The Marquess's Final Fling: Christmas Belles, Book #4 Read online

  “I’m glad you’re ready to have a bit of fun. You deserve it. I know you work hard, taking care of everyone. Your successes with your lands are the talk, even the envy, of the ton.”

  “Gossip paints me well, does it?”

  Oh, yes. And eligible for another marriage. A third wife. “The sun smiles on you, they say.”

  “Ah! What do they know, hmmm? If I stand in the sun, I find the rays slant in odd ways. But I will have it otherwise. I mean to make the sun smile on me in new and different ways, Penn.” His thumbs stroked the outline of her bottom lip and sent hot streaks of need to her breasts and her center.

  “Good for you.” She traveled through time and space into the swirling depths of his turquoise eyes. No man had ever fascinated her so. Those eyes of his had mesmerized her as surely as the waters of the lagoons in southern Italy. She mustn’t ask about his life since last they’d met and talked. She shouldn’t want to learn more about him, lest she revive that eternal preoccupation she had with his looks, his laugh, his droll wit. Yet, she did not heed her own warnings. When had she ever where he was concerned? And she opened her mouth to ask what she should not care to know. “How are you? Really?”

  “Physically quite well. Other than that—”

  She was a fool to clutch the fabric of his coat and lean into him, yearning for more.

  “Oh, Penn.” He sighed, his voice as ragged as he suddenly appeared. All artifice for the world outside that door gone, he wrapped his arms around her in a vise she welcomed and abhorred. “I’ve come here for you. I’m here to laugh with you. Dance with you. Dine with you. No one else could make me so happy this Christmas as you.”

  Appalled, she pushed backward. Putting inches between them, she heard his longing in his words. They were sweet balms she could claim to heal the wounds she’d suffered living without him. Married to others. Three others.

  “We can be together here,” he urged her as he squeezed his fingers at her waist. “This time we can enjoy each other’s company.”

  “Oh, Tain. Be reasonable.” She shook her head at the disastrous serendipity of their encounters. They’d met. Always by chance. But if he was married, then she was in mourning. Or if she was married, then he was in mourning. Their ill-timed syncopation was a comedy. If one could laugh at it. A tragedy. Never once had the world turned in their favor. So much so, she never believed they’d ever be together. His father had killed that possibility twelve years ago. “All we had were those brief encounters.”

  “I recall each one,” he said as he tipped up her face and regarded her sadly. “Gunter’s the day you bought a pastry.”

  “Lock and Company where you were purchasing a hat.” She did not suppress the smile that welled up inside her.

  “The time your coach stuck in the mud in Piccadilly. I pulled you out and took you home.” He urged her close.

  And she nestled against him. What a fool, She rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, so safe here, so serene. “And that July here in Brighton when we had tea in that tiny shop in the Lanes.”

  “So many encounters, my darling.”

  His endearment brought her back to her senses and she pushed him away. “Don’t.”

  He stared at her. If she ever wondered how medieval marauders looked when they invaded England, she had no doubts now. He drew himself up to his magnificent height and peered at her with a hauteur that brooked no argument. “I’m here to learn if we might have more of a future than a few minutes in a coach or an afternoon’s tea.”

  To fight his charms, she summoned the vow she’d made at her last poor husband’s graveside. “Trust me when I say we don’t.”

  He met her adamancy with cool nonchalance. “How do you know if you won’t give me more time?”

  “Because I am not meant for you. Nor you for me, Theo.”

  At her use of his name, he softened. “Darling—”

  “No.” She pressed the flat of her hand to his chest. “I’ve had three husbands and one thing I have learned about men is that there is nothing so enchanting as the woman a man thinks he cannot have. She becomes his ideal. His touchstone. His…siren. And she can lure him, reel him in and ruin him upon the rocks of reality. Once attained, she is no longer the lovely, the desirable, the infinite charm. She may well be the harpy, the witch, the devil he rues until his death.”

  He raised his eyes to the ceiling. Seeking forbearance, was he? “You are none of those.”

