Loving Lady Marcia (13 page)

And she continued down the stairs.

He grinned to himself.

As promised, he fended off all her admirers with steely resolve and directed her to the dance floor. The musicians struck up a waltz, he took her waist and hand, and they joined the other dancers.

Her lower back was delicately arched, and the light pressure of her hand upon his shoulder made him long to draw her other hand up about his neck, as well. Holding her in his arms, Duncan felt as if he never wanted to let her go.

He especially enjoyed the fact that she was an excellent dance partner. He could feel her respond to the music against her will.

“I can find Lady Ennis easily now in that copper gown,” she said on a spinning turn. “This isn’t necessary.”

“Oh, yes it is,” he said. “You were born to dance.”

She blushed. “I rarely get the opportunity.”

“That’s a terrible shame for you and your prospective dance partners.”

“I choose not to dwell on what I’m missing.” Her tone was prim.

“Whereas I,” he replied silkily, pulling her a half-inch closer, “am dwelling on that this very moment.”

“Lord Chadwick.”

He ignored her admonishment and kept her close. “I’ve another reason you need to continue dancing.”

“What is it?”

“You don’t want Lady Ennis to think you care enough to see her right away. And, by the way, let her seethe while you’re dancing with me. You may not believe it, but I’m considered a catch.”

“Is that so?”

“Indeed, it is.”

Lady Marcia was lovely, lissome, and smelled of roses when he spun her about the floor. But beneath her grace and classic beauty, she was as skittish as a stray cat.

“You should go now, my lord,” she said when the waltz came to a close.

“Not until I see you safely by the widow’s side.”

She was clearly about to protest when several matrons caught a glimpse of them and started her way. “Oh, dear. My mother’s friends.”

And without protesting, she allowed him to steer her through the crowd until they saw Lady Ennis again, over by a table laden with savories, sweets, and a large crystal bowl of punch.

“Look at her,” Lady Marcia said in a low voice. “She knows I’m coming.”

Oak Hall’s benefactress had moved so that the backs of several fawning young men formed a wall around her.

“She won’t be an easy foe,” Duncan murmured. “But the fact that she’s surrounded herself suggests she’s frightened of you.”

“I was wondering that myself.” Lady Marcia lifted her chin a fraction of an inch.

“Oh, my heavens,” a young woman behind them whispered loudly. “Do you see her
gown
? It belongs to her sister. I saw Lady Janice wear it last week at the Vance ball. Does she not have her own sense of style?”

“Something went terribly wrong there,” another young lady chimed in. “She was supposed to be the premier debutante several Seasons ago. It’s a little late to try now, isn’t it?”

And they laughed.

Marcia looked at Duncan, and in her eyes, he saw all the hurt she probably disguised every day when she played her role as headmistress of Oak Hall.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said quietly.

She yanked her arm from his and made her way through the crowd, heading away from Lady Ennis, which meant—

No. He wouldn’t let her give up.

He chased after her.

At the end of the ballroom, he caught up to her. He took her hand, keeping her fingers clasped in a firm grip, and pulled her into a small, plain corridor and then into the first room he could find.

It was a small sitting room filled with leftover flowers from the ball, tied in bundles with straw and strewn about the desk and the sofa. Some were tucked into buckets in front of an empty fire.

“Lady Marcia,” he said, and took hold of her other hand.

She bent her head. “Leave me alone.”

Her voice was filled with emotion, something more than embarrassment, that changed everything about her. It went bone-deep.

But what was it?

Duncan suspected he knew, but he couldn’t name it. It was a hollow, black thing that sucked away joy without any warning. He could see it in her eyes when she looked up at him again.

It had taken away her spirit.

Fury filled him again when he thought of Finn and how he’d made her open herself up to him and then abandoned her so carelessly.

“I never thought you’d surrender to anyone,” he said, hoping to send strength to her through his hands.

“I’m not that starry-eyed girl on the sailing packet anymore,” she whispered. “I told you that yesterday. Please stop expecting it of me.”

They stared at each other a few seconds, and he was glad to see a spark of something in her eyes, even if it was anger at him.

