Loving the Marquess (3 page)

He turned his thoughts, instead, to Louisa Evans and
experienced an uncharacteristic twinge of regret. It was bad enough he’d
collapsed in her presence, an image he would not allow himself to contemplate,
but remembering how he had taken her for a lightskirt was too much. Especially
after what his uncle had already done to her family.

He would have to make it up to her. Thank her properly for
taking care of him and for being so understanding about his error in judgment.
Any other woman would have thrown him out on his ear. He couldn’t imagine why
she hadn’t.

From his disjointed memories of the night, he knew she’d
worn her fair hair loose about her shoulders. It was up now, but a few tendrils
had escaped during their kiss. He remembered the uncertainty in her wide, gray
eyes when she’d first entered the room. Those same eyes had darkened with
desire when he’d kissed her. The memory of her response caused his body to
tighten again.

She was obviously a passionate woman, but he could tell from
their kiss that she was also an innocent one. He wouldn’t take advantage of
her. His family had already done hers enough harm.

He stood again, more slowly this time, and was relieved to
find his moment of weakness had passed. With a bit of luck his strength would
hold.

Louisa made it down the hallway, her
legs threatening to give way with each step, before sagging against the wall
for support.

Nicholas Manning, the new Marquess of Overlea, was in her
house.

The Mannings were responsible for her family’s diminished
situation. She remembered it clearly, as though it had just happened. How Henry
Manning, the marquess’s uncle, had taken advantage of her father in a weak
moment.

She’d been eight when her mother, who hadn’t fully recovered
after John’s very difficult birth, died giving birth to Catherine one year
later. Their father had shut himself in his bedroom for a whole week following
the funeral while a neighbor stayed to look after them. At the end of that
week, no longer able to bear the loss of her one remaining parent’s company,
Louisa had gone to him. Since he never opened his bedroom door when she
knocked, she’d worked up the courage to walk in without knocking. She’d found
him asleep in a chair, his beard overgrown, hair unkempt and an empty glass
balanced precariously on one knee. She’d woken him, expecting her customary
hug. Instead, he’d ordered her to leave the room. She’d left, shocked he had
yelled at her. Her father never yelled. Worse, however, was the fact that he
had raised his hand as though he’d been about to strike her.

She’d run to her room, thrown herself on her bed, and cried.
Before long, her father came to her, gathered her into his arms, and promised
to take care of them. That he’d never drink again.

He’d kept that promise until the night, years later, when
Henry Manning had come across her father in the village. She remembered vividly
the shame in her father’s face when he’d later recounted what happened. They
had started discussing her mother and Manning had taken him to the tavern and
ordered a round of drinks. Not wishing to insult him, her father had decided
there was no harm in having one drink. It had been almost ten years since
Mama’s death and he hadn’t touched a drop in all that time. But one drink had
turned to two, then three, and finally he’d lost count.

Louisa remembered how Henry Manning had brought him home,
none the worse himself for having spent hours drinking with her father. She’d
been angry at his smug demeanor that night. That anger had turned to despair
the next day when he’d arrived to tell them they had one week to gather their
belongings before he took possession of their home and their lands. He’d
produced the promissory note her father signed the previous evening, and
ashamed, her father had confessed what he’d done. He’d allowed Manning to talk him
into joining a card game that was in full swing at an adjoining table. Losing
steadily, he’d become more and more reckless with each drink until he’d lost
everything. He’d behaved like an immature youth squandering his newly acquired
inheritance.

 They’d moved out of their manor house one week later,
taking only what they could fit into the much smaller cottage Manning allowed
them to have on the border of what had once been their estate.

“What’s the matter?”

John’s voice brought Louisa back to the present. She could
see the concern on her brother’s face and briefly considered not telling him
what she’d learned. She quickly discarded the notion, though, knowing he’d find
out soon enough.

“Our guest,” she said, glancing quickly at her closed
bedroom door. She lowered her voice so Overlea wouldn’t overhear them. “I know
who he is.”

