Tender Torment (24 page)

Inflamed by his need for her, his fingers burned against her flesh in searing caresses, and her frantic protests were ignored,
as were her attempts to wriggle free of his weight. His assault on her weakening defenses continued until she was wondering
how she had arrived at this state of desire she was suddenly experiencing when only moments before she was consumed with hatred
for him. What kind of power was he able to wield over her? Now
she realized that the rising tide of emotions swirling inside had erased all trace of reason. Marisa knew that the ultimate
conclusion to their lovemaking was unavoidable, but the danger of his throbbing body next to hers was no longer something
to be evaded. Instead, she found herself wanting him, and she murmured a breathless sound as his body took hers. Her arms
moved instinctively about his muscled torso, and she held him tightly as a certain rhythm overcame both of them. Within the
caverns of her mind, Marisa was aware only of a thrilling wave of sensations which threatened to drown her all at once. She
gasped for breath and heard Justin moan a heavy sound, but her sense of fulfillment ebbed quickly as he rolled free of her
to fall into a drugged sleep.

Marisa stared at the ceiling knowing that she was lost. She hated him and loved him at the same time. This arrogant devil
was making her life a tender torment. And no matter how she might rail against him, she was trapped by her love for him.

Justin muttered in his sleep, and Marisa began stroking his black hair until he settled quietly against her, and she then
drifted off to sleep.

Straeford woke to find his wife wrapped tightly in his arms, and he was content to let her remain so until his eyes rested
on the purplish welt streaking across her shoulder. The sight of her sleeping peacefully in his arms after his brutal attack
on her drove him from her bed in self-disgust. In the adjoining room he tried to reconstruct in his foggy brain what exactly
had taken place between them, but he was unable to remember the events of last night clearly. A sense of shame made him decide
to avoid her company. A harsh laugh erupted from him. Hadn’t that been his resolve just a few weeks ago? But the blond witch
had cast some kind of spell on him, dominating his thoughts until he had been lured back to the city. That meant nothing,
he rationalized’, he simply was determined to keep an eye on her until his purpose to have an heir was accomplished.

“I don’t believe it!” Straeford roared out loud as he reread the letter Jenkins had just delivered to him. He shook his head
repeatedly in disgust. “I never really believed he would take the coward’s way out. What an outright disgrace!”

Crumpling the letter in his hand, he hurled it angrily to the floor. It was a communique from John Loftus stating that he
had resigned his commission in the army and was planning to emigrate to America with his wife immediately. Straeford’s contempt
for his brother-in-law left him utterly speechless. It was more than he could bear to have his good name, so rich in heritage,
associated with such a sniveling act. Seething inside, he stomped off to inform his wife of her brother’s treachery.

When he found her, Marisa was seated at her escritoire. She, too, had received the same message from her brother and was attempting
to collect her thoughts, knowing full well what her husband’s reaction would be. Before she even had a chance to turn in his
direction when he entered the room, he launched into a tirade.

“Have you heard the news about your brother?” He didn’t wait for her reply, “Why, it’s beyond belief! How could he so flagrantly
cheapen his family’s name? And now, of course, my name is implicated as well.”

Marisa looked up at him in silence as he continued his condemnation of her brother. Pain and distress were clearly written
on her face, causing him to pause for a moment. And although he sensed her hurt, another thought occurred to him—a vicious
one, he realized, but his anger would not permit him any restraints at this moment.

“I’m not going to mince any words with you, madam wife. I hold that you were party to this defection!”

“I?”

“Yes, yes, you, my dear. Do you think I am ignorant of the fact that your new sister-in-law is related to Mark Aiken, your
former lover, who now resides in America?”

Marisa reared back, speechless at his insult. Her face whitened with anger, and Straeford felt a momentary sense of triumph.
“You know,” he continued, “I’m rather curious about you and that person. In fact, I am prompted to ask you right at this moment—were
you ever in love with him?”

Marisa shifted nervously in her chair. “I fail to see the relevance of that question, nor do I understand what difference
that could possibly make any longer.”

“Oh, no. You’ll not evade my question that easily, my dear. As your husband, I am asking you for a direct and simple answer.
Did you or didn’t you love Mark Aiken?”

