“I assume you mean Charles’ actions and not our unintended elopement?” Marcus clarified.
“Yes,” Highcliff answered. “I think you owe it to Miss Barrett to be certain she understands that. Treason from a commoner is horrible, from the gentry it is even worse. But treason from the potential heir to a dukedom—it is an affront that most will find unforgivable. Guilt by association is an ugly cross to bear.”
“Guilt by association! The man had me locked in a prison cell, breaking rocks with a hammer to avoid being shot myself!” Marcus snapped.
“And I accompanied my dusky-skinned mother to England with her jewels sewn into the lining of a dress stained with her family’s blood. She’d watched every relative she possessed be carted off to the guillotine, other than myself, and barely survived such a fate of herself. She braved living under the roof of my vicious father to carry me to safety. In spite of his coldness, she loved England, adored it and considered it the home of her heart. Yet when Bonaparte started his ugly, little war, everyone began to stare at her with suspicion,” Highcliff pointed out. “For nothing more than being a noble who managed to survive the Terror, she became a pariah. Women are strange creatures, Marcus. They need the society of other women, they need acceptance, especially for their children. Warn your Miss Barrett now, so that you do not have to regret the lack of having done so later.”
Highcliff turned and walked away, leaving Marcus to ponder the wisdom of such a course of action.
*
Their horses were beyond exhausted. The beasts were limping with fatigue and lathered with sweat as they guided them into the mews behind the duke’s townhouse. Charles was at the end of his patience with Barrett. Had an opportunity presented itself to be rid of the man forever, he would gladly have taken it. Sadly, the roads had been far too busy that day for him to safely assist the man in shuffling off the mortal coil.
“I think we should have pressed on for Scotland,” Barrett insisted.
It was a gamble as to whether Marcus and Jane Barrett would have made for Gretna Green or returned to London. Charles was betting on Gretna Green as it posed the least restrictions on getting the deed done. The last thing he needed was for Barrett to actually manage to halt the nuptials of the ill-fated lovers. Would it be too much of a stretch, Charles wondered, for Barrett to be taken out by whatever random illness Marcus and his bride would succumb to? Poison, he’d decided, would be the easiest method of eliminating them, so long as it was easily camouflaged as a natural illness. For that, he’d have to bow to Cassandra’s expertise.
“Marcus would not wish to be married outside the Church of England,” Charles lied easily. His cousin likely didn’t care one whit, either way. “I had anticipated that they’d make for Gretna Green because it’s the likeliest point of elopement. But on greater reflection, I doubt that he’d be willing to see it through. I think the likeliest course of action would be for them to return to the city, assess the damage to their reputations, and then proceed accordingly. They may, even now, be awaiting us inside. This is an aberration for him, Mr. Barrett, I assure you. Prior to his imprisonment and return, Marcus never put a foot wrong.”
“They damned well better be back in this city or I’ll be meeting him at dawn!” Barrett said.
Charles was never one to sing his cousin’s praises but, in this instance, it would serve his purpose to do so. “Mr. Barrett, I’d like to point out to you that Marcus is a seasoned soldier. He was not an officer who shuffled off the enlisted men while he hid behind. No. He was at the front lines, in the thick of the fray, battling an onslaught of Bonaparte’s finest with muskets, pistols, swords, knives, and when weapons were lost, his bare hands. I would not casually issue threats when the outcome will not be as you desire.”
Barrett blustered then. “I’m no milquetoast to be cowed by him!”
“Perhaps you should be. I once saw him kill seven Frenchman. Had he not been vastly outmanned, I daresay Corunna would have taken a very different turn,” Charles mused.
“You never saw him at Corunna… so you said,” Barrett snapped.
Cursing himself and blaming his slip on his exhaustion and exasperation with his traveling companion, Charles smiled. “I didn’t. But like everyone else, I heard the tales. He was well respected in the army, sir. He did not achieve that by being a coward or an easy mark.”
