips against his. “What have you to say for yourself?”

  He reached a finge
r to slide her glasses back up the length of her nose and grinned wryly. “Ouch.”

  Chapter 16

  . . . regardless, I am trying to put Lord W from my mind and my heart. The situation between us is impossible and I cannot continue pretending all is well. It is difficult to live in his house and not be with him, yet I know my happiness lies elsewhere. I must do all I can to forget what he has meant to me and go on with my life.

  To that end I have made the acquaintance of an intriguing gentleman who seems somewhat taken with me. Lord L is unlike anyone I have ever met and I suspect he can ease the ache in my soul.

  Oddly enough, his friends call him Leopard. . . .

  The Absolutely True Adventures of a Country Miss in London

  “Grand day for the Ride, eh, Helmsley?” Pennington pulled up beside Thomas and reined his horse to a stop.

  “Indeed it is.” Thomas repositioned himself in his saddle and tried not to wince. The aftereffects of last night’s adventure were rather more painful than he’d expected. Still, if his aches softened Marianne’s attitude even a fraction, they were well worth it.

  “Bad night, old man?” Pennington said with a raised brow.

  “Nothing serious.” Thomas shrugged in an offhand manner. “I took a bit of a tumble. That’s all.”

  Pennington and Berkley had arrived within the past hour and would be staying at the hall through tomorrow night. While they had been invited in previous years, and did come more often than not, Thomas had sent them each a note before he left London, encouraging their attendance. It seemed wiser to have them here where he could keep an eye on them rather than allow them free rein in town to ferret out the identity of the country miss.

  “Where is Berkley?”

  Pennington nodded toward a group of riders. “He spotted the Shelton sisters and insisted on paying his respects.”

  “And you’d rather not?”

  “In good time.” Pennington glanced around. “I don’t see the lovely Lady Marianne.”

  “She’s here somewhere.” Thomas drew his brows together. “Why?”

  Pennington looked startled. “Why not?”

  “She doesn’t strike me as the type of woman you’re usually attracted to.”

  “She isn’t. But she is charming and clever and amusing and I quite enjoy her company. It appears my tastes are changing.” Pennington chuckled. “I assure you no one is more surprised to discover that than I.”

  Pennington studied him curiously. “I rather thought you would be encouraging my attention.”

  “Come, now, Pennington.” Thomas forced a lighthearted laugh. “These girls are under my protection. Why would I encourage the interest of you, of all people?”

  “I was given to understand that you wished to find them husbands. First and foremost Lady Marianne. I had also heard you went to the effort of sending—”

  “That was a mistake,” Thomas said quickly. “You yourself pointed out Marianne would not take kindly to rescue.”

  Pennington laughed. “I can only imagine how she’d react to the knowledge of your active husband-hunting.”

  “It is not a pleasant thought.” Thomas stifled a grin at the memory of how very pleasant it really was. He forced a casual note to his voice. “Speaking of hunting, how goes Berkley’s quest for his mysterious love?”

  “Not well.” Pennington directed his words to Thomas, but his gaze searched the crowd. Looking for Marianne, no doubt. Thomas brushed aside a stab of annoyance. “Cadwallender says he doesn’t know her name or where she lives.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “There was little choice. Short of camping on his doorstep and lying in wait for the lady in question to make an appearance, there was nothing more to be done. Berkley did—” Pennington’s eyes lit and he grinned. “I say, Helmsley, do you mind if we continue this discussion later?”

  Thomas followed his gaze. Marianne sat perched on an Effington mount, her blond curls escaping from beneath her fashionable hat, too independent to bear confinement. Her manner was relaxed and comfortable, as if she were well used to being on horseback. In her forest-green riding habit she looked like a bespectacled woodland fairy, at once ethereal and earthbound. And eminently desirable. He shifted around uncomfortably.

  “Helmsley?” Pennington cast him an assessing gaze. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all,” Thomas lied.

  “Excellent.” Pennington turned his horse in Marianne’s direction, then paused. “In case you were wondering, I have no intentions toward the lady at the moment. However, if I did, or should I in the future, I suspect they’d be rather annoyingly honorable.” Pennington touched the brim of his hat and grinned, then directed his horse toward Marianne.

  She greeted Pennington with an all-too-genuine smile. Thomas tried to ignore a twinge of jealousy. Still, why shouldn’t he be jealous? After all, that was his future wife who was far and away too pleased to see another man. The woman who would one day bear his children, laughing with delight at the words of another man. The next Duchess of—

  “Don’t stare at her.” Jocelyn rode up to join him, Becky’s horse close beside her. “It’s really not becoming.”

