Loving the Marquess (Landing a Lord Book 1)

by Suzanna Medeiros

  Louisa left her sister without bothering to reply and headed for her bedroom. At seventeen, Catherine was at the age where her thoughts often turned to her future husband. With the scarcity of eligible bachelors in the village and the knowledge they would never have a proper Season in London, she tended to latch onto every new face as a candidate for either her or her sister’s affections.

  When Louisa reached her room, she hesitated only briefly before pushing aside her nervousness and entering. She closed the door softly behind her and turned to face the man lying in her bed. Her breath froze. She was no longer certain he was as harmless as she’d have her brother believe. On the contrary, the man on her bed seemed too large for her small room and more than a little dangerous.

  He was leaning casually against the headboard, his arms folded in front of a broad chest, his legs crossed at the ankles. He’d straightened his clothes, which molded lovingly to his body, but his cravat hung limply around his neck, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of skin at the base of his throat. His dark brown hair was tousled from his restless sleep, a lock falling across his brow. It was his eyes, though, that struck her most. Dark, unreadable and trained on her.

  She tried to speak, to breach the heavy silence that hung between them, but she was captive to that gaze. Mercifully, he released her when he dragged his eyes down her figure. She became acutely conscious of her serviceable and long-out-of-fashion dress.

  “How are you this morning?” she finally managed in a voice she hoped didn’t reveal how much he’d disturbed her.

  “I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “You don’t appear to have suffered any ill effects.”

  His mouth quirked at that. “That good, were you?”

  Louisa shook her head, confused by his obvious amusement.

  “I had nothing to do with it.”

  Her words seemed to have a strange effect on him. His gaze traveled over her again, more thoroughly this time, and heat sprang to her cheeks. Then, to her surprise, he crooked a finger and whispered “come here” in a tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Come here. I need you.”

  Worry overcame her unease. He seemed much better than he’d been last night, but he might have injuries that weren’t obvious to the eye. She hadn’t examined him that closely after her brother had removed his coat and left them alone. She rushed to his side and before she realized his intention, he grabbed her hand and tumbled her onto his lap. She froze, stunned, and their eyes locked.

  “Why don’t you refresh my memory about last night? I seem to be a little vague on the details.”

  As if in slow motion, his head tilted and descended toward her. Surprise kept her still when his mouth touched hers, his lips softly playing over her own. She opened her mouth to protest, but his tongue intruded and all reason fled.

  She’d had a suitor before, when her father was still healthy, and they had shared a few kisses, but those kisses were nothing to this one. She should have been shocked at the intimacy of his tongue moving against hers, exploring her mouth. Instead, she found herself sinking against him and reveling in the feel of his strong arms around her. She moved her own tongue along his and his answering groan caused something new to stir within her.

  His mouth left hers to travel across her cheek, then down the column of her throat, and waves of sensation roiled through her. The feel of his hand on her breast was a welcome relief, both soothing the aching need within her while stoking the flames higher. She clutched at his shoulders and shifted to give him better access. When his other hand traveled up the length of her leg and reached the bare skin above her stockings, however, she came crashing back to reality. What on earth was she doing? She pushed against his chest and scrambled off the bed when his grip loosened, ashamed of having forgotten herself so easily.

  Cheeks flaming, struggling to right her breathing, she braved a glance at the man in her bed. His own breathing was as ragged as hers and he looked even more dangerous than when she’d entered the room.

  “Surely you’ll not deny me after last night?” His tone was short, his annoyance clear.

  Confused, Louisa could only stare at him. Then understanding dawned.

  “You don’t remember what happened last night.”

  That was it, of course. His behavior now made sense. Not remembering what had happened, he’d jumped to the only logical conclusion as to why he’d be in a woman’s bed. She, unfortunately, had no such excuse for her own behavior.

  Very conscious of her shameful reaction to him, she rushed to explain.

  “You came to our house late last night. You were ill, unable to stand, and had a fever. My brother and I thought it best to bring you here where you could rest. I was afraid it might take you some time to recover, but I see now I needn’t have worried.”

  She realized she was babbling and stopped talking. His gaze was intent upon her and she had to resist the urge to squirm.

  “Yes, well,” he said after several moments, “I’ll thank you now and be on my way.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “No,” Louisa said, rushing forward to lay a restraining hand on his shoulder. His gaze moved from her hand back to her face and one corner of his mouth quirked upward.

  Reading his thoughts clearly, she dropped her hand and took a step back. She may have allowed him to kiss her once, but she’d been taken by surprise. There would be no repeat performance, a fact he’d do well to realize.

  “You were very ill last night. You need to eat something to rebuild your strength. I’ll bring you a tray.”

  He regarded her silently. She tried to imagine what he was thinking, but his expression was shuttered. She was about to leave to fetch his breakfast when he finally spoke.

  “It appears I have misread the situation, and for that I apologize.”

  He stood and Louisa held her breath, watching for signs of weakness or fatigue. There were none.