Barrett hushed then, for the most part. He still grumbled under his breath as they entered the house and he retreated to his room. Charles sought out Riggs. “I’ll be staying here for the night, Riggs. Until we can make sense of what’s happened with Marcus and Miss Barrett, it seems best to stay close by.”
If the butler thought it odd or had any reaction to the announcement at all, it was impossible to tell. Stoic as ever, Riggs inclined his head. “Yes, Mr. Balfour, sir. Super will be served in your room this evening. His grace is unwell still and her grace felt it best not to disturb him… if that is to your satisfaction.”
It was, because he had no intention of being in his room. He intended to be in Cassandra’s. “It is quite fine, Riggs,” he said and made for the stairs. “Have a bath sent up, would you? I feel as if I’ve brought half the road in with me.”
When Charles had vanished up the stairs, Sarah stepped from the shadows. “I know it isn’t my place to say so, Mr. Riggs, but I don’t much care for him. He acts like he already owns the place!”
Riggs frowned. “It is not your place to say so, Sarah, but that does not mean you are wrong. See to your duties and I will be certain that Mr. Balfour’s demands are met.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jane had luxuriated in a warm bath, attended to by a maid assigned at Lord Highcliff’s behest. The girl had been curiously skilled as a ladies maid in a house that was ostensibly devoid of ladies. It led her to wonder precisely what sort of guests Lord Highcliff entertained regularly.
She’d eaten her supper in her room, alone, while writing the article that essentially proclaimed Charles a traitor without saying it outright. It was a fine line to walk—providing enough information to identify him without naming him directly, indicating that he was guilty of treason without giving away what their evidence was. The goal, Marcus had explained, was to make Charles nervous, to make him anxious enough to want to know what was up their sleeves.
When at last she thought it was complete, she rose from the small writing table where she’d worked. Peering out into the corridor and seeing no prying eyes, she crossed the hall to Marcus’ room and knocked softly. After he’d bade her enter, she opened the door and stepped inside. She was unprepared for the sight that greeted her.
He’d just finished his own bath, it seemed. Dressed in borrowed trousers and nothing else, she was immediately transported to the events of the night before. His gloriously bronzed skin still glistened with beads of water and she wanted nothing more than to touch him and feel the heat of him once more pressed against her.
Hastily turning away, she stammered an apology. “Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude. I wanted to give you an opportunity to examine the article before I sent it off to the publisher. I’ll come back later.”
“Stay,” he urged. “I’ll look at it now.”
Still unable to meet his gaze, more because of her own wayward thoughts than his current state of undress, Jane stepped forward and handed him the sheaf of papers. She waited in uncomfortable silence as Marcus perused them. Seemingly against her will, her gaze continued to wander in his direction, stealing glances at the heavy muscles of his shoulders and chest. Memories of how it had felt to be held in his arms, to be crushed against the firmness of his body were wreaking havoc on her nerves.
After several minutes he looked up at her. “This will do nicely,” he said. “Perhaps it was my own response to your article about my fraudulent identity that prevented me from noticing, but you do have a way with words, Jane. It’s beautifully written even if the subject matter is somewhat difficult to bear.”
“I am sorry,” she offered
. “I know it must be difficult for you to have been betrayed so cruelly by someone in your own family… that the betrayal has such far-reaching consequences—well, I just can’t imagine.” It was a weak and ill-worded statement of sympathy, but she found it difficult to think in his presence under the best of circumstances. When he was barely dressed, it was significantly worse.
“It has been difficult… but I’ve had time to accustom myself to Charles’ perfidy. I imagine it will be infinitely worse for those who have yet to ascertain just to what depths he is willing to sink,” he replied, sweeping away her concerns.
“He robbed you of five years of your life!” Jane protested. “Surely it is not so easy to just accustom yourself to that!”
