by Jane Goodger
With a shake of his head, he relented and knocked politely on the door.
“Do ghosts knock?” he heard Lilian ask, and this time he did chuckle. “Perhaps if we ignore the ghost, he will go away.”
Marcus stood staring at the door, knowing his new wife was a bit angry with him for missing dinner and, no doubt, for callously telling her not to expect him to love her—as if he could stop his heart from doing what it wanted. He heard little feet scrambling to the door, and then it swung open, revealing Mabel, dressed for bed, including a nightcap, which sat adorably askew on her little head. “It is his lordship,” she called triumphantly.
“And how brave of you to come to the door, thinking you might encounter our ghost.”
She wrinkled her nose, then turned and ran back to the bed, where she settled beside Lilian for the rest of the story.
Marcus walked to the bedpost and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest. “Do go on. It’s my favorite.” He gave Mabel a wink.
As Marcus listened to the story and watched Lilian and Mabel together, he couldn’t stop his heart from swelling in his chest, though the Lord above knew he tried. His heart had always had a mind of its own.
When he was sixteen, Marcus had been madly and completely in love with his neighbor, Pamela Porter. No one in his family had known, but when he could, he would escape to see her and talk and walk and just glory in loving her. If someone had asked him at the time why he was keeping his love a secret, he likely wouldn’t have been able to explain himself. Perhaps he knew he’d receive endless teasing from his brothers, and even from his mother and father. Perhaps he knew that had he admitted his deep and abiding love, they would have dismissed it as simply a young boy’s infatuation. No matter why, he’d kept the secret as close to his heart as he had his Pamela, and to this day, no one knew.
They’d talked about marriage, about how as soon as he was finished with the university, he would return home and they could marry. They would have five children (five was Pamela’s favorite number) and they’d even started naming them. They did little more than hold hands and exchange a few breathless kisses, just enough to make Marcus dream of the day they would be together forever and not have to say good-bye.
She died when she was sixteen and he was seventeen. One day she was there, laughing up into his face, and the next, she was gone. He’d waited for her at the spot where they would meet, a little shaded bend in a brook that separated their properties, each Monday and Wednesday at three o’clock. And one day, she wasn’t there. That night at supper, his mother announced blithely that their neighbor’s daughter had died. “The Porter girl died. Pamela was her name. I think she was just fifteen. So young.” She’d tsked, and that was that. Conversation continued on another topic, and she was never mentioned again. Marcus had sat there, stunned, unmoving, afraid that if he’d taken even one bite, he would burst into tears—or worse, stand up and shout to everyone that Pamela was sixteen, not fifteen, and the loveliest girl in the world and he wanted to die just to be with her. Instead, he’d stared at his plate, his throat raw, his hands shaking, and no one had known. No one had seen. No one had comforted him, and why would they have? By that time, he’d become adept at hiding everything.
It had taken Marcus years after her death before he could even think about marrying. He was almost grateful when Eleanor came along. She had been the complete opposite of Pamela, and he’d known he would never love her the way he had loved Pamela. It was a relief. Keeping his heart in line had been more difficult than he’d thought it would be, but he’d managed not to fall over that dangerous cliff where love had the ability to destroy. The years following Pamela’s death were a muddy blur in which he felt as if everything around him was dull and worthless.
And no one ever knew.
Now, looking at his new wife, her hair in one thick braid hanging across one breast, he knew he was in danger of falling off that cliff again. And still he stayed and listened to her, watched her, let his eyes feast on her lips, let his heart swell painfully in his chest, let himself dream of what it would be like to just love her without the fear of losing her.
It was a dangerous thought, that.
And so, as the story finished, he stepped back and wished them both good night and pretended he didn’t see hurt in Lilian’s beautiful eyes.
Chapter 14
As he nearly always did at the breakfast table, Marcus flipped through his correspondence, leaving most of the matters for another time. A week after their wedding, two letters piqued his interest and he set them aside to read immediately. One was from Kathryn Cates, his dead wife’s maid. The other was from the Birmingham Town Police Department.
He opened the one from his wife’s maid first, his stomach clenching nervously. He’d written to the woman almost immediately upon finding Mabel on his doorstep, demanding to know who had fathered the child. At the time, he’d been almost desperate to know and he’d had the vague idea of handing Mabel off to her true father. Now, it was a different matter entirely; he wasn’t even certain he cared who her true father was. As far as he was now concerned, Mabel was his.
Dear Lord Granton:
I would like to meet with you to discuss the matter of your inquiry. I have a position with Lady Beaumont, who resides not four miles from Hallstead Manor. When you arrive in Birmingham, I will endeavor to meet with you privately.
Truly yrs,
Kathryn Cates
How very vexing, though Marcus could appreciate her discretion in not naming names in a letter. It seemed if he wanted to know who Mabel’s father was, he would have to travel to Birmingham. Someday. He wasn’t ready to go home as yet, not with his mother so emotional about his wedding. Marcus looked up at Lilian, but she was concentrating on her breakfast to such an extent, he knew she was still angry with him. Or hurt, which was far worse.
He was still pondering some way to make her smile when he opened the second letter that had caught his interest.