  “I suspect I was in no condition last night to formally introduce myself. The Marquess of Overlea, at your service,” he said with a brief bow.

  She could feel the color drain from her face. She stood very still, trying to calm her heart, which was now racing for a very different reason.

  She didn’t bother to return his courtesy when she replied. Instead, she straightened her spine and looked him squarely in the eye.

  “I am Louisa Evans, my lord,” she said, pleased that her voice was even. “I believe you have already met my brother, John, and my sister, Catherine.”

  He recognized her name and she could see it gave him pause. He recovered right away, but there was no doubt he knew what his family had done to hers.

  “We haven’t been formally introduced, but yes, I have had the pleasure.”

  She was amazed at how he could keep his manner so calm after being accosted first by a screaming woman, then by a madman with a pistol. Especially since he now knew the identity of the family who had taken him in. Yet there he stood, calmly facing her as though his family hadn’t completely ruined hers.

  “I heard about your father’s death and I’d like to extend my condolences.”

  She could tell his words were sincere. His own parents had died two years before in a carriage accident and then he’d lost his only brother last year after a mysterious illness. Other than his grandmother, he was now alone. They shared a brief, unexpected moment of silent commiseration.

  “I’ll return in a few minutes,” Louisa said before turning to leave.

  “There’s no need. I’ll join you downstairs shortly.”

  She was about to protest, but when she looked back at him she could see from his expression that he would brook no argument.

  * * * * *

  She was gone. Nicholas sank onto the bed and cradled his head in his hands. Damn his headache. He’d almost disgraced himself in front of her, but had somehow managed not to sway on his feet.

  She’d been right to insist he eat some
thing before leaving. Each headache he endured took more out of him than the last. This one was the worst yet. He’d never lost consciousness before. He had a sudden image of his brother in agony, lying on his deathbed, but pushed it out of his mind. He was still alive and refused to give in to despair. He would enjoy what time remained, be it days, months, or years.

  He turned his thoughts, instead, to Louisa Evans and experienced an uncharacteristic twinge of regret. It was bad enough he’d collapsed in her presence, an image he would not allow himself to contemplate, but remembering how he had taken her for a lightskirt was too much. Especially after what his uncle had already done to her family.

  He would have to make it up to her. Thank her properly for taking care of him and for being so understanding about his error in judgment. Any other woman would have thrown him out on his ear. He couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t.

  From his disjointed memories of the night, he knew she’d worn her fair hair loose about her shoulders. It was up now, but a few tendrils had escaped during their kiss. He remembered the uncertainty in her wide, gray eyes when she’d first entered the room. Those same eyes had darkened with desire when he’d kissed her. The memory of her response caused his body to tighten again.

  She was obviously a passionate woman, but he could tell from their kiss that she was also an innocent one. He wouldn’t take advantage of her. His family had already done hers enough harm.

  He stood again, more slowly this time, and was relieved to find his moment of weakness had passed. With a bit of luck his strength would hold.

  Chapter Three

  Louisa made it down the hallway, her legs threatening to give way with each step, before sagging against the wall for support.

  Nicholas Manning, the new Marquess of Overlea, was in her house.

  The Mannings were responsible for her family’s diminished situation. She remembered it clearly, as though it had just happened. How Henry Manning, the marquess’s uncle, had taken advantage of her father in a weak moment.

  She’d been eight when her mother, who hadn’t fully recovered after John’s very difficult birth, died giving birth to Catherine one year later. Their father had shut himself in his bedroom for a whole week following the funeral while a neighbor stayed to look after them. At the end of that week, no longer able to bear the loss of her one remaining parent’s company, Louisa had gone to him. Since he never opened his bedroom door when she knocked, she’d worked up the courage to walk in without knocking. She’d found him asleep in a chair, his beard overgrown, hair unkempt and an empty glass balanced precariously on one knee. She’d woken him, expecting her customary hug. Instead, he’d ordered her to leave the room. She’d left, shocked he had yelled at her. Her father never yelled. Worse, however, was the fact that he had raised his hand as though he’d been about to strike her.

  She’d run to her room, thrown herself on her bed, and cried. Before long, her father came to her, gathered her into his arms, and promised to take care of them. That he’d never drink again.

  He’d kept that promise until the night, years later, when Henry Manning had come across her father in the village. She remembered vividly the shame in her father’s face when he’d later recounted what happened. They had started discussing her mother and Manning had taken him to the tavern and ordered a round of drinks. Not wishing to insult him, her father had decided there was no harm in having one drink. It had been almost ten years since Mama’s death and he hadn’t touched a drop in all that time. But one drink had turned to two, then three, and finally he’d lost count.

  Louisa remembered how Henry Manning had brought him home, none the worse himself for having spent hours drinking with her father. She’d been angry at his smug demeanor that night. That anger had turned to despair the next day when he’d arrived to tell them they had one week to gather their belongings before he took possession of their home and their lands. He’d produced the promissory note her father signed the previous evening, and ashamed, her father had confessed what he’d done. He’d allowed Manning to talk him into joining a card game that was in full swing at an adjoining table. Losing steadily, he’d become more and more reckless with each drink until he’d lost everything. He’d behaved like an immature youth squandering his newly acquired inheritance.

