Surrender Becomes Her (14 page)

Knowing precisely which room Marcus had to break into was helpful, but they had no way of knowing where Whitley would be that night: he might be out carousing through the village, or worse, he might have retired early, either by himself or with a wench. But if they were lucky and Jack found Whitley at the inn, how was Jack to let Marcus know if he had engaged Whitley in conversation and could keep the major occupied while Marcus explored his room at the inn?

“It seems to me,” Marcus said after a bit, “that the sim
plest solution is for me to wait hidden outside. If he’s not there, you’ll come out and tell me and we can decide what to do from there. I’ll wait fifteen, twenty minutes after you go inside, and if you don’t return, I’ll assume you’ve engaged Whitley’s attention and I’ll set about getting into his rooms.”

Their plan set they arrived at the inn. Jack went inside and, when he did not return after several minutes, Marcus took a deep breath and from his hiding place near the inn’s stables crept around to the back of the inn. Fortunately, the back corner of the inn was covered in ivy and, using the heavy vines, Marcus quickly scaled the building and shortly found a partially opened window and silently slid inside.

Elated with his success and feeling rather dashing, Marcus immediately set about searching Whitley’s rooms. Using only the light of one small candle he moved around the rooms, poking and prying. Beyond the normal places for Marcus to search, Jack had given him a few other places to look, but he found no false boot heels or bottom in Whitley’s valises.

Aware that he had only a limited time, Marcus looked in those places first but found no hidden compartments anywhere. In fact, having made a thorough search of the major’s belongings, careful to leave no signs of his actions, he found nothing out of the ordinary. The major was inclined toward the dandy set if the amount of starched cravats, fobs, seals, jewelry, and the three different quizzing glasses, each with a different styled handle, he found was any indication. There was also a pair of pale yellow pantaloons and a cherry-striped waistcoat that made Marcus wince when he spied them in the candlelight.

Dispirited but not willing to accept defeat, Marcus turned his attention to the major’s bed. Despite a cautious inspection of the pillows and bedding, he found nothing of interest. On the point of leaving, he considered the bed one more time. He’d searched the bed itself, but what about
underneath
the bed?

Ignoring the sensation of foolishness, he knelt down and,
using his candle, looked beneath the bed. In the candlelight his astonished gaze spied a small boyish figure curled under the bed. Shadows danced over a face he would recognize anywhere.

“Isabel?”
he croaked.

“M
arcus!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening in shock as she realized the grim-faced man staring at her in the flickering light was her fiancé. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, wiggling out from beneath the bed.

“I think,” Marcus said dryly, having made way for her to crawl out from her hiding place, “that is my question.”

Standing up, he helped her to her feet. If he had not known her so well, he would have thought he faced a boy. Hiding her red hair beneath a boy’s cap and wearing a masculine jacket that had seen better days and a worn pair of breeches and scuffed boots, she could have easily passed for a youth of twenty.

Not meeting his gaze, head down, she swiped at the smears of dust that marred the front of her jacket and breeches, her thoughts jumbled. How, she wondered desperately, was she ever going to explain this? There simply was no explanation, at least no reasonable explanation, she decided glumly. She risked a glance at him and asked, “How did you find me?” Something occurred to her and her eyes narrowed and accusingly, she questioned, “Did you follow me?”

His expression hard and distant, Marcus said softly, “That horse won’t run, my sweet. There are any number of reasons
why I might be here, none of them, I’ll admit, reflecting admirably on me, but your position is far more invidious. I’ve just found my betrothed hiding in the bedroom of a man she claims to not like very much.” His gaze cool, he said, “I think I’m owed an explanation.”

A burst of laughter from below reminded both of them where they were and, almost as one, they moved toward the open window.

“This isn’t the place for the conversation we need to have,” Marcus said as they stood side by side at the window, “but believe me, Isabel, we
will
have it.”

Throwing one leg over the sill and blowing out the candle, Marcus said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll go first.” Bluntly he added, “I don’t trust you not to run away the moment your feet hit the ground.”

Isabel flushed in the darkness since that very thought had crossed her mind. Accepting defeat, she gave a quick nod of her head. Frowning, she watched him slide lithely from the window and disappear into the darkness below. The dangerous-looking man she had confronted tonight was not the Marcus she had known all her life. From her position beneath the bed, hearing the sounds of movement, she’d known that whoever had entered Whitley’s room through the window, the same one she had used only fifteen minutes previously, had made a thorough search of the room. She couldn’t be certain, but she didn’t think the person found whatever had prompted the search in the first place. Had he been after the same thing she had? But how could that be? Even she didn’t know what it was she was looking for, so how could the as-yet-unknown person know what it was? Knowing now that the stranger was actually Marcus, she concluded that it would be too coincidental to believe that he had been searching for the same thing she had and she dismissed that thought. It was also clear that he hadn’t been looking for her; he had been as shocked as she had been when they recognized each other. So why had that paragon of respectability, the darling of
every parent with an eligible daughter, the highly regarded Mr. Marcus Sherbrook, been sneaking about in the dark, pilfering another man’s belongings? The Marcus she knew would never have done anything so…so…impolite, she thought with a half-hysterical giggle as she followed him out the window.