“And…?” John prompted when she paused.

There was nothing for it but to tell him straight out. “The
new Marquess of Overlea.”

John swore and started for her room. She threw herself into
his path to stop him.

“What are you planning to do?”

 “Throw the swine out on his ear, as he deserves.”

“Lower you voice. He’ll hear you.”

“That was my intent,” he said, his voice now louder.

Throwing her weight against him, she pushed her brother back
into his room. Once there, she closed the door and leaned against it, barring
his exit. She was surprised he’d allowed her to stop him, but her surprise
turned to concern when he walked to his side table and picked up the loaded
pistol that rested there.

“You are not throwing him out. He may be seriously injured
from his fall.”

“I don’t care. I’m the head of the family now. Father never
allowed a Manning in this house while he was alive, and nothing has changed now
that he’s gone.” He took a step toward her. “Move away from the door, Louisa.”

She was determined her brother would not have his way in
this.

“I’m the eldest here,” she said. “I’ve run this household
for years now, and I’ll continue to do so. I will not throw an injured man out
on the road.”

“Pity the Mannings have no such qualms.”

“Overlea is no danger to us in his current condition. And in
any case, he cannot be blamed for something his uncle did years ago, no more
than you are to blame for Father’s behavior the night he gambled away our home.”

A flush of anger crept up his face, but she knew she’d made
her point. As long as her brother never learned about what had transpired
between her and the marquess in her bedroom, he wouldn’t confront Overlea.

Breakfast was a tense affair. Louisa kept expecting her
brother to say something harsh to the marquess and couldn’t relax. He surprised
her by holding his tongue, but what was more surprising was Catherine’s
silence. From the looks she cast in Overlea’s direction, it was clear her
sister was curious about their guest, but she seemed determined to remain
faithful to their father’s edict that all Mannings be treated as the enemy.

Louisa tried to fill the silence with small talk but gave up
after a few attempts. The stilted conversation was almost worse than the
silence. Overlea sat next to her and his presence made it difficult for her to
concentrate on anything else. She caught herself watching his hands as he held
his cutlery and her thoughts drifted back to how those same hands had felt on
her breast and high on her thigh. Blushing, she forced her eyes away and tried
to keep them on her still-full plate.

Overlea took their silence in stride, behaving as though
nothing were out of the ordinary. When he’d first arrived downstairs she’d been
acutely embarrassed by the fact that he’d soon learn how far they’d fallen.
Even the poorest of genteel families had at least one servant, and she had no
doubt this was the first time he’d ever stepped foot in a household that had
none. She’d seen his surprise when he noticed the absence of servants, but he’d
quickly masked it. If he had any disdain for the simple manner in which they
lived, he didn’t show it.

“Would you like some more, my lord?” she asked when she
noticed his plate was empty.

She started to stand to tend to him, but Overlea’s hand on
her arm stopped her. He released her immediately, but she could still feel the
imprint of his fingers. She didn’t miss John’s frown or Catherine’s interested
expression.

“I’ve already imposed on you too much.”

Her thoughts flew back to the incident upstairs and she
wondered if he was remembering it as well.

“Your horse,” she said far too loudly.

He raised a brow at the abrupt change in subject and there
was a heavy moment of silence before Overlea replied. “He should know his way
home from here since it isn’t too far. Of course, that would mean I’d have to
impose further and ask if you know of another means of transportation.”

“Oh, he’s still here,” Louisa said. “You needn’t worry; he’s
in the barn out back. John took care of him last night.”

Overlea inclined his head and stood. “I’ll go see to him
now, then.”

 He took a step, stumbled, and reached for the back of the
chair to steady himself. His eyes closed briefly and a grimace of pain
flickered across his face. Louisa rushed to his side and braced her arm across
his back. She returned the scowl John gave her with one of her own before
turning her attention back to Overlea.

“Would you like me to help you upstairs?”

