By Love Unveiled (16 page)

Thanks to her study of medical books and her experience with healing, Marianne knew, of course, what a man and a woman did together in the privacy of their chambers. But she’d never given the act much thought, for it had sounded messy and shameful and somehow odd.

She gave it a great deal of thought these days. All the time. Day and night. She often found herself wondering what it would be like to have Garett’s body cover hers, to feel his magical hands touching her private places, to have his demanding lips move lower to . . .

“Fie!” she said aloud. She’d vowed not to let him seduce her, yet here she was, doing the seducing for him! How could her mind have such trouble remembering who he was whenever her body started remembering how he’d touched her?

Not that she didn’t have enough reminders of the role he might have played in her father’s imprisonment. Aunt Tamara reminded her often enough during the daily visits Garett allowed them.

Yet somehow everything Marianne believed true
when she was away from Garett disappeared when she was with him. He could be cold, but she’d never seen him violent or deceptive. To his tenants and servants, he was an authoritative but understanding master. Even to the soldier, he’d shown glimmers of compassion, especially in the man’s dying hours, when Garett had fetched a minister for him.

Still, how could she trust him when she knew the depths of his hatred for Sir Pitney? There was no way of telling how far he might have gone to regain Falkham House and thus thwart his uncle.

She shook her head. This endless dithering would get her nowhere. She wasn’t going to sit in the sunshine on such a beautiful day and let him control her thoughts. Bad enough that at present he seemed to control her future.

So she rose, dusted off her skirts, and headed back toward the house with the volume of Shakespeare tucked under her arm.

Then she heard horse’s hooves approaching. She swung around, expecting to see Garett. Instead, an unfamiliar man on horseback pulled up short in front of her.

He was clearly a Cavalier, but one of a more outrageous stamp than Garett. He dressed boldly, with lace cuffs, a profusion of looped ribbons, and a flowing silk cravat tied about his neck. His doublet was of a rich, royal blue brocade, and his flowing white shirt of the finest linen. Golden curls grew past his shoulders in unabashedly shining glory.

Despite his fashionable appearance, however, there was no mistaking he was Garett’s friend, for he had the same arrogant stance.

“What have we here?” With a sly grin, he doffed his plumed hat, exposing more of his gold mane, then dismounted and handed the reins to the groom who ran from the stables.

Seeing him up close, she realized he was like Garett in yet another way—he towered over her, his broad shoulders filling out his doublet.

His gaze traveled brazenly over her. “As usual, Falkham has excellent taste. Tell me, nymph, what forest did he find you in?”

She groaned. Why did all these Cavaliers have to be so terribly wicked? He was worse than Garett, if that was possible.

“Probably the same forest where he lost you. ’Tis an odd thing about forests—they’re excellent for slipping away from ill-mannered friends,” she shot back, annoyed at the way he assessed her attributes as if she were a horse for sale.

He chuckled. “Quick-witted, too, I see.”

“Yes, and I have all my teeth,” she said tartly.

“Devil take me, now I’ve insulted you.” Stepping forward, he snatched her hand up to kiss. “I never meant to offend such a divine creature.”

A low voice answered from behind her, “Be careful, Hampden. This ‘divine creature’ is a gypsy. She might just cast the evil eye on you if you keep annoying her.”

Garett strode up to stand at her side, startling her.
He was frowning, but his easy manner toward the other gentleman told her that Hampden was a friend.

Hampden straightened with a look of genuine pleasure. “I can well believe she’s a gypsy.” He winked at Marianne. “She’s already put a spell on me.” When Garett’s expression turned threatening, Hampden grinned. “And on you as well, it appears.”

Garett’s open displeasure delighted Marianne. She was so pleased to see Hampden elicit some emotion from Garett that she couldn’t resist teasing him herself.

“Oh, sir,” she protested to Hampden, “surely you know Lord Falkham can’t be bewitched. Not the unflustered, infallible earl. Women have no effect on him at all, particularly women of my sort.”

“What sort is that?” Hampden asked, eyes twinkling as Garett glowered.

“The sort who don’t jump at his every command.” She sighed theatrically. “Alas, I’m too strong-minded for his tastes. He prefers a woman he can intimidate, and I’m afraid I don’t suit.”