Marcus was waiting for her, his hands closing around her waist before her feet hit the ground. Effortlessly lifting her away from the building, he set her down in front of him.

Keeping a firm hold on her, he jerked his head toward a small copse of woods that lay behind the inn’s stables. “My horse is tied over there,” he said quietly. “Where is yours?”

She looked over her shoulder in the opposite direction. “I left mine tethered behind old Mrs. Simpson’s place just down the road.”

With one powerful hand now manacling Isabel’s wrist, Marcus headed toward the copse of woods where his horse waited, dragging her along behind him. “Fine. We’ll go pick up your horse right now.”

Isabel had learned a long time ago that there are some fights one can win and some one can’t. This was one of those fights that she couldn’t win, and so she meekly followed his lead, making no effort to escape. They reached his horse and, after untying the animal and mounting, he pulled her up in front of him.

They were silent as he guided the animal through the darkness, skirting the inn and riding to Mrs. Simpson’s small cottage. The hour was late enough that the cottage was in darkness. There was no cause for alarm when Isabel’s horse nickered softly as they approached and Marcus’s horse replied: Mrs. Simpson was deaf as a post.

Once Isabel was mounted, Marcus prudently took the reins of her horse and, leading the animal, urged his horse back toward the inn.

“Where are you going?” Isabel hissed. “This is the wrong way.”

“There’s someone else with me,” Marcus muttered over his shoulder. “I have to wait for him.”

Marcus considered just leaving his cousin to his own devices and riding to Manning Court with Isabel, confident Jack could fend for himself. The fewer people who knew of tonight’s debacle the better, but he balked at abandoning Jack without a word. His mouth twisted. He could hardly send Jack a note informing him of a sudden change in plans, nor could he risk Jack looking for him. Once Jack quitted the inn and didn’t find him waiting, he would no doubt start looking for him in the last place he was known to be—Whitley’s room. Marcus couldn’t let that happen; it was too dangerous. He had no choice but to wait for Jack…which left him with Isabel. The last thing he wanted to do was to introduce Jack to Isabel under these circumstances, but postponing the frank conversation he had in mind by allowing her to blithely ride off to Manning Court—unescorted, he reminded himself—didn’t seem like a good option either. And then there was Jack…. Jack would be eager for news of what he had discovered in Whitley’s room, just as he was eager to find out if Jack had learned anything useful from Whitley. Neither topic was for the ears of Mrs. Manning. The exchange of information could be delayed until they reached Sherbrook Hall—which would be, he admitted, sighing, after he escorted his fiancée home and returned to the house a great deal later. Marcus made a face, not thinking much of
that
option.

He was, he conceded sourly, caught on the horns of a dilemma. The more he considered it, the more his mind boggled at the explanation he would have to give Jack to account for Isabel’s presence—even if he bypassed finding her hidden under the bed in Whitley’s room, not to mention the reason she was dressed as a youth! What possible reason could he give for any of it? He didn’t even have an explanation for her actions himself yet, and he wouldn’t get an explanation until he had the time to speak alone and at length with Mrs. Isabel
Manning, something that wouldn’t happen in the short period before Jack joined them.

While the need to know
why
she had been in Whitley’s room ate like acid in his belly, he realized that it might be simpler to postpone the confrontation with Isabel and send her on her way before Jack rejoined him. Which created another problem for him, and he struggled against the notion of her riding alone in the darkness to Manning Court. Even without the Whitley situation, every protective instinct he possessed was aghast at the idea of a gently reared woman riding unescorted through the night—and never mind that she had done just that to get here. Having her and Jack meet under these conditions was equally ghastly, and he couldn’t decide which of his not very pleasant choices would be best.

Riding into the copse of trees at the rear of the stables, Marcus turned the problem over and over in his mind. He had come up with no solution when he halted their horses near where his horse had originally been tied. Marcus didn’t like it, but it appeared that Isabel and Jack were going to meet tonight, unless he could think of some other way out of his dilemma. Turning to Isabel, he said, “We’ll wait here. He shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Who are we waiting for?” she asked, curiosity evident.

“My cousin Jack.”

She studied his big form barely visible in the darkness. It was devastating enough that Marcus had found her in Whitley’s bedroom; the thought of someone else, a stranger, learning of it filled her with dismay. “Er, are you sure that’s wise?” she mumbled. “I don’t want anyone else to know about tonight, not even your cousin.”