“I do expect it of you,” he said, pulling her close. “It’s who you are.” He felt her heart beat against his chest. Heard her suck in a deep, shaky breath. “It’s who you are,” he said again, softly this time.

But did she believe him?

Almost in a panic, he kissed her, if only to ignite that ember in her that should never dim. He held her tight and parted her lips with his own, a teasing, soft, lingering kiss. And like a blossom in the rain, she opened up to him. She was petal soft.

He wanted every part of her. “You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he whispered against her mouth. “You’re perfect, the way you are right now.”

She gave a little moan in her throat. He ran his hands down her hips, kneaded her bottom, and pulled her up to him.

Close.

So close.

But not close enough.

She pulled back. “Lord Chadwick, we mustn’t.” There was a raw edge to her voice he’d never heard before.

He pulled a curl off her cheek. “Why not?”

She looked away, and he pulled her chin back around with a gentle finger.

“You should be kissed,” he said. “Every day. By a man who adores you.”

She stood mute. And in her eyes, he saw uncertainty coupled with pain. Just a flash of it. It was gone so quickly, he thought he might have imagined it.

He dared to kiss her again, cradling the back of her head with both hands now, his mouth teasing hers open. Her passionate response, the way she clung to him and kissed him as if the world was about to end, was everything a man could wish for.

But she pulled back when the clock on the mantel chimed daintily.

She gave a nervous laugh and looked at him through thick lashes. “You’re very clever. You took my mind off my worries.”

He didn’t deny that had been his initial intention. But then he’d lost control of the kiss, hadn’t he? She’d imbued it with her own fire that had him wanting more.

She slipped away from him, picked up a bundle of flowers, and inhaled their scent. “I need to get back to the ballroom,” she said lightly, and placed the bouquet on the desk.

He liked seeing how her lips had gone from pink to dusky rose because of him. “You’re going to speak with the viscountess, after all?”

She nodded. “I’ll say good-bye to you here. And if you wouldn’t mind”—she paused—“I’d appreciate if you left the ball.” She bit her lip.

“Leave?”

“I’ll be distracted by you. And start getting upset with myself that I kissed you. I won’t be able to
think
.” She exhaled a breath. “And it will be all your fault.”

“
My
fault?”

“Yes. Yours.” And then she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him full on the mouth, her own open and teasing.

She was like a bowl of sugar.

When she was through, he had such lascivious thoughts, he knew he’d be up all night thinking about her.

“See?” she said.

“Good God, you’ve got some nerve,” he said, annoyed that she’d made her point very well.

“As headmistress, I learned I can’t be reluctant to speak my mind. But I also had to maintain a warm relationship with my staff. Otherwise, why should they respect me or listen to me?”

“That kiss of yours was certainly warm,” he said dryly.

She refused to appear guilt-ridden, merely waited, an intensity about her that suggested she was being patient with him, indeed.

“Very well, I’ll go,” he said. “Of my own accord, wholly uninfluenced by your demands or that kiss.” He paused. “All right, perhaps I was influenced a tad by that kiss. Will you go home with your brother? I saw him in the card room.”

“Yes.”

“Will you let me know what happens?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m afraid not. This must be the end of our temporary alliance, Lord Chadwick. Any debt you feel you owe me has been paid in full tonight.” At the half-open door, she looked back at him, a solemn, determined look on her face that made his heart turn over.

“Wait,” he said, and pulled a flower stem from a bundle on the desk. Clumsily, he broke off the blossom, walked a few steps to meet her, and placed it in her hair, over her right ear. “There. Now those women won’t have anything to say, will they? You’ve a kissing flower.”

He stood back to admire it and her.

“I’ll keep it,” she said briskly, “only because it would be poor manners to refuse.” She nodded at him, her neutral mask back in place, then she quickly shut the door behind her.

A kissing flower
. He liked the sound of that. Perhaps he’d write a song on the pianoforte with that title. Then he remembered that Lady Marcia Sherwood was driving him mad and left the room, going the opposite direction down the corridor until he found a remote exit onto the street. The fresh air knocked so little sense into him, he came up with the entire first verse and chorus of the song by the time he returned home.