He looked at her sharply. “No, Jane. That was not an easy thing to be accustomed to. Being imprisoned, having every thought and action guarded by others, with no privacy, very little dignity and a complete loss of everything that I am—up to an including my very name—was most assuredly not an easy thing to become accustomed to. But I daresay, you know exactly how that feels.”
“What on earth do you mean by that?” she demanded.
“Is that not what you’ve done every day of your life? Denied your true nature, pretended to be meek and subservient, given yourself over to the whims of someone like Mrs. Barrett… all in an attempt to keep the peace and avoid conflict or punishment?”
She frowned then. “I’m not entirely certain what you’re alluding to.”
“Not alluding, Jane. Stating. I fear that you have been just as much a prisoner as I was.”
Those words halted her protest. They robbed her of her very breath, in fact, because they rang with such truth. She had felt like a prisoner. She had felt as if every part of her was stifled and if not stifled, then indulged in only the most furtive of ways like her column or the countless novels she had been attempting to write for years. “I would hardly compare the two. I was not facing the threat of death,” she answered, though her words lacked conviction.
“And is there not more than one way to die?” he asked pointedly. “While I was locked in that tiny cell, Jane, I decided several things about myself. The first was that I would be a man of honor. That I would honor my commitments to the best of my ability and that I would not be the kind of man my father had been. In short, I would marry you and I would be faithful to you. It’s a concept the men of my family have little acquaintance with.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” she asked, wondering at his motives.
“Because in a few short hours, we will be making our vows before a clergyman. I think it behooves us to have an honest conversation about what we expect from one another.”
“I never expected fidelity from you,” she admitted. “I had always assumed that ours would be a typical society marriage. We would have a child and then you would have a mistress. That is typically the way of it, is it not?”
“I’ve no wish for us to be typical,” he said. Once again, his tone was sharp. “I offer fidelity, Jane, but I also demand it. I want us to be very clear on that front.”
Jane drew in a sharp breath, affronted at the very mention of it. “I realize that my behavior last night was hardly that of a lady, but if I’ve given any indication to you that I would ever behave in such a licentious—”
“I’m not accusing you, Jane. And as for your behavior last night, can you honestly imagine that I would think ill of you for it? Or is it that you think ill of yourself?” he asked.
“Why else would we be having such a conversation?” Her tone revealed her exasperation. “It was imprudent of me and impossibly forward. And I cannot image what you must think of me—”
“Because I’d rather have this conversation now than when it’s too late for you to back out,” he answered firmly. “I want to be very clear about what I’m offering and what I’m expecting. And if you have any demands or conditions, now is the time to voice them!”
“What possible conditions or demands could I make?” she asked, still uncertain as to his motives. “I offered myself to you last night… freely. I did so because I had made my decision. And I cannot understand why you would ask me to question it now! Unless you want me to back out… is that it? Do you want me to release you from your obligation?” Her heart felt as if it had sunk to her toes. Everything in her rebelled at the thought.
“That is not it at all, Jane! I would never think to abandon you after what we shared!”
“But that’s precisely what you’re doing,” she protested. “You’re offering up broad, sweeping statements about what our marriage should and shouldn’t be and telling me that now is my last opportunity to escape it! But why, after what occurred between us, should I want to escape an offer of marriage that includes the one thing most women in my position never receive—the promise of fidelity?”
“Because marrying me could ruin your life!” he shouted, clearly overcome by his own temper. After taking a calming breath, he continued. “I know that the scandal would be impossible, but I’m trying, Jane, against my better judgement and against everything that I desire for my own sake, to offer you a chance not to be permanently linked to a family marked by treason!”
Jane paused for a moment, collecting herself and trying to garner some sort of control over her own highly emotional state. “You truly wish to be married to me? Jane, who writes scandalous trash for a publication most people won’t even admit to reading and not simply the recognized daughter of William Barrett in order to fulfill the contract?”
He shrugged. “If it will set your mind at ease, your father will likely void the contract. Are you willing to marry a penniless marquess who will eventually be a penniless duke?”