  The ping of china clanging together made them pause and stare at each other.

  “Was that—?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure.” She cocked an ear.

  But the sound of a tinkle of water into a pot froze them both.

  “Is that—?” He whispered.

  A lady relieving herself in a bourdaloue. “Yes.”

  Their cheeks flared pink and their embarrassment continued until the tinkling stopped.

  Then came the rustle of petticoats and gown. The snap of a garter. And the sound of water being emptied from one china pot to another.

  “Oh, no,” mouthed Penn to him.

  They both turned toward the sounds of footsteps.

  Lady Southmore, an older lady and good friend of the countess, trotted around the edge of the folding screen. Spry and utterly composed, she whipped open her ivory fan with one hand and with the other, yanked her bodice higher up over her voluminous breasts. “I say, are you both well?”

  Penn was certain she herself appeared as calm as an earthquake. “Yes! Thank you, my lady. Quite.”

  “Good. I’m off then!” and the lady let herself out.

  Penn put a hand to her brow.

  Tain was laughing, bent over with glee.

  “Not funny!” she sputtered but gave in to a chuckle.

  The door flew open, nearly whacked Tain in the face—and a lady exclaimed. “Oh, dear. Pardon me. I—I—”

  Penn smacked her lips. Now she had been discovered with him twice in the space of a minute by two different women. After all these years, too. All these encounters. The newest visitor to the retiring room was a lady known to be an avid gossip. “Lady Bridgewater,” she dipped her head in apology for baring the door…and for Tain’s presence. “Forgive me.”

  “My lady!” Tain welcomed the older woman into the room with a grin—and nary a note of apology in his voice. “How delightful you look in that emerald silk!”

  “Why, thank you, dear Tain,” the older lady cooed and squinted her eyes at him in perusal. “You are so kind.”

  “Lady Goddard and I were just conversing!”

  “As I noticed,” Lady Bridgewater oozed.

  Penn stifled a moan. Should I simply melt into the floor?

  He gave no sign of leaving. “How have you been, my lady? I barely had the chance to greet you.” He appeared so innocent. Was he making conversation with the woman?

  Penn elbowed him.

  “Hmm, yes, Tain.” She could not take her eyes off Penn. “We should talk.”

  “I think so.”

  What was Tain’s problem? Penn scowled at him. Done with his dawdling, she made for the door. He grasped her wrist, meanwhile ensuring that this woman knew he was here in the retiring room with her. He actually wanted the gossip, the notoriety!

  “Splendid.” The lady peered at him, lifting her lorgnette to her eyes to skewer him with her appraisal. “Can you please get on with it then? I am here, sir, for a reason. And I cannot wait much longer!” She raised a hand and curled it in the air to indicate use of the room.

  “I do understand, my lady. Shall we, Lady Goddard?” Tain clutched Penn’s arm and urged her into the hall.

  She could have run if he had let her go. But in truth, she acknowledged she might have laughed at her predicament if she weren’t so concerned that he’d take it as encouragement to pursue her. “You are incorrigible!”

  “I was trained for it.”

  “Don’t I know,” she mourned.

  He wheeled her around and would have headed for the
garden doors.

  “I’m not going out with you!”

  “Hmm. Good point. It is cold outside.” He pointed toward the room across the hall. “Come into the library.”

  “No!” She was beginning to hate the sound of that word. “I cannot, Theo.”

  “Ah. You can still address me with my name. I am honored,” he said as he ran his strong, long fingers up to stroke the hair at her nape. “I love it when you whistle through your teeth.”

  He was changing the subject and she dug in her heels. “I do not.”

  “Darling, you do. You always did.” He chuckled.

  She took offense. She was not perfect. She knew it. Oh, my god, how many times must she work for perfection and fail? “You cannot charm me.”

  “Oh, but this is the first time I can with total impunity!”

  “Impunity! Are you daft?”

  “For you, yes!”