Chapter Ten

Marcia focused on the fact that she had something to offer the rude Lysandra. The flower in her hair, although it came from a man entirely too involved in her life, gave her a boost of courage. She ignored the stares of the women who looked haughtily at her. Smiled at the ones she knew were genuine friends of Mama’s and Daddy’s. Even hugged two girls who were old classmates from Oak Hall.

As for the men, she didn’t make eye contact with a single one.

There was one man on her mind, and that was Duncan Lattimore, Lord Chadwick. She was mortified that she couldn’t stop thinking of their brief interlude in the room with the flowers. There’d been nothing lofty about those kisses, nothing that made her feel dreamy and free, the way she’d been with Finn.

Lord Chadwick’s kisses pulled her down, anchored her to herself in a way that reminded her that she had one life, one body—and God save her if she thought they weren’t enough.

As if she needed any more tormenting, Finn emerged from a crowd of young men. He was a little bit lopsided, his grin pasted on at an odd angle.

Good God, he looked
horrible
. Her insides flipped over at the sight of his swollen jaw and his cut lip. “What happened to you?”

“A quarrel between siblings.” He swayed only slightly, but it was enough. He was obviously in his cups.

“You and Lord Chadwick?”

“Yes.” He leaned in, his injured mouth still beautiful. “Over
you
. About an hour ago.”

“You’re jesting,” she said, shocked to the core.

Finn didn’t lean back. “Nope,” he said near her ear.

Lord Chadwick hadn’t let on in the least. The nerve of the man! There he’d been kissing her, when he’d only just beaten up his brother.

She couldn’t think of a word to say. But her heart melted. Finn had taken a punch on her behalf. He was simply adorable, even in his disheveled state.

“It could have been much, much worse,” he added in that old, caressing voice. “I could have flattened him. But I decided to let him go. He’s still a cold fish, you know, even after all these years of being an earl and getting everything handed to him on a silver platter.”

What a terrible thing to say about one’s brother, especially aloud at a ball. But could she really blame Finn?

“You need to go home and put a cold beefsteak on your jaw,” she said in a soft albeit authoritative voice, and put a finger to her lips, the same way she’d done with her more rambunctious students.

“All right,” he whispered loudly, “but there’s no steak at Albany. And Duncan won’t let me visit at
his
house. That’s why I’m on my fourth glass of Livingston’s best brandy. My jaw hurts like the devil.”

He waved and grinned at a cluster of debutantes ogling him on Marcia’s right. His appeal was obvious, even with a battered face making him look a bit like something out of that novel by Mary Shelley.

“Did Lord Chadwick regret hitting you?” she asked.

“No.” Finn leaned toward her again. “He’s jealous Father liked me better. He’s jealous
everyone
likes me better.” He groaned. “It’s hell being the second son.”

“You really should go,” she said. “I swear your face is swelling right before my eyes.”

Finn stared at her. “This is why I like you so much.” His tone was earnest. “You care about me, even after all these years—I hope.
Do
you?”

Her face got hot. “Of course. We—we’re old friends. But you must go home.
Now
.”

“You’re bossy.” He grinned. “You didn’t used to be, but I like it.”

And she couldn’t help herself—she laughed, which made him laugh, and then clasp his jaw with a palm and wince.

So their grins faded to smiles. Even when he was in this drunken state, she felt how their smiles matched. They always had, since that first one in the carriage long ago, when they’d begun their journey to Liverpool.

She had a vivid memory of Lord Chadwick reading a book that day, his fingers sturdy around the cover, his eyelids lowered, his mouth in a straight, unforgiving line.

“You’re beautiful,” Finn said now. “You’re more beautiful now than you were … then.”

Then.

She felt herself blush. “Thank you,” she said quickly. He couldn’t talk about
then
. He should never bring it up again. Ever. “I—I really should go.”

She walked quickly away, hoping she’d also escape the keen worry she felt that the past might come back to haunt her. Walking past the cluster of dewy-eyed debutantes who’d ogled Finn and were now following her with curious eyes, she felt as if an invisible aura surrounded her: an aura of loss. Of failure.