  “Not at all.” Becky nodded.

  He stifled a sigh. Whatever it was they wanted, now was not the time. He kept his gaze on Marianne but directed his words to her younger sisters. “What do you want?”

  “Has she agreed to marry you yet?” Becky asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you at least making some sort of progress?” Hope sounded in Becky’s voice.

  The thought of Marianne’s lips caressing his chest sprung unbidden to his mind. He cleared his throat. “I believe I am.”

  “Well, you need to work a little faster,” Jocelyn said firmly.

  He stared at Marianne. Had he ever met a woman who responded so fully to his touch?

  “There’s someone else,” Jocelyn said.

  A woman whose eager innocence inflamed his senses . . .

  “Another suitor,” Becky added.

  A woman who lingered in his mind long after she’d left his bed . . .

  “Helmsley.” Jocelyn smacked his shoulder and he jerked his gaze toward her.

  “Ouch.” He glared. “What is it now?”

  “Pay attention, Helmsley. This is important.” Jocelyn huffed in annoyance.”There’s another man.”

  “Where’s another man?” He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “We’re talking about the woman you ruined,” Becky snapped.

  “The woman you have to marry,” Jocelyn said in a fierce whisper.

  “Quiet,” he said in a low voice. “Do you want everyone to hear? Now explain yourselves.”

  “Marianne was writing the newest Country Miss adventure yesterday,” Becky said. “And we just happened to see it.”

  “Well, actually, we thought it was a good idea to read it.” Jocelyn sighed. “Now that we know her adventures aren’t quite as fictional as we’d thought.”

  “It was a simple matter of distracting her.” Becky grinned. “Of course, it wasn’t quite finished—”

  “Would you two get to the point?”

  They traded tolerant glances. Becky sighed. “The point, my lord, is that there is someone else.”

  Jocelyn smirked. “You have a rival.”

  “A rival?” Thomas drew his brows together. “How can I have a rival?”

  “I know it’s difficult for you to understand, given your charming manner, but there is another man.” Jocelyn’s tone was wry.

  “When did she find the time?” he said under his breath. He turned his gaze toward Marianne, who was still chatting with Pennington. Pennington?

  “It scarcely matters who it is,” Jocelyn snapped, apparently reading his mind. “What matters is that there is a who and it’s the wrong who.”

  “Unless,” Becky said slowly, “you’ve changed your mind about marrying her.”

  “In which case�
�—Jocelyn clenched her teeth—“I shall make it my life’s purpose to—”

  “Threats are not necessary,” he said absently. Pennington? How could she be interested in Pennington? “I fully intend on wedding Marianne. Even if I have to drag her kicking and screaming to the altar.”

  “Say, there’s an idea,” Becky said brightly. “Couldn’t you kidnap her and take her to Gretna Green?”

  “Oh, that would work nicely.” Sarcasm colored Jocelyn’s words. “Marianne wouldn’t care one whit about the scandalous nature of such an endeavor.”

  “She’d probably see it as a blasted adventure,” he murmured. Pennington? What did he have that Thomas didn’t?

  “On further consideration,” Jocelyn said thoughtfully, “she would indeed consider it an adventure, which would be very good—”

  Becky grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Although not necessarily one that ends in marriage.” Jocelyn shook her head. “You are going to have to come up with something better.”

  “I will,” he said sharply. “Now, then, thank you both for the information and your suggestions—”

  “We are willing to help,” Becky said.

  “To do whatever is necessary,” Jocelyn added. “Goodness knows, you aren’t doing all that well on your own.”

  “Your faith in me is overwhelming.” Thomas cast Jocelyn a pointed look. “I am perfectly capable of convincing your sister to be my wife.” His gaze shifted to Becky. “Without benefit of kidnapping or other means of force.”

  “We never doubted it for a minute.” Becky’s tone was overly sweet.

  Jocelyn’s manner matched her sister’s. “You have our complete confidence.”

  Thomas didn’t believe either of them. In spite of their words, it was clear neither sister thought he could succeed in winning Marianne’s hand. At this particular moment, even he had his doubts. Still, her stubbornness was no match for his determination. And he was determined.

  He couldn’t recall ever having failed to get what he wanted and he refused to consider the possibility of failure now. And no mysterious suitor, be it Pennington or anyone else, would stand in his way.