  “I will not permit it.” She stomped a foot, whirled to leave him and caught her shoe on the carpet. “Damn!” she grumbled as he caught her in his arms.

  “You have a wicked vocabulary,” he said with a rueful laugh.

  She extricated herself from his grasp. “And I like using it.”

  “So I hear.” He acknowledged that with wide eyes.

  She straightened her posture and shook off his hold. “When we thought we were in love, we were infatuated.”

  “I was mad for you.”

  “And we could not see our way out of the fog.”

  “Yet you married your first husband weeks after we parted.”

  She stood her ground. “You mean, weeks after you wrote to say your father did not approve.”

  “So true,” he admitted with sorrow.

  “I had to marry, Theo. Whispers went round that I had been compromised. My father demanded I marry.”

  “Did you love the man?”

  She would speak the truth. “Over time, in a manner of speaking, yes. He was twenty years older, kind and gentle. Generous with pin money.”

  “Did he love you?”

  “I think so. He told me so. Often. Before he went out to his mistress.” She fluttered her lashes to keep her tears of outrage at bay.

  “And your second husband? Did he love you?”

  “More than the first.” She tossed her head, proud of her relationship with that man. “But he preferred other men to me.”

  “Oh, Penn.”

  “No pity, please. I liked him. He did…he did do his duty by me. But though his duty was done, mine never was. Not by him, his title or his line. I was lost in grief and dismay a second time. And I was hopeless. Weeks before, I’d seen you at the theater with your second wife and I…I was wretched. Before my year of mourning was up, I married Lord Goddard because he…he was as charming, persuasive and—”

  He waited for more, encouraged her to tell him with an inquisitive look.

  She should not tell him. What did she owe Theo? Not such raw and intimate facts as her bedroom secrets. “He was inventive in bed. I learned a lot about…the arts. But even with those, I was not up to the job of providing him an heir. And yes, lest you ask, I did care about him.”

  “Care?”

  She shook her head madly and would say no more.

  “Oh, Penn, give me time to show you that there is much to love about me.” He raised her gloved hand to his lips and she vibrated with long lost desire.

  She remembered every detail about him far too well. He liked a mix of sandalwood and citrus for cologne. He preferred coffee to tea. Beer to brandy. Honesty to prevarication. “We have both changed.”

  “I knew who you were then. And I do now.”

  She cast him a wary eye and swished her skirts at him. “After all these years? No, Theo. No.”

  She took a step away.

  He blocked her way. “I’ll prove it.”

  She adored his determination. His looks and his intensity combined to summon the ache in her heart she’d always suffered whenever she recalled how sweetly he’d courted her. “I wish you could.”

  With as much resolve as he showed upon his face, she left him in measured pace. Or hoped she did. If she ran, she would never admit it. He was too much of a gentleman to ever declare it such. He was too kind, too noble to state that a lady might leave him so readily, so eagerly.

  And with so much remorse.

  Chapter 3

  She wished he could prove he loved her?

  He took her at her word. And he knew how to do it, too.

  He had one virtue. He planned. Everything. And it was oh so easy to execute this plan.

  Grinning, he followed her down the hall toward the rest of the party and dinner.

  Not even the seating arrangements would deter him. And they were not favorable tonight. The Countess had decided to seat her guests as the Prince of Wales did at his Pavilion. All down the long table, a woman sat next to a man. The responsibility to talk to each person on one’s elbows was uppermost. It created a friendly atmosphere, even if it did nothing for his jealousy. Penn in her brilliant golden gown sparkled in the candlelight, joking and laughing with her dinner partners. Curse them.

  After dinner, he hoped to catch her in conversation. She liked to play cards and gaming tables had been set up in one of the smaller salons, but she did not take the lure and went to bed. He went up himself. Tired from his journey and arguing with her, he dismissed his valet in short order and sent him to his own assigned bed in the rafters with the other servants.

  The next morning the guests assembled outside to collect greenery to decorate Marsden Hall. Out on the front lawn earlier than other guests, he meant to catch her as she came out. He hoped for some opening, some lack, some clue as to how he might show her the proof she required of him. A few minutes later when she descended the steps, she scanned the crowd and found him at once.