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “I am… so long as that penniless marquess is you.”
It was true. In spite of their difficult and contentious parting before he left, in spite of the years since that she’d spent convincing herself she didn’t care for him at all and didn’t want to be married to any man, enough of the hero worship she’d had for him as a child remained. He would always be the most handsome of men in her eyes. And over the last days, she’d begun to see that he was also the most honorable. How that had occurred under the influence of the Duke of Elsingham would likely forever remain a mystery.
It was as if her capitulation had unlocked the very tides. He strode toward her, his long legs eating up the distance between them, until he could capture her once more in his arms. Jane went willingly, eager for his touch, eager to experience the passion he had shown her the night before.
“I cannot get enough of you,” he whispered. “I swore that I would not do this… that I would wait until we were married before having you in my bed again, but I cannot. I want you too much.”
“I don’t want to wait,” she insisted. “I want to feel what you made me feel last night.”
“And what is that, Jane?” he asked, kissing the side of her neck and biting it gently.
Breathlessly, she uttered, “Enough… you made me feel as if I were simply enough. That I was pretty enough, desirable enough, witty and smart enough… that if you had your preferences, there was nothing about me that you would change.”
He paused then, drawing back to look at her. “You are enough, Jane. You are everything that I have ever desired in a woman and more. It’s a crime that you’ve suffered under the care of people who would ever try to make you believe otherwise.”
“Can we really do this, Marcus? Can we marry and be happy together… or will we succumb to the same ennui and pettiness that all the couples of my acquaintance have?” she queried softly.
“I cannot promise you that we will not… I can only say that I will work every day to avoid that outcome,” he vowed. “We have both had enough unhappiness to last us a lifetime. Even though we’ve hardly led tragic lives, there is something to be said about the continual drain on one’s soul of being surrounded by people who will only ever serve themselves.”
“Tak
e me to your bed,” she whispered. “I’ve no wish to spend another night alone.”
*
Marcus was helpless to resist that sweet plea. How any man could hold firm against the soft, seductive curves of her body or the delicate beauty of her upturned face would forever be a mystery to him. Of course, there was also the unfortunate truth that he had no real desire to resist her. Her request perfectly mirrored his own selfish needs.
Without any fanfare, Marcus took her hands and led her toward his bed. It took all of his patience to slowly undress her, to untie the laces of her gown with care and precision rather than simply tearing the garment from her. As each layer was removed, he kissed and caressed every inch of skin that was revealed. By the time Jane was clad only in the thin cotton of her borrowed chemise, she was shivering. But he knew from the rate of her breathing and the rapid pulse beating at her throat, that it wasn’t the cold that prompted her response.
“I want to see all of you,” he whispered hotly against her ear.
“You have seen all of me,” she replied.
“No. The dim light of a small fire and a hurried coupling in a cold room hardly counts,” he insisted. “All that remains to shield you from my gaze, Jane, is this chemise. Remove it.”
It was a challenge, a test of her confidence, her desire, her willingness to let go of what everyone else had said of her and, instead, see herself anew through his eyes. When her trembling hands lifted to the ties of the garment that rested just above the swells of her breasts, his breath caught. As she tugged the laces free and the garment fell, catching briefly on the curve of her hips before falling to the floor, that breath left him in a rush.
She was utterly perfect. Her soft, rounded shoulders, lush breasts and the gentle flare of her hips all reminded him of the paintings he’d seen by the masters of the Renaissance. Voluptuous, with a sweetness of countenance and a quiet beauty that would be overlooked by those who lacked the ability to see past the shy and subservient mien she’d adopted out of self-defense against her tyrant of a stepmother, she was his. He reveled in that fact, rejoiced in it as he had in nothing else for a very long time. If he’d possessed an ability to capture her beauty, he would have done so, but only to hoard it for his own pleasure.
The Missing Marquess of Althorn (The Lost Lords Book 3) Page 19