Dear Lord Granton:
I am Constable Toby Conroy of the Birmingham Police Department, the lead investigator into the Duke of Weston’s murder. I learned from your mother, Lady Chesterfield, that you have recently married the former Lady Lilian Martin. My felicitations on your marriage.
As I am certain you are aware, recent questions regarding the validity of the confession to His Grace’s death have been raised, requiring me to continue my investigation into that terrible night. If you are planning to return to Birmingham in the next few days, I would appreciate meeting with Lady Granton so I can interview the lady regarding the night of the murder. I can, of course, travel to Whitby and will accommodate you in whatever you choose.
Yrs,
Toby Conroy.
When Marcus lifted his gaze from the letter, he found Lilian studying him.
“Bad news?”
“Not necessarily.” He looked at the letter again. “A Constable Conroy would like to interview you regarding Weston’s murder. Apparently, my brother was correct. The police are not accepting the man’s confession at face value.”
Lilian grew pale and set her fork down. “Am I a suspect again?” she asked.
“The letter doesn’t say, but I’m certain we can straighten this out.”
She looked down to her plate, her hands on her lap, no doubt clenched nervously together. “You believe me, do you not?” She lifted her head and met his eyes, a small line of worry showing between her dark brows.
“I do not believe the woman who risked her life to fetch a stocking for a little girl could be capable of murder,” he said blandly.
“Thank you. But why does he want to speak with me?”
“You were there that night. Perhaps you can enlighten him on some aspects of what happened. I don’t know, but I do not like this hanging over your head. I think we should travel to Birmingham and get this straightened out. I have other business I need to attend to at any rate. Perhaps we can stop in London on the way home. We could make it our wedding trip.”
Lilian immediately smiled, and Marcus felt as if he’d just promised her a holiday to the Continent. “I would like that. Thank you.”
Marcus put aside his correspondence. “We can leave next week if you think you’ll be ready.”
“Of course,” she said on a laugh. “I have but three dresses here. Perhaps we can send a servant to Mount Carlyle to fetch my wardrobe. Unless my sister has burned my things. I have the loveliest riding habit.” Marcus was surprised by the wistful note in her voice; he hadn’t realized she liked to ride. He supposed there was a great deal he did not know about his wife.
“When we return, you can join me on my rides.”
Her mouth curved up delicately. “I thought your rides were a means of escaping me.”
“They are.” Her smile widened. “But perhaps you can accompany me when I’m not vexed with you.”
“Then I shall never ride again,” she said dramatically, and laughed when he scowled at her.
“I do enjoy your company,” he said, his voice low and gruffer than he’d meant, for he immediately pictured her naked and underneath him. He had tried not to indulge overmuch in his desires, but it was a difficult task given she was all he could think of. “I thought perhaps I might enjoy your company this evening.” He wasn’t certain she understood his not-so-hidden meaning, but he prayed she would.
Lilian blushed prettily, but lifted her chin. “I thought perhaps you would enjoy my company last evening after Mabel went to bed.” Clever girl, he thought.
Marcus allowed his eyes to drift from her mouth to her lovely breasts. When he realized what he was doing, he forced himself to look into her eyes, which had become decidedly drowsy. He could feel himself harden, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I thought so as well but didn’t want to interrupt your sleep. I did want to.” Want was a fairly tepid word to describe how much he had needed her the previous night. He’d spent long hours staring up at his ceiling, debating with himself as to whether he should knock on her door.
She smiled, then turned her attention back to her breakfast. “I do so enjoy your company,” she said, the smallest smile teasing her lips, and he nearly pushed the table aside so he could have her then and there. Good breeding—and a young footman standing by the door—stopped him. But, by God, he wanted her.
* * *
Lilian was shocked, and rather pleased, if she were honest, with how bold she had become. Flirting had never been a talent she’d thought she possessed. Indeed, she hadn’t had much practice, given that her mother had died after her first season, and then she’d been isolated at Mount Carlyle. The truth was, as hurt as she’d been by Marcus’s words denying any chance of love, her body had craved the release he had introduced her to. She knew nothing of marriage, of what was expected. Would he want to lie with her nightly? Weekly? Could she ever go to him, or would he find that too forward? The truth was, she’d nearly gotten out of her bed at two in the morning and gone to his room, but the thought that he might send her away had stopped her. Now, she realized, as she looked into his smoldering eyes, he likely would have welcomed her.
She toyed with a bit of egg that had long grown cold. “We are to enjoy one another’s company only in the evenings from now on?” Her cheeks grew scarlet, not only from her boldness, but from where her mind had gone—directly to a sun-filled bedroom with a certain beautiful man.
He let out a harsh breath and stood almost violently, his chair tipping back precariously, and for an instant she thought she’d angered him. It was a matter of seconds before she realized she’d far from angered him.
“You are dismissed,” he said, his eyes steady on her and his words for the young footman, who left the room immediately, closing the door behind him. He strode over to her, placed one hand behind her head, and heaved her up against him, covering her mouth with his. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, letting out a low moan of need that had her toes curling in her slippers. He tasted of coffee with a hint of the marmalade he’d spread on his muffin, a delicious combination.
