Mary Balogh (23 page)

“Then begin anywhere,” he said. “Begin with the weather. Ideas often flow once the tongue has been set in motion.”

“It sounds too simple,” she said. “I don’t think it could work, Clarence.”

“You will not know unless you try,” he said. “Why not invite him outside now? We seem to be the last ones out here and it seems to me that we have been outside far longer than I intended to keep you. We will be fortunate not to run into search parties.”

“It is late,” she said. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Never put off until tomorrow what can be done today,” he said, grinning. “My mother used to say that so often to us children that we used to mouth the words with her if we could just get sufficiently far behind her not to be observed.”

She sighed. “You always make life sound so uncomplicated, Clarence,” she said. “Perhaps I will do as you suggest. I shall see if he is busy with someone.”

The Earl of Clifton was not busy with anyone, it seemed. He came striding across the hall to meet them as they stepped inside the house, his eyes passing from Clarence to his wife.

“I need to have a word with you, Olivia,” he said, taking her arm.

She looked at Clarence and he gave her an encouraging smile.

“I shall see if there is any tea left in the drawing room,” he said.

Her husband’s hand was firm on her arm. He led her without a word across the hall and opened the door into his private study.

“What is it?” she asked him. “Is something wrong? Sophia?”

There was no light in the study. He closed the door
firmly behind them and plunged them into darkness. And he swung her around quite ungently so that she collided hard with his chest, and found her mouth with his own.

The urgency of the kiss had nothing to do with passion or need or love, she realized after the first moment of shock and latent joy. It was a kiss designed to bruise her lips and cut the flesh behind them against her teeth. It was a kiss intended to hurt and insult. She pushed against his shoulders, was wrestled even closer to him, and finally went limp in his arms.

“You will keep away from him while you are in my home,” he said at last, his voice tight with fury, “whatever you do at Rushton. My home is full of guests come to celebrate a wedding. Your daughter’s and mine. The proprieties will be observed. Strictly observed. Do you understand me?”

She could not see him at all. Her eyes had not even begun to accustom themselves to the darkness.

“Clearly,” she said.

“Where were you?” He had her by the wrists.

“Outside.”

“Where outside?”

“Outside.”

He shook her wrists. “When your mother asked Sophia if you were coming in, Sophia said she had not seen you,” he said. “Where were you? In the garden? In the hidden garden?”

She said nothing.

“Answer me.” He shook her more roughly.

“I will not,” she said.

“You were in the hidden garden,” he said and his hold on her wrists loosened. “I’ll not have it, Olivia. Not on this property or during this week.” The fury had gone from his voice, leaving it flat and expressionless. “At least I did not invite Mary here.”

“Lady Mornington?” she said.

“At least I did not invite her here, Olivia,” he said. “I think you might have done as much.”

“Clarence is my friend,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, “and Mary is mine.”

“Well,” she said, “you can be back with her within a week. The guests will doubtless all leave within a day or two of the wedding. I shall be returning home with Clarence and Emma. You need not delay your departure for London.”

“I have known peace of mind with her,” he said. “She accepts me for who I am.”

“Then you are fortunate,” she said. “There are not many women who would accept any such thing.”

“Olivia,” he said. “Stay away from him.”

“Why?” she asked. “Are you jealous, Marcus?”

“Envious,” he said and there was an edge of anger to his voice again. “I don’t have Mary here to dally with.”

“I suppose, then,” she said, “that I am more fortunate than you. May I leave now?”

He released her wrists and opened the door in silence. She went past him into the hallway and he closed the door quietly behind her, remaining inside the room.

S
HE PROBABLY WOULD
have told herself the next morning that she had had a sleepless night. Certainly she had tossed and turned for a long, long time and punched her pillows and rearranged the bedclothes and thought of getting up and dressing and going downstairs in search of something to eat or outside in search of air.