A mocking smile touched Garett’s lips. “Mina’s not being quite fair, Hampden. ’Tis not strong-mindedness I dislike but deliberate defiance.”

When Marianne frowned, Hampden clasped her around the waist and pulled her outrageously close. “Well, I like a little defiance myself. Meek women are tedious. Give me a saucy wench any day.”

Marianne was just beginning to regret having encouraged Hampden when Garett stepped forward to disengage his friend’s arm from around her waist.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to find your own saucy wench,” he growled as he rested his arm casually across her shoulders. “This one is under my protection.”

“So that’s the lay of the land, is it?” Hampden said.

Marianne bristled, tiring of their game and angry that Garett implied she was his mistress. “That’s
not
the lay of the land, and Lord Falkham knows it. I wouldn’t be here if I had a choice.” With a sniff, she pulled away from Garett and stalked to the house, ignoring them as they followed close behind her.

“ ’Tis good to see you again, Falkham,” Hampden said. “And in such good company, too.”

“I’m not nearly so glad to see you,” Garett replied dryly. “You’ve only been here a few minutes and already ‘my company’ is ready to slit my throat. Your throat, too, I might add.”

Hampden chuckled. “That face and figure alone are lethal enough to slay a man. What would she need with a knife?”

Marianne whirled to survey the two men, who seemed to be laughing at her. “If you gentlemen are quite through discussing my person, you might consider another topic for conversation. One that’s not quite so rude.”

A wicked grin crossed Hampden’s face. “I can’t help it, pigeon. You’re such a refreshing change from women at court. Most of them simper and smirk and never let you know what they’re really thinking. Only the
king’s mistresses exhibit your . . . er . . . strong-mindedness.”

“Mr. Hampden!” How dare he compare her to the king’s mistresses? Oh, if only she could tell him just how wrong he was about her character!

“I meant it as a compliment,” he said sincerely, shocking her even more.

“Mr. Hampden, if you’re going to—”

“Lord Hampden, to be precise,” Garett put in. “I suppose I should have introduced you properly. Mina, this is my dear friend, Colin Jeffreys, the Marquess of Hampden, who served out part of his exile with me in France.”

She glanced from Garett to Hampden disbelievingly. “Another one? Just what I need—
two
wretched noblemen tormenting me!” She rolled her eyes heavenward, and the men laughed. Then she pivoted and headed back for the garden.

“Where are you going?” Garett called out.

“Where I don’t have to put up with arrogant lords!”

Both men chuckled.

“We’ll see you at dinner, then?” Hampden shouted, but she didn’t answer.

Garett watched her go, unable to tear his gaze from the sway of her hips. Two weeks, and he still couldn’t think for wanting her. It vexed him exceedingly. How could he desire her so badly when she might very well be Tearle’s spy?

That reminded him . . . He looked around for the guard. Only when he spotted his man standing alert at the edge of the garden did he relax.

“My God, Falkham, where did you find her?” Hampden asked when she’d passed out of sight.

“You might say she found me.” Garett turned back toward the house.

Hampden followed. “Is she really a gypsy? I can scarcely believe it. For all her sauciness, she’s as graceful as any lady.”

Garett smiled grimly. That was precisely the problem. Mina had this inexplicable ability to turn the most sordid task—like sewing up a man’s wounds—into a polite encounter at a royal dinner. She had a true lady’s approach to life. If anything unsavory came her way, she turned it aside before it besmirched her.

After that day in the library, he’d been prepared for anything. Although she hadn’t instigated their kiss in the library, she hadn’t fought it either, and once he’d got past her token protests, she’d been downright eager.

Until her aunt had discovered them. Then Mina had attempted to use his actions to gain her release.

After that, he’d expected her to try deliberate seduction, perhaps as a way of getting him to set her free. Instead she’d confounded his expectations—she’d done nothing the least bit scandalous.

That day in the library, he’d thought she was enamored of him. In fact, he’d counted on it in his attempt to gain the truth from her. He’d tried coldness, and he’d tried barbed questions. He’d been unrelenting in his inquisitions, but it had gained him nothing. Not only had she kept silent but she hadn’t even seemed affected by his distant air. That irritated him most of all.

“Is she?” Hampden repeated, bringing Garett out of his thoughts.

“Is she what?”

