Puritan Bride (33 page)

It was Marlbrooke’s undoing—his absolution and his salvation. The depth of her understanding and love took
his breath away. And when he finally lifted her to the bed, and covered her with his body, his fierce passion had been overlaid by an overwhelming tenderness that reduced her to amazed delight.

‘Tonight is ours,’ he promised, framing her face in his hands. ‘No shadows will threaten us. Not Gilliver nor Richard. Not Isolde. Tonight I will fill your thoughts, your body, your whole experience. Only me. I adore you and I will drown myself in you.’ His mouth sealed the promise, a searing heat.

With utmost care and finesse his hands and mouth touched and awoke every part of her to mind-shattering pleasure. And she responded without restraint to caress and smooth, delighting in the hard, well-defined muscles of his arms and shoulders. When she allowed her lips to brush his throat, along the flat planes of his chest, her sweet breath whispering against his skin, she drove him to the edge of that hard-won control.

He caught his breath as her breasts tightened under his palms, as her nipples hardened into peaks of desire under the assault of his lips and tongue. He allowed his fingers to feather along her soft belly, his senses swamped by the instant quiver of her muscles. She purred, a low sound of pleasure, deep in her throat, when he used his knee to open her thighs so that his hands could glide over that impossibly satin skin and taste the hot wetness of her body’s responses to him. He felt her gasp in wonder as his accomplished, skilful fingers touched and caressed before
finally sliding possessively into her receptive body. Such an intimate touch ignited fire to flame through her body’s myriad of nerve endings. In reply she arched, moved beneath him in unspoken demand, letting her hands drift to touch where they would. He set his teeth against the immediate instinct to answer her demands, but continued to touch and taste, replacing his fingers with his mouth and tongue until her breath came in agonised gasps and her fingernails scored his shoulders. His seduction was complete and he gloried in it, the fact that she could accept the worship of his body without restraint.

Uncontrollable shivers overtook her, racing through her blood to engulf and finally explode through her very soul as the fragments of a meteor spangled the heavens.

‘Marcus!’

He slid to take possession of her mouth with his once more, capturing her breath, tasting her delight, as she cried out in the devastating splendour of the sensations that shook her from head to foot.

Finally, impossibly hard and ready for her, he could withstand the invitation of her body no longer, but lifted her hips and slid into the velvet depths of her. Then held himself still, looking down at her radiant face.

‘Open your eyes. Look at me, Kate.’ He waited until she obeyed, every muscle taut. ‘Say it. Tell me that you love me, Katherine. Tell me when I am inside you. Tell me that I may believe it.’

Her eyes looked deep into his, allowing him into her
soul. ‘I love you,’ she breathed and arched her body against his in instinctive response, lifting her hips to take him deeper yet, to allow him to fill her.

‘You are mine. You always will be. Do you accept it?’ He forced himself to remain motionless in spite of the pulsating heat that surrounded him and demanded his response.

‘Yes!’ It was little more than a sigh but it was all he needed to hear.

Desire now overtook control, mind giving way to demands of the flesh, and he thrust again and again with long smooth strokes to fill her completely, driving her over the edge of feeling once again, absorbing her response as it shimmered over her skin, the pleasure over her face.

‘And I am yours,’ he answered, feeling the ripples of her muscles as she surrounded and enclosed him in her glorious heat.

Her skin glowed beneath his, her body warm and supple, answering his every need with instinctive anticipation, shining with a love far more brilliant than he could ever have imagined or dreamed of.

He lost himself in her, hearing only her words as the tremors overtook again with overwhelming sensations. ‘I love you, Marcus. I love you.’

‘And I you.’

A final thrust brought his own release, plunging into the raging torrent, to drown there, as he had promised.

‘K
atherine, my love. You look rested. In spite of everything.’ Marlbrooke rose to his feet, his eyes alight with pleasure as they rested on her. ‘I gave Bessie instructions that you were not to be disturbed.’

He had brought her back to the Priory from Widemarsh Manor in the early hours of the morning, putting her to bed and ordering her to sleep. Elizabeth had rejoiced—and found something time consuming to occupy herself and Felicity in the far reaches of the house, to give her son and his reunited love time and space together.

‘I feel well.’ Kate walked forward into the library where Marlbrooke had been sitting at his desk before an array of documents, coming to stand beside him and placing a hand on his arm.

‘I am relieved to hear it.’ He stood, smiled down at her,
still not quite daring to believe that she was here with him at the Priory. Reaching for her hand to lead her to the window, he watched as the light fell on her face, gilding the soft planes and curves. She was pale and there were faint smudges of violet below her eyes, reaction to the long days of grief, self-doubt and heart-searching after Richard’s death. It worried him, but she looked content, at ease, within the circle of his arm.

‘I liked you in your court finery …’ he touched her sleeve ‘… but this suits you very well.’ She had exchanged the formal cream-and-silver creation of the previous night for a pretty bodice and skirt in pale blue watered silk. The low neckline that skimmed the swell of her breasts was stylishly obscured by a deep lace collar, but it could not hide the blush which rose to her fair skin as she read the latent desire in his eyes and remembered their night at Widemarsh. He ran a finger down her cheek, grinning at her confusion, and then raised her hand to press his lips to the fragile skin on the inside of her wrist.