He stiffened and stepped away from her. “That’s quite all
right. It was just a brief twinge. You needn’t concern yourself.”

With that he turned and was gone.

Louisa turned immediately to John. “What is the matter with
you?”

“You shouldn’t be tending him. The new marquess has a
reputation as a rake.”

“How can you say that?” She was astounded by his
stubbornness. “He is clearly still suffering from whatever illness caused him
to collapse and you’re concerned about his reputation?”

His hands were clenched into fists. “No, Louisa. My concern
is for
your
reputation.”

Louisa returned to her chair, looking away so her brother
wouldn’t see that his remark had struck home. He was right. Both Catherine’s
reputation and her own were at risk, but what other choice did they have? She
couldn’t send Overlea away, not until he was well enough to travel. After
seeing him stumble, she didn’t think that would be today.

Sighing, she reached across the table, took hold of John’s
hand, and squeezed it gently. “Your concerns are valid, I won’t deny it, but we
can’t turn him out of the house when he is unwell. Surely you see that.”

John pulled his hand from hers. “I’m not completely
heartless, but I don’t like having him here.” He leaned forward, elbows on the
table, shoulders slumped. “Papa would know what to do.”

“Papa would agree with me,” she said. She turned to include
Catherine in their conversation. “I don’t want either of you to worry. My
reputation will survive as long as both of you are here.”

She wouldn’t think about the kiss she and Overlea had shared
upstairs. It had been a mistake and would never happen again.

“I still don’t like it,” John mumbled.

Louisa let the comment go. “You two have things to do.” She
stood and began to clear the table. A quick glance at the clock told her it was
already eight. “You’ll be late for your lessons, John.” They both knew how much
Reverend Harnick disliked tardiness.

She watched as her brother finished the last of his eggs
and, without another word, left. He was eighteen and should already have left
for university. They couldn’t afford it, but Reverend Harnick assured them John
would be able to attend on a scholarship. After their father’s death, however,
John had been reluctant to leave Louisa and Catherine alone, and so, for now,
he continued his studies under the reverend’s tutelage.

“And you,” she said, turning to Catherine, “there’s mending
to be done.”

Catherine wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Someone will miss
the marquess while he is here.”

She’d been so off-center since his arrival that it hadn’t
occurred to Louisa that Overlea’s grandmother might be expecting him. Everyone
in the area knew he’d been in London for the past few months. The fact he was
here now could only mean he’d been on his way to his country seat, not far from
their cottage. And even if his grandmother hadn’t been expecting him, someone
else would know about his movements and wonder where he was.

“Maybe we should send a note,” Catherine continued.

“Yes, of course,” Louisa said. “I’ll speak to Lord Overlea
about that. But for now, off with you.”

Louisa sat heavily after her sister left the dining room.
Why had she not thought about Overlea’s grandmother? She would need to be told
where he was. What was wrong with her?

But she knew exactly what was wrong with her. He was.
Nicholas Manning, the new Marquess of Overlea, muddled her thinking. Confused
her. That kiss upstairs was clear proof of that. She never should have allowed
it, let alone permitted it to go as far as it had. She would have immediately
put a stop to his liberties if it had been anyone else, but Overlea had a
strange effect on her. One she did not like.

* * *
* *

The soft chiming of the sitting room clock interrupted
Louisa’s concentration. She looked up from the sewing in her lap to see that it
was already noon. Catherine had long since abandoned the mending to go work in
the garden. It was her favorite place to be, and now that autumn was upon them
and the gardening season was coming to an end, she spent most of her free time
outside.

Louisa looked down at the morning dress she was working on,
admiring the pale green muslin. Since her father’s illness, she’d supported her
family by taking in sewing. She didn’t earn enough for extras, but at least the
necessities were covered. She hadn’t mentioned it to either of her siblings,
but most of the sewing she took in was for the family who was responsible for
their diminished situation. The dress to which she was currently adding the
finishing trim was for Overlea’s cousin, Mary Manning.