But she must have fallen asleep eventually. Otherwise, she would have heard him coming into her dressing room, and seen him coming into her bedchamber and crossing the room to her bed. She would have seen him
pulling off his clothes. As it was, she was aware of him only as the bed beside her dipped with his weight.

And then one arm came beneath her and turned her onto her side and his free hand came along her jaw and over her ear and his mouth found hers and explored it warmly and gently. She came fully awake.

He said nothing, only kissed her slowly, almost lazily, touching just her face, her nightgown separating their bodies.

“Easy,” he murmured to her when desire surged and she arched herself against him. “Easy.”

And she imposed relaxation on her body and allowed him to lead the way by slow, deliberate, erotic stages until he finally stripped away her nightgown and came onto her and into her and she knew only the frenzy of wanting him, of needing what he was giving her. She pressed her knees to his waist and urged him on to that newly discovered world beyond passion.

“Yes,” she told him as it happened. “Yes.”

He sighed against her ear.

She did not try to hold him as he disengaged himself from her and removed his weight from her. She only kept her eyes closed and willed him not to leave her. There was a far worse desolation in being alone after love than in being always alone. She had discovered that on two recent occasions.

Please don’t go
, she begged him silently. And he slid his arm beneath her neck again and drew her close and pulled the blankets up about them.

“He has taught you passion,” he said, his voice low against her ear, “but not control. I’ll teach you control and the greater wonder that follows it.”

She thought he would leave then. And she expected to feel fury and the need to order him out of her bed and her room. But she was too tired for anger and too warm and comfortable to want him gone. She willed him not
to leave. She burrowed her head into the warm hollow between his shoulder and neck.

Fourteen years without you have taught me passion
, she told him silently as she slipped into sleep.
Not Clarence or any other nameless he. Just your long absence from my life, Marc
.

He woke her again in the night and loved her slowly and thoroughly. And remembering his words, she began to learn to hold her desire in check, so that all the meandering paths to glory might be explored and enjoyed, and the glory itself might be the more shatteringly wonderful.

Even then he did not go back to his own room.

S
OPHIA SLEPT FITFULLY THROUGH THE NIGHT
. S
HE
did not know quite how she was to face the day and the announcement that would have to be made. She wished she had insisted that they do it the evening before despite the reasonableness of Francis’s objections. Really, there was no right time to do such a thing. And she wished that she had been blessed with an imagination. She had never thought of what a betrothal and planned wedding would involve beyond bringing her parents together. She had not thought of anything beyond the hope that once together, they would realize that they could not be apart again.

She got up very early and dressed herself and brushed her hair without the services of a maid, intending to go downstairs and outside even though there were heavy clouds that made it look chilly outside.

But she would not do so, she decided suddenly. She would not wait any longer. She
could
not. And why should Francis bear all the embarrassment of confronting both sets of parents when really none of this whole situation was his fault? She would go to her mother, she decided, as she had often gone whenever she was burdened with a problem. She had always liked to go in the early morning, when she could climb into bed beside Mama and curl into her warmth and feel that all the
burdens of the world had been lifted off her shoulders and onto Mama’s sensible and capable ones.

She could no longer do that, of course. But she would go anyway. Mama would know how best to break the news to Papa and to the duke and duchess. And Mama would be able to advise her on how and when they should make the announcement to all their gathered friends and relatives.

It was not going to be that simple, of course. It was a dreadful thing she had done, despite the purity of her motive, and the consequences were going to be equally dreadful. Indeed, they did not bear thinking of. And it was the effort of not thinking of them that had kept her awake through much of the night, waking from dreams and fighting to remain awake.

But she would go anyway. If there was anyone who could help her it was her mother. Besides, Mama should be the first to know. And perhaps Papa, too, but she did not care to think what Papa would say to her or what he would do. Though it was a baseless fear—Papa had never struck her even when she was a child.