“I would have you on this table, here, now, if I thought we would be left alone.”
Lilian mewled softly as he moved one hand unerringly to her breast, teasing her nipple and making her body sing with need. He kissed her neck, something she discovered was most definitely wonderful, and she tilted her head, urging him on. If she were truly bold, she would have begun unbuttoning his shirt. Or perhaps even bolder still, pressed her hand against his rock-hard manhood. He had seemed to like it when she’d touched him before. Maybe she would, after all.
He hissed in a breath and grew still when she pressed her hand against his hard length, and Lilian smiled, liking that it was so easy to please him.
“You are a temptress,” he said, then kissed her again, deep and hot and relentlessly erotic. “I think I need to show you something upstairs.”
“Oh? What?” she asked, breathless.
“My bed.”
Lilian giggled.
“You go first. I am in no condition to be seen at the moment.” He looked down at the large and obvious bulge in his pants. Without a jacket, he had no way to hide his condition.
Lilian gave him another kiss, then turned and walked sedately out of the dining room and up the stairs. But when she reached the long hall where her bedroom lay, she picked up her skirts and ran.
The moment she entered her room, she began undressing. She started with her hair, which she had hastily put in a loose bun that morning, so it was undone and flowing down her back in seconds. She made quick work of the rest, so that when Marcus entered her bedroom, she was standing in the middle of the room in only her chemise.
The way he looked at her, his golden eyes gone dark, made her shiver with need. He made her feel beautiful, like the most desirable woman in the entire kingdom.
“You have very good ideas, my wife.” His voice was low and gruff and, for some reason, made her nipples tighten with need.
Marcus literally tore off his clothes, sending at least two buttons flying through the air to land with soft ticks on the carpet below their feet. In short measure, he stood before her, completely naked, his manhood thrusting upward.
“Your chemise, madam. Off with it now, if you please.”
“If you insist,” she said saucily, and unlaced the bows that held the thin material together, then did a little shimmy and the garment fell to the floor. And then, Lilian found herself standing naked in front of her husband in broad daylight. She didn’t feel nearly as bold now, standing there, completely exposed, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was naked too, and looking at her as if she’d invented naked women, she might have covered herself with her hands as best she could.
She watched as his Adam’s apple did a slow dip, as he clenched his jaw, and then his fists. “Madam, I believe this was a terrible mistake.”
“I-I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do. For now, each time I see you, at a ball, walking the moors, eating your breakfast, I shall picture you this way and be tortured by this image and want to drag you from wherever you are and bring you to the nearest bed and make love to you. Do you realize what you’ve done to me?”
Lilian pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, and shook her head.
His eyes were smiling—why hadn’t she noticed that he had that talent before? “I shall go around for the rest of my life trying to hide the fact that I want to make love to my wife. Perhaps I should start wearing overlong jackets.”
“A kilt? Though you’re not Scottish.”
He smiled. “Please get in bed, my wife. I plan to show you how very much I desire you.”
Lilian backed up, slowly, until she bumped into her bed. Then she sat and was about to scoot into the middle, when he said, “No. Stop there.” And then he kneeled before her and lifted one foot, pressing a kiss into the delicate arch. For a moment, the pleasure of it, the pure beauty of the gesture, made it difficult to breathe. He repeated the gesture with her other foot, this
time looking up at her wide-eyed gaze as if gauging whether she was enjoying his touch.
He kissed her calf, then lifted her right leg high and licked and nipped the back of her knee, making her gasp at the unexpected stab of desire that flooded her. Between her legs was aching, and she could feel herself getting wet just from his simple caress. He kissed up one thigh, coming shockingly close to the apex of her legs, then kissed his way back down the other. Feeling suddenly boneless, she fell back onto the bed, her legs shamelessly splayed, and closed her eyes to revel in the new sensations he was introducing her to. Her breath became harsh, shaking, and yet her body was more languid with every kiss. He moved back up her left leg, making small sounds, low and throaty and so incredibly erotic, Lilian felt as if he need only touch her once, lightly, between her legs and she would scream out in pleasure.
“There is something . . .” he said, softly, almost contemplatively, right before she felt his mouth on her sex. He let out a low moan, and made love to her with his mouth, his tongue, and then his fingers.
“Marcus,” she moaned, moving her head back and forth, lifting her hips, clutching the counterpane with one hand and allowing the other to drift down to feel his head there, and press. And then it came, that wonderful, heart-stopping moment, when nothing mattered but the pleasure he was giving her, the flood of sensation that started at her center then moved with lightning quickness to the rest of her body, even to the tips of her toes.
* * *
Marcus kissed her soft inner thigh and thought of anything except how it would feel in about two seconds when he thrust inside her. He was afraid to move lest he lose control and spill his seed onto the floor. Never in his life had he imagined he’d become so completely aroused simply by pleasuring a woman.
“Marcus. That was . . .”
He chuckled, so pleased with himself he growled against her belly, making her giggle. Moving onto the bed, Marcus kissed her, then lifted her slightly so that she was lying on the bed properly. She was boneless, smiling up at him sleepily, draping her arms over his shoulders, her hair fanned out behind her, soft and luminous in the sunlight.