“Well, if you really must know the truth,” Marisa sighed, feeling trapped, “I suppose I did love him. Now, was that what you
wanted to hear?”

For some reason her reply left him stunned. It was not at all what he expected to hear, and her answer left him with nothing
to say. But Marisa was too preoccupied to take note of the effect her answer had had on him. For the present, she was more
concerned with the impact John’s desertion would have on her father.

“Frankly, I’m very concerned about my father at this moment,” she said, picking up the threads of the conversation. “I am
just as upset about all of this as you
are. But I know he is, too, and I must see him at once.”

Marisa rang for Lucy’s assistance while the earl silently returned to his study.

When Marisa met with her father later that morning, she found Angus somewhat resigned to his son’s actions. After all, it
was not a complete surprise to him. He knew of John’s strong feelings regarding the military and had gone over that issue
with him a countless number of times, all to no avail. Angus seemed to be yielding on this matter. Perhaps, his daughter mused,
a reconciliation between father and son was still possible. The task confronting her, however, was how to bring them together.
She knew it wouldn’t be easy.

Seeing that her father might now be vulnerable, Marisa decided to visit John in Islington. But she found her brother much
less amenable to a meeting with Angus for this purpose. He insisted that it was a road that both of them had traveled many
times before and little was likely to result from another face-to-face encounter. It was only Marisa’s forceful arguing of
the point that this might be the very last opportunity in both of their lives to make their peace with one another that finally
persuaded John to see his father the following weekend. However, he did so reluctantly and warned her not to expect too much
from such a meeting.

Marisa accepted that she had accomplished about all that was possible on that account. Father and son would now have to come
to grips with their problems on their own terms. The only thing she could do was act as their intermediary. The rest was up
to them, and she prayed that the final outcome would result in a proper reconciliation.

During the days that ensued, Marisa temporarily put aside her concerns for John and her father and focused her attention on
the ball which she and the earl were planning to give. It was going to be her first official venture as a hostess, and its
main purpose was to provide Meg with a coming-out ball. This meant that everything had to be perfect. Ceaseless details consumed
Marisa’s every moment as she consulted with the caterer, the
florist, the musicians, the seamstress and, of course, Lady Maxwell, who offered some helpful advice on every matter, especially
the etiquette and protocol for the occasion.

From dawn to dusk each day Marisa was totally immersed in consultations of every sort and in checking off items on a long
list of tasks to be done that she scribbled out each morning. The pace was frenzied by the time the afternoon of the ball
arrived. For quite a few days she had precious little time for herself, and she was thankful that her servants had been so
patient with her in this whole affair.

Now she was enlisting Jenkins’s aid in a decision concerning where to place a large vase of multicolored flowers. “Mmm… Let’s
see now. How about on the mantel of the marble fireplace, Jenkins?” Marisa stepped back to judge its effect when she felt
her foot come down unexpectedly on someone standing behind her. She stumbled clumsily and sent a basket of roses tumbling
from the table which she tried to grasp in an attempt to regain her balance. Her fall to the floor was prevented by two powerful
arms, and she did not need to turn around to see to whom they belonged.

“Oh, dear!” Marisa surveyed the blossoms strewn about the floor, and Straeford picked up the basket to help her retrieve them.
Apologizing to one another, they simultaneously stooped to gather them up and accidentally bumped heads in the process. A
surprised look passed between them before they burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“I would like to wager that we could not repeat that comedy of errors if we tried,” Straeford said, tossing some flowers into
the basket. “Well, that about does it. No harm done.” Straeford offered a hand to help her up.

“Yes. That certainly does it, all right,” Marisa said with irony as she looked at the tangled mass of roses. “How shall I
ever reorganize these flowers?”

“Why bother? Stick them in a corner somewhere so no one will notice.”

“Oh, I can’t do that. Each bouquet has a specific composition to create a special effect. If you look at the
one in front of the fireplace you see that the darker, larger blossoms are at its base while the lighter shades are…” She
stopped in embarrassment as she caught him observing her with a supercilious grin. “Dear me, I know you did not come to discuss
the decorations. You did wish to speak to me about something, however?”