‘I thought it better to bring you here—I could not leave you at Widemarsh. And you will now stay here with me. Until we are wed.’

‘Of course.’

No argument here! It pleased him that she accepted his arrangements without question. She smiled up at him, love and trust in her clear gaze. They had come a long way together since their first meeting. He felt the familiar surge of blood through his veins at the realisation that she
was his—for the moment, at least. He quelled the quick surge of renewed fear in the region of his heart, working hard to hide his emotions from her.

‘Come with me. I want us to do something—together.’ He would say no more, so she lapsed into silence at his side, content simply to be near him. He led her to the Long Gallery, guiding her to stand in the centre where sunlight gilded a pathway along the dark oak boards. There, he turned her to face him, took her hands firmly in his own and searched her face to see if she would read his intent.

She did. With a jolt of surprise and not a little fear, she tightened her clasp. ‘Isolde?’

‘Yes. Call her.’

Kate did so, her voice clear, echoing slightly in the empty spaces of the vast room. They waited. She called again. ‘Isolde.’

The creeping chill touched them, raising awareness along exposed flesh. And the sorrow engulfed them. Kate trembled, taking comfort from the Viscount’s strength and staunch presence.

‘She is here.’

Now Marlbrooke took over. He had thought carefully about this, about the revelations in the family letters. He would use that knowledge, if it were possible, to allow the pain-stricken creature to rest finally. ‘Isolde.’ He kept his voice low and gentle. The cool air swirled and the depths of emotion in it. ‘Leave us in peace, Isolde. I love
her and she loves me.’ He lowered his eyes to Kate’s face as he spoke the words, making of it a solemn vow. ‘I will never force her or hurt her.’ He cast about in his mind for the right words to reach the spiritual remains of the wronged girl. ‘Any child Kate bears will be desired by both of us, created out of our love. Your history will not be repeated here. There is no future for your sorrow here. My heart is in Kate’s hands, and hers in mine.’

There was no sound in the Gallery.

‘Rest in peace, Isolde.’ Kate took up the theme, moved almost beyond words by Marlbrooke’s declarations. ‘You have carried your grief too long and deserve to rest. Marcus and I will unite our two families at last, willingly and with love.’

In confirmation of the promises, they moved together and kissed, lips to lips, a solemn vow.

Imperceptibly, the chill ebbed. The atmosphere lightened. The heartbreaking emotion dissipated into the sunlight, to leave only silence and tranquillity.

‘She has gone, hasn’t she?’

‘Yes, I believe she has.’ Marlbrooke pulled her gently on to the window seat beside him.

‘Do you think she will return?’ Kate leaned comfortably against his shoulder, a little breathless at what they had just done, overwhelmed by this evidence of the Viscount’s love for her and concern for the poor tormented spirit of Isolde.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’

‘But she is not here now. I know it.’ She sighed a little. ‘I hope she has found some element of peace somewhere.’

They continued to sit as the sunlight warmed the room, savouring the stillness, the silence that settled round them as in a blessing.

‘Marcus?’

‘Hmm?’ Marlbrooke folded her into his arms. He needed her close.

‘About Isolde. Perhaps it was not such a tragedy after all that your mother dropped the vessel—and so released her to walk these corridors again. Do you believe in fate?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘It came to me that it was Isolde’s destiny that she should be released from her captivity
now—
when you decided that you wanted me for your wife.’

‘So that we might have the chance to lay her unhappy spirit to rest for eternity.’ Picking up her train of thought, Marlbrooke turned his cheek against her hair as he contemplated the possibilities. ‘It is a pleasing thought.’

‘Yes. Perhaps it was destiny that we should love—and that our love should free her from the grief and betrayal of her past. That our love should heal her wounded heart.’ Kate pushed against her lord’s shoulder so that she might look up into his face, her own bright with happiness. ‘Perhaps it was fate that took a hand in our union.’

‘Dearest Viola! You are a constant delight to me.’ Marlbrooke smiled down at her, touched her cheek with gentle fingers. ‘I will willingly believe in fate or destiny, if you
would have it so. Whatever the driving force behind it, you hold me captive in your pretty hands, as surely as Isolde was confined in her clay prison. Have I told you today how much I love you?’

‘No. I knew there was something missing.’ She laughed and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

‘You are my love.’ He was now deadly serious. ‘For ever. I cannot imagine not loving you—in this life or the next.’

‘That makes me happy.’ She turned against his restraining arm. ‘When shall we be wed?’

He did not answer, causing her to glance up at his stern profile.

‘Marcus?’

‘There is something you need to see. I cannot keep it from you and I am determined that there will be no secrets between us.’ He pulled her to her feet and, without further explanation, ignoring her demands for enlightenment, led her back to the library, back to the desk and its weight of documents.