Perhaps she should wait for a more civilized hour, she thought as she stepped outside her room into a deserted corridor and closed the door behind her. Mama was going to be fast asleep. Perhaps she should wait an hour longer. But even an hour was too long to wait—her wedding was supposed to take place two days hence. She walked resolutely and with thumping heart and shaking knees in the direction of her mother’s room.

She tapped lightly on the door and opened it slowly and quietly as if afraid to disturb the mother she had come to waken.

“Mama?” she whispered, stepping inside and looking across to the bed from which the curtains were looped back.

And then she stopped abruptly as she found herself
staring into her father’s eyes. She could not afterward explain to herself how she had the presence of mind to notice details, but she did. Her father’s bare arms were about her mother, her head cradled on his arm, her face against his bare chest. Her long fair hair was tousled and covering his arm. Her back was bare. Her father’s free hand drew the blankets up about her sleeping mother.

He frowned at Sophia and formed a “Sh!” with his mouth though he made no sound. She backed up until she felt the door handle behind her and then she fled through the door, closing it as quietly as her shaking hands could accomplish. She stood outside the door gulping in air, feeling such a welling of excitement inside that she thought she would surely burst if she had to keep it all to herself.

Cynthia? Cynthia had always been one of her closest friends. But she did not spare Cynthia more than a glancing thought. Her hasty footsteps and overflowing heart took her to another door and she rapped on it a little less lightly than she had tapped on her mother’s. Even so she had to repeat the knock.

Lord Francis was wearing breeches when he opened the door. They were all he was wearing. His hair was still disheveled from his pillow. Sophia noticed none of those details.

“What the devil?” he said. “Go away this instant, Soph. Are you mad?”

“Francis,” she said, her hands clasped to her bosom, her eyes shining, “guess what? We did it. We did it.”

Lord Francis took a step forward, looked to right and left along the still-deserted corridor, grabbed Sophia by one wrist, and hauled her inside his bedchamber. He shut the door firmly.

“We certainly did,” he said. “We backed ourselves into a corner. Don’t you realize what would happen if
you were seen knocking on my door at this hour of the morning, Soph? Your reputation would be in shreds even if you really were within two days of your wedding. There would certainly be no question of calling off the wedding. In one moment I am going to stick my head out there again to make sure there are no watchers at the doors and then you are going to tiptoe all the way back to your room again. Are you this desperate for my body?”

She chuckled and threw her arms about his neck. “They are in bed together and he has his arms about her and she is sleeping with her face against his chest,” she said. “We did it, Francis! We did it.” And she kissed him smackingly on the cheek.

“Soph, Soph,” he said, trying to put her from him, “if there is any attacking to be done, I would prefer to be the instigator, if you don’t mind too much.
Who
are in bed together? Oh, your mama and papa, I suppose. And you went walking in on them. Then you can be very thankful that she
was
asleep, my girl. You might just have acquired a permanent blush.”

“Do you think they …?” she asked.

“I have no doubt that they …” he said. “It usually happens when a man and woman get into bed together, you know, Soph. And I would feel a great deal more comfortable if you were not quite so close to mine, especially in my present state of, ah, dishabille. I am lamentably human, you know.”

“Oh,” she said, and she jumped away from him and appeared to notice for the first time his naked upper body and his bare feet. She flushed slowly.

“What you see is going to be all yours in two days’ time, Soph, if you don’t get out of here unnoticed,” he said. “In which case it is to be hoped that those blushes mean you like what you see. So they spent the night together, did they?”

“Yes.” She clasped her hands before her, and her eyes shone again. “It has worked, Francis. It was all worthwhile after all. Now I will not mind all the embarrassment facing us today. I shall not mind at all, at least for my sake. I shall mind for yours, for you have done me a great kindness and I shall never forget it for all that we quarrel dreadfully whenever we are alone together for longer than two minutes. I shall mind the embarrassment to you.”

“Look, Soph,” he said, “we need to talk a few things over before getting together with our parents. But not here and now, thank you very much. There are limits to my better nature. I’ll meet you outside in half an hour. By the fountain. Agreed?”