“I did,” he replied, the grin fading from his face while her attention remained focused on the roses. “Your sister was good
enough to inform me that I am expected to lead her out in the first dance this evening.”

“Mm hmm,” she mumbled, still toying with the flowers, her lips pouting as she failed to place a white bud in precisely the
right spot.

Straeford watched her with some amusement until finally the silence drew her attention.

“Oh, forgive me. What were you saying?”

“I was about to say that I am sorry, but I don’t dance.”

Marisa placed a hand over her mouth. “Whatever will we do then?”

“I’m sure there are many young bucks willing to dance with that little minx.”

Marisa wrinkled her nose at his reference to Meg. “Yes, I suppose there are, but you see that would not exactly be proper,
now would it? Well, I guess we’ll have to think of something, won’t we? But it certainly is late.”

To her surprise Straeford showed his concern by suggesting a series of bachelors who might oblige her, but Marisa had excellent
reasons for rejecting each one. Finally, with some asperity, he capitulated.

“Oh, very well, I shall appear the jackanapes and dance with her.”

“Oh, would you?” she responded enthusiastically.

“If I say I will, then I will. Besides, I’ve done just about everything else these past weeks, so why need I balk at a mere
dance?”

Marisa mustered up all the gratitude she could. “It’s very sweet of you to do that for me.”

“I’m never sweet!” he retorted gruffly. “I simply do not wish to… upset protocol.”

“Well, thank you anyway for doing something that is against your wishes.”

He shrugged his shoulders uneasily and turned to leave, but she held him back with an outstretched hand and placed a short-stemmed
rose in his lapel. Smiling coquettishly, she exclaimed, “I hereby commend you for valor, sir.” She stepped back to admire
him playfully, but he seemed unwilling to reciprocate.

“I think this flower would enhance your beauty far better,” he said with a straight face as he started to remove the rose.
But Marisa put her hand over his and admonished him lightly, “Sir, would you reject a medal for valor?”

Her direct appeal melted the coldness from his dark green eyes, and his hand gently squeezed hers before he lifted her fingers
to his lips and quipped, “In that case, I must accept most graciously.” Then he bowed and withdrew quietly, leaving Marisa
with a fluttering heart.

When there was finally a break in the long line of guests entering the Straeford home that evening, Marisa leaned across her
husband to press Lady Maxwell’s hand. The dowager looked exceptionally radiant in a highnecked purple satin gown.

“Dear lady,” Marisa smiled fondly, “how can we ever thank you? Everyone is in attendance.”

“Oh, it’s true,” Meg bubbled. “The Seftons, Lord Alvanley, Lady Jersey… They all came.”

“Just don’t spoil it, my dear girl,” Lady Maxwell admonished, “by playing up to Alden again tonight.”

“What’s this?” Straeford demanded.

“The chit’s struck up an acquaintance with that scoundrel, Alden.”

“Huh! The man’s old enough to be her father,” Straeford frowned. The dissolute Marquess most assuredly did not have marriage
in mind, and marriage for Meg was part of the earl’s bargain with Loftus.

“Oh,” Meg stomped her foot impatiently. “I don’t know why everyone is making such a fuss. I happen to like Ted and marriage
to him is exactly what I want.”

“You scheming vixen!” Straeford exploded. He was
about to give her a thorough tongue-lashing, but the sight of the Hardings approaching them made him stop short.

“Are we very late?” Ann asked in her usual breathless manner, kissing Marisa on the cheek. “You see, little Eddie has a head
cold. Poor dear, I just couldn’t leave him until he was fast asleep.”

“I hope it’s not serious,” Marisa sympathized.

“No, it’s not,” the major interrupted. “Ann is panicking over a sniffle.”

“Now, Edward, how can you be so unreasonable? Your infant son is suffering! The poor thing.”

“This is not the time for a family spat, my love.” Edward grinned and ushered his wife away just as General Wellesley made
his appearance. It was obvious from Straeford’s effusive greetings that this was a man he held in high regard. He shook the
general’s hand crisply and appeared anxious to launch into a protracted discussion with the esteemed military leader. But
Lady Maxwell’s signal to Marisa to begin the dancing prevented that from happening. Their guests now clearly established in
the ballroom, the Straefords entered with pomp to initiate the festivities.