‘These are the contracts. You and your heirs will be suitably provided for as your uncle Sir Henry Jessop and I agreed. It is a very generous settlement, as is your right.’

‘Of course.’ Kate was puzzled by this turn in the conversation, but failed to detect the reason for it. ‘As you know, I have only given my consent to marriage because you are outrageously wealthy.’ She glanced at him from
under her lashes and reached up impulsively on her toes to press her lips to his cheek. ‘Tell me what is wrong?’

There was some shadow here. She could not quite identify it, but he was not at ease.

‘You are too astute,’ he admitted at last, an unexpected harshness in his tone. ‘I have something for you.’

‘A present? You will find that I can be very mercenary, my lord.’

He did not return her smile, her attempt to keep the conversation light for fear of stirring muddied waters, but unlocked a drawer in the desk.

‘It is no gift. It is something I have no wish to give you. But I know that I must.’ He held a discoloured document in both hands as if he would not willingly give it up. He raised his eyes to hers. They were stern and bleak, his handsome face set in uncompromising lines. ‘I am afraid of the consequences.’

‘If you admit to fear, then I too must be troubled.’ Anxiety clawed at her throat, a fretful beast, a frown marred her forehead. ‘What can be such a threat now after everything that has happened?’

‘Verzons gave me this. It seems that I have misread his loyalty in the past and that I appear to have become acceptable to him as a suitor to a Harley after all. He said that he entrusted it to me in the certainty that I would give it to you. It was found in the back of the cavity behind the Long Gallery panelling. It must have been put in there, but not in the box itself—and slid down behind it.’

He held it out to her. ‘Take it. It is yours.’

Kate took the document, knowing instinctively what it must be; opening it, she read slowly the heavy black script that she now recognised as that of her father.

Marlbrooke discovered that he could not simply stand and watch, could not anticipate her reaction, which might be one of pleasure and so might destroy his hard-won plans. He turned his back on her, strode to the fireplace and stared down at the smouldering logs, one arm resting on the high mantel.

The silence stretched between them until he could stand it no longer. He turned his head and looked across at her. She stood where he had left her, neat and composed in blue silk and old lace, document in hand, eyes on him.

‘Well? It is what you had always hoped for.’ His tone was flat and cool, perfectly disguising what he felt, but emotion was stark in his eyes.

‘Yes. You know that it is. The recognition of my claim to Winteringham Priory within the wardship of my uncle Sir Henry Jessop until my majority. Then it would be mine without restriction, as if I were a male heir, with no strings of a marriage attached. That is how it should be.’ Her voice was quite calm, her eyes soft, a smile playing round her lips.

‘So, Kate!’ He straightened and looked fully at her. ‘Will you fight me through the Courts?’

So that is what he feared! Kate took a deep breath as
she realised what he had done. What sacrifice he had been prepared to make. She found the need to swallow hard to keep tears from welling and spilling down her cheeks at the magnificent gesture.

‘It gives you a very strong claim,’ he continued, ‘and, with the resources of the Priory behind you, enough money to bribe the most mercenary of judges to decide in your favour. Harley has a far weightier claim historically than Oxenden. You could very well win. Particularly if you exerted your considerable charm on King Charles. I doubt you would lose!’

‘And then there would be no need for me to marry you. Or pressure from my family for me to do so.’

‘No. The contracts could be destroyed if both parties are in agreement. If that is what you wish.’

‘What do
you
wish, Marcus?’ She joined him before the fireplace, moving lightly to close the space between them. So close that he could smell her flowery perfume, almost touch her. But he would not. His muscles tightened as he strove for control amidst the personal storm.

‘I want you, Kate.’ Now was a time for honesty, not dissembling. ‘I want you more than I have wanted anything in my whole life. But not against your will. If you would rather claim this inheritance in your own right without marriage to me, then I will abide by your decision. I told you when we first met in your uncle’s home that I did not want an unwilling bride. And again at Widemarsh. Now, even more so, I will never coerce you.’

‘Would it hurt you if I reneged on the agreement?’ She placed a hand on his sleeve, intensely aware of the taut muscles beneath her light clasp.

‘Damnably!’ His smile had a sardonic twist. ‘But I would accept it.’

‘I thought you understood me better than that.’

Her head tilted a little as she studied his face. So handsome, so masculine. Heartstoppingly so—she took a deep breath to still the shiver along her spine. She could not believe such generosity, which could allow her the final decision about their future. She opened the document again, heavy with its seals and ribbons and signatures, smoothing her finger over the date inscribed beside her father’s name.

‘Do you not see? He changed his mind.’ The smile that touched her lips was a mingling of old sadness and a new satisfaction. ‘This was his final decision, before he left us. It pleases me, more than I can express. That my father had enough faith in me that, at the end, he believed I would be the most suitable heir for the Priory. I shall never know what made him change his mind, from Simon and Richard to me—but I am glad he did. I never knew him, nor he me, but this makes me feel closer to him.’

She looked up. Marlbrooke had a quizzical expression, one brow raised.

‘And I now realise
that
is all that matters,’ she explained.