“You know. A gypsy.”

“Yes. Partly, that is. She’s a nobleman’s bastard.”

“That would explain why she’s here under your protection.”

Garett debated whether to tell his friend the truth. Perhaps he should. Hampden might know something that could help uncover Mina’s true identity. And her relationship to Sir Pitney.

“Actually she’s here because I suspect she works for my uncle,” he said baldly.

“The hell you say! That pretty thing? She has a sharp tongue, I’ll admit, but she doesn’t strike me as Tearle’s preference. He likes his women soft and weak.” Hampden frowned. “From what I hear, he particularly enjoys seeing them cower. Your Mina doesn’t seem to cower before anyone.”

“I know,” Garett admitted. “But it’s possible he knows something about her and is using it to force her into doing his bidding.”

“If you say so. But I can’t see it.”

“Well, she didn’t come to you claiming she was scarred by smallpox and so had to hide her face beneath a mask. Nor did you witness her being recognized by Tearle’s henchman before he died. Nor have you seen—”

“Enough. I take your point.” Hampden rubbed his chin. “Perhaps you’re right, but I still can’t believe it. Her eyes are those of an innocent.” He grinned. “A devastatingly attractive innocent, I might add.”

Garett gritted his teeth. “You can’t have her, Hampden. Regardless of what I suspect she is, she’s still under my protection.”

Hampden cocked one eyebrow. “Ah, but is that all she’s been under? I mean, if you haven’t bedded her—”

“Don’t even think it,” Garett growled, suddenly annoyed by Hampden’s insinuations.

“I can’t help but think it, since it bothers you so.” Hampden laughed. “I’m glad I came to visit. I’ve been here only a few minutes, and already I’m having the time of my life.”

Garett gave his friend a long, steady look. “I think, Hampden, this is one time I won’t be sorry to see you leave.”

“You may be right,” Hampden said without a trace of remorse.

*  *  *

Marianne nervously smoothed the simple muslin of the best gown she had at present. Her others had been left behind in London, not that she’d have dared to wear them anyway. What she wouldn’t give to appear at dinner in one of her silk and velvet gowns, especially since she was to dine with two men who already thought the worst of her character.

She sighed. A gown wouldn’t change their minds about that.

This gown was perfectly serviceable and attractive, even if it wasn’t fine enough for consorting with an earl and a marquess. Aunt Tamara had made the gown
especially for her when they’d first come to Lydgate, so it exactly fit her petite figure, accentuating her slender waist and delicate build. Though the only lace adorning it was that of her chemise, the edges of which peeked above the low neckline, the amber yellow fabric seemed to pick up the gold in her hair, which she’d carefully dressed in artful curls.

Still, the gown wasn’t satin, nor did it have an embroidered stomacher. Oh, well. She had to make the best of what she had. She’d suggested that she not come to dinner at all, but Garett had said he didn’t want Hampden to think he was deliberately hiding her away.

Hampden. Oh, dear. The mere thought of matching wits with him and Garett all evening started butterflies in her stomach. So as soon as she entered the dining room, she looked for the one man who wouldn’t make her nervous. William.

Over the past two weeks, William had become something of a friend. She knew why—his attentions to her aunt were obvious—but she didn’t mind. At least he didn’t suspect her of being in Sir Pitney’s employ.

Only after William smiled at her did she venture a glance at Garett and his friend, though she almost wished she hadn’t. The two of them stood near the fireplace, talking animatedly. They didn’t notice her enter, giving her time to observe them. To her chagrin, they were both dressed to impress.

Hampden she noticed first because of his richly curled blond hair and burgundy doublet. His breeches were burgundy as well, though his stockings were a
modest black. They were the only modest thing on his person—the wide lace collar of his snowy shirt, the embroidered waistcoat, the profusion of ribbon loops on his breeches all bespoke a man of consequence. Yet his broad chest and sculpted calves weren’t those of a mere man of fashion. Indeed, they reminded her of . . .

She turned her gaze to Garett and sucked in her breath. Oh, Lord, did he always have to cut such a handsome figure? As usual, his clothing was modest—dove-gray breeches, black silk stockings, and a black doublet with the cuffs of his dove-gray waistcoat emerging from beneath. Not an inch of lace adorned his collar.