“No, it’s probably not wise,” he snapped, “but I don’t have much choice. And I’m no more happy with having you meet Jack this way than you are.” Thinking of all the complications before him, a strong sense of injustice overtook him. Finding Isabel hiding beneath Whitley’s bed had been a
direct hit between the eyes. Why had she been there? Why garbed as a boy? Was it because of some kind of perversion practiced by Whitley? His stomach lurched at the thought and bile rose in his throat. He took a deep breath, willing himself to think calmly. The hiding he could understand; if he’d been there and had heard someone else climb in through the window, he’d have hidden beneath the bed himself. There might be a reasonable explanation for all of it—none of which, he was convinced, he would like—but try as he might, he could only think of one reason that Isabel had been hiding in Whitley’s room. Jealous rage clawed at his guts and he slewed around in his saddle and glared at her. “Are you and Whitley lovers?” he demanded.

Isabel stiffened. “How dare you!” she exclaimed, furious that he would even think such a thing. Her chin at a pugnacious angle, she added hotly, “You are insulting and presumptuous.”

“You’re my fiancée and I have just found you in another man’s bedroom,” Marcus said acidly. “I think I’m owed an explanation.”

“What do you think I was doing there?” she taunted, too angry to watch her words. “Suppose I was there to meet Whitley? Suppose we are lovers? What are you going to do about it?” Hating herself for acting this way, she forced a nasty smile on her lips and murmured, “You realize, of course, that if you don’t like the situation, you can call off the engagement.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Indeed! I never wanted to marry you in the first place.”

Riled beyond patience, he astonished both of them by grabbing Isabel and jerking her off her horse and onto his. Breathing heavily, holding her squirming body prisoner across the saddle in front of him, he snarled, “You listen to me, woman: you’re mine! I’ll not share you and, by God, we
shall
be married!” His mouth came down hard on hers and
his lips crushed hers as he stamped his possession on her startled mouth.

This was no sweet kiss between gentle lovers; it was angry and desperate and full of a dark passion that overrode all thought. Marcus kissed her as he had never kissed another woman in his life, demanding that she respond, that she feel the same primitive emotions that lacerated his very being. And she did. After that first stunned second, Isabel no longer sought to escape; she strained against him, her lips as hungry and insistent as his, her hands clutching his shoulders as if she would never let him go. She wanted this. She wanted
him
.

Blind with need, Marcus lost himself in the wine-sweet intoxication of her mouth, kissing her again and again, heedless of anything but the woman in his arms and her wild response to him. His hand slipped to her breast and he cupped that small weight, urgent desire flaring through him at Isabel’s soft moan of pleasure.

The snort and sudden upraised head of his horse ended the moment as if it had never been. Recalled to his senses, Marcus dragged his mouth from Isabel’s and peered through the darkness. Someone was coming.

Cursing himself, wondering where his wits had gone, he swung Isabel back onto her horse. In the broken light of the moon through the trees, one swift glance revealed that her boy’s hat was wildly askew, strands of her hair tumbling from beneath it to frame her features. She was as aroused as he, her eyes full of sultry promise and her mouth half parted as if waiting for his kiss. Breathing hard they stared at each other, desire swirling thick in the air between them, and it gave Marcus some comfort to know that it was not all on his part.

The recognizable clink of a bridle nearby jerked his attention away from Isabel and he looked in the direction of the sound, trying to focus his thoughts. A soft whistle carried on
the night air and he recognized it as the one he and Jack had agreed upon before they had parted. The person slowly riding toward him through the trees was Jack. How in the devil, he wondered, was he going to explain Isabel to Jack? He smiled grimly. Devil take it! If Jack looked askance at Isabel or breathed a word of tonight, he’d probably just have to shoot him—and he’d really hate to do that.

Aware that Marcus’s attention was elsewhere, Isabel glanced around, desperately hoping that a way out of this dilemma would present itself. She gasped when she spied the dangling reins of her horse. During their violent embrace the reins had fallen unheeded to the ground and, recovering her senses, her heart banging in her chest, she leaned forward and recaptured them. Her thoughts raced as she considered her next move. She wasn’t a coward and generally didn’t care about the finer nuances of the dictates of the
ton
, but even she saw no good coming from meeting Marcus’s cousin while she was dressed as a boy and apparently out larking through the countryside alone after dark. There were too many questions that needed answering, questions she couldn’t answer. Gathering her courage, gulping in a deep breath, she kicked her mount into motion. The animal gave a startled leap and, with Isabel’s heels digging into its sides, the horse plunged through the trees. Breaking free of the woods, Isabel pushed her horse into a blazing pace and, by the time the road was reached, the animal was in a full gallop, mane and tail streaming in the air. In moments, the stables, the inn, and Marcus were left behind, and the only sounds she heard were the thudding of her horse’s hooves on the road and the frantic beating of her heart.