  They’d moved out of their manor house one week later, taking only what they could fit into the much smaller cottage Manning allowed them to have on the border of what had once been their estate.

  “What’s the matter?”

  John’s voice brought Louisa back to the present. She could see the concern on her brother’s face and briefly considered not telling him what she’d learned. She quickly discarded the notion, though, knowing he’d find out soon enough.

  “Our guest,” she said, glancing quickly at her closed bedroom door. She lowered her voice so Overlea wouldn’t overhear them. “I know who he is.”

  “And…?” John prompted when she paused.

  There was nothing for it but to tell him straight out. “The new Marquess of Overlea.”

  John swore and started for her room. She threw herself into his path to stop him.

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “Throw the swine out on his ear, as he deserves.”

  “Lower you voice. He’ll hear you.”

  “That was my intent,” he said, his voice now louder.

  Throwing her weight against him, she pushed her brother back into his room. Once there, she closed the door and leaned against it, barring his exit. She was surprised he’d allowed her to stop him, but her surprise turned to concern when he walked to his side table and picked up the loaded pistol that rested there.

  “You are not throwing him out. He may be seriously injured from his fall.”

  “I don’t care. I’m the head of the family now. Father never allowed a Manning in this house while he was alive, and nothing has changed now that he’s gone.” He took a step toward her. “Move away from the door, Louisa.”

  She was determined her brother would not have his way in this.

  “I’m the eldest here,” she said. “I’ve run this household for years now, and I’ll continue to do so. I will not throw an injured man out on the road.”

  “Pity the Mannings have no such qualms.”

  “Overlea is no danger to us in his current condition. And in any case, he cannot be blamed for something his uncle did years ago, no more than you are to blame for Father’s behavior the night he gambled away our home.”

  A flush of anger crept up his face, but she knew she’d made her point. As long as her brother never learned about what had transpired between her and the marquess in her bedroom, he wouldn’t confront Overlea.

  Breakfast was a tense affair. Louisa kept expecting her brother to say something harsh to the marquess and couldn’t relax. He surprised her by holding his tongue, but what was more surprising was Catherine’s silence. From the looks she cast in Overlea’s direction, it was clear her sister was curious about their guest, but she seemed determined to remain faithful to their father’s edict that all Mannings be treated as the enemy.

  Louisa tried to fill the silence with small talk but gave up after a few attempts. The stilted conversation was almost worse than the silence. Overlea sat next to her and his presence made it difficult for her to concentrate on anything else. She caught herself watching his hands as he held his cutlery and her thoughts drifted back to how those same hands had felt on her breast and high on her thigh. Blushing, she forced her eyes away and tried to keep them on her still-full plate.

  Overlea took their silence in stride, behaving as though nothing were out of the ordinary. When he’d first arrived downstairs she’d been acutely embarrassed by the fact that he’d soon learn how far they’d fallen. Even the poorest of genteel families had at least one servant, and she had no doubt this was the first time he’d ever stepped foot in a household that had none. She’d seen his surprise when he noticed the absence of servants, but he’d quickly masked it.
If he had any disdain for the simple manner in which they lived, he didn’t show it.

  “Would you like some more, my lord?” she asked when she noticed his plate was empty.

  She started to stand to tend to him, but Overlea’s hand on her arm stopped her. He released her immediately, but she could still feel the imprint of his fingers. She didn’t miss John’s frown or Catherine’s interested expression.

  “I’ve already imposed on you too much.”

  Her thoughts flew back to the incident upstairs and she wondered if he was remembering it as well.

  “Your horse,” she said far too loudly.

  He raised a brow at the abrupt change in subject and there was a heavy moment of silence before Overlea replied. “He should know his way home from here since it isn’t too far. Of course, that would mean I’d have to impose further and ask if you know of another means of transportation.”

  “Oh, he’s still here,” Louisa said. “You needn’t worry; he’s in the barn out back. John took care of him last night.”

  Overlea inclined his head and stood. “I’ll go see to him now, then.”

  He took a step, stumbled, and reached for the back of the chair to steady himself. His eyes closed briefly and a grimace of pain flickered across his face. Louisa rushed to his side and braced her arm across his back. She returned the scowl John gave her with one of her own before turning her attention back to Overlea.

  “Would you like me to help you upstairs?”

  He stiffened and stepped away from her. “That’s quite all right. It was just a brief twinge. You needn’t concern yourself.”

  With that he turned and was gone.

  Louisa turned immediately to John. “What is the matter with you?”

  “You shouldn’t be tending him. The new marquess has a reputation as a rake.”

  “How can you say that?” She was astounded by his stubbornness. “He is clearly still suffering from whatever illness caused him to collapse and you’re concerned about his reputation?”