  Looking for me, were you? He tipped his hat at her.

  She threw him a small smile, a polite greeting for the world to note.

  He nodded in like manner and pursed his lips, not wishing to display the grin he felt. Indeed, she had dressed beautifully this morning for the weather in a forest green wool that contrasted with her honeyed hair. But she’d forgotten the one accessory Tain knew she most definitely would wish she’d brought.

  He hailed Simms, the Countess’s butler. “Please send a footman to fetch Lady Goddard’s maid and have him take her one of her fur muffs. Have him tell her it comes with my compliments.”

  The man hurried off, pulled aside a footman and within a few minutes, the servant scurried out to present Penn with the piece.

  Surprise on her brow, she searched the growing crowd and her brown eyes met his in gratitude. She had gloves, but she’d always complained that in winter, she could never get her fingers warm. Muffs were her saving grace.

  She excused herself from her two female companions and strode toward him.

  “Good morning, my lady. Warm now?”

  “Thanks to you.” She turned aside to the footman. “John, might you know how many can fit in that carriage there?” She indicated an old black conveyance, a landau that had seen better days.

  “Four, Madam,” the servant said as he continued his duties.

  She smiled at him, beckoned her two friends and threw Theo a level look. “You may join us.”

  He did, careful to situate the other two ladies in such a way that he and another lady rode backward and the other lady and Penn rode forward.

  After they’d collected enough green boughs and holly to prick every finger, they returned to the Hall. As the landau idled near the front steps, she leaned to him and said, “You remembered that I hate to ride backward.”

  “A gentleman would never permit such an affront to a lady’s delicacy.”

  She flashed him a wide smile. “Not even when there were two other ladies in the carriage.”

  “Not even,” he said, pleased with himself and his progress.

  That night at supper, he had the immense privilege to sit
beside her.

  “I am in favor of that bright fuchsia, my lady. An extraordinary color that suits your complexion.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She blushed, a charming expression that lit her brown eyes with mirth.

  “I might think not too many men have complimented you.”

  She fiddled with her fan in her lap. “You’d be right, Tain.”

  “Theo,” he corrected her on a whisper.

  She blushed more brightly. “You are a tease.”

  “Yes. And I do love the affect it has on you.”

  She picked up her fan and stirred a mighty breeze.

  He could not resist thoughts of tomorrow’s activity. “I understand we are to go ice-skating tomorrow.”

  “I like to race,” she told him.

  “Around on ice?” He was surprised. Most ladies wished to show a serenity or a temerity on skates.

  “Hmm. Yes. I may not go and save others any comparison to my extreme skill.”

  “Do come. I will race with you.”

  “And if you can’t keep up?”

  “Doubt me at your peril, my lady.”

  She chuckled and waved a hand to shoo him off.

  But he caught the tell-tale yearning in her eyes. “I long to hold you in my arms.”

  Her cheeks turned a hot pink. “I’d thwart you and skate on your toes.”

  “Do so then.” She could do anything to him. Take any part of him. As she’d taken his heart. His breath. “But then you’d have to nurse me.”

  “I’m a terrible nurse,” she added with a note that sounded sad.

  “How do you know?”

  Her full lips firmed and her expression darkened. “My last husband told me so. Often.”

  His heart went out to her. “Was he horrible?”

  “Only as he lay dying. Other than that, he was a sweet man.”

  “Were the previous two?” He had to learn.

  “Yes.” The word was a barrier, a warning for him not to continue. Tomorrow, he’d ask more. And reveal his own experience with marriage.

  Chapter 4

  Penn shuffled her cards, sitting alone at one table. She glanced out the window where snow still fell in huge lacy flakes. The ice skating party had been canceled due to the storm so gaming and reading had become the new order of the day. Disappointment filled her. She had longed to skate with Theo, to move with him in a rhythm that denoted grace and…yes…affection.