The Marquess Who Loved Me (7 page)

“Done.”

She worried at her lip, considering the unforgiving notes in his voice. “No violence, either. If we were married you could beat me legally, I suppose, but do remember that we’re not.”

Nick’s eyes went dark. “As though I could forget that you threw me over. But I won’t beat you.”

She nodded crisply. She knew he wouldn’t have, but she was glad he didn’t leave it hanging over her head as a threat. Then she thought of another point. “And I will not do everything you ask outside of your bed. Inside your bed is enough.”

That seemed to break his patience. He wrapped his fist in her hair, winding it until she had to bend toward his lips. “You’re not in a position to negotiate,” he said.

Then he kissed her. Or rather, took her.

As a boy, he’d worshipped her.

As a man, he possessed her.

His fist held her in place. His other arm caught around her waist, making his claim unmistakable. She sighed as she opened her mouth to him. He swallowed her sigh and pulled her closer, until she was crushed against him. Acres of brocade still protected her, but beneath that armor she quivered. The ache she’d nursed for a decade exploded into a demand so sharp, so potent, that she couldn’t stay cold and passionless despite her plans.

She’d obsessed over him for ten years. She’d hated him for ten minutes. The coldly rational Ellie who had grown up after his departure was shrieking at her to stop — to remember her dignity, if nothing else.

But that voice echoed her father’s.
You will not embarrass your family with that peasant, Elinor
.

She moaned against Nick’s mouth. His kiss was a fire that could, just maybe, burn away all her thoughts. She met his tongue eagerly, breathed through her nose, and hoped the heat and air were enough to make herself ignite.

Ultimately, though, her wardrobe thwarted her efforts to forget. When his hand dropped to her bodice, he couldn’t unlace her — her costume was too elaborate, and her maid had sewn her into it to achieve a perfect fit.

She moved to straddle him. “There are other ways,” she murmured, reaching for the buttons that would undo his breeches.

He grabbed her hand. “I’m aware, love. But shouldn’t I get to see what I bargained for?”

Damn him
. He wouldn’t let her forget. She sat back, and he winced as she placed weight on his knees. “You’ll have four months — I’m sure you’ll get around to ogling my breasts some other night.”

“Every night.”

The coldly rational Ellie who had grown up without him wanted to gut him.

The Ellie who had missed him forever wanted to shred her dress just to feel his gaze on her skin.

Her better half won that round. She rolled off him before he could grab for her, standing beside him and smoothing her skirts as though she’d come off a horse rather than a thwarted lover.

“Shall we postpone our…union, then? You cannot remove this dress without a maid. And anyway, you agreed to four months — but the dates you gave me are four months and two days. I won’t be cheated any more than I already have been by the Claiborne men.”

Nick leaned up. She stepped back in case he tried to reach for her again. Her slippers crunched over broken glass and she stepped to the side, glad she still had her shoes.

He might have come after her, but the sound of glass stopped him. He looked down at her feet, then back up to her face. She knew she was flushed — he always brought out a flush in her, and it was worse now that he was being an utter blackguard. But perhaps that flush saved her — made him take pity on her, even if she’d never asked for anyone’s pity.

“Very well. We’ll start on the thirteenth. Four months, Ellie. Enjoy tomorrow — you won’t get another reprieve.”

He said it the way a monarch might condemn a traitor.
Four months
.
 

“You will rot in hell for this, Nicholas Claiborne.”

“I know.”

She took the key and left. She briefly considered using it to lock him in, but she didn’t have time for petty pleasures. She tossed it on the carpet instead, and admired her own restraint when she returned to the ballroom rather than searching the house for a gun.

Nick could take his revenge. Knowing her traitorous heart, she might even enjoy it.

But Ellie would keep her freedom — no matter what it cost her to win it.

The next morning, Ellie’s maid rummaged through the pots and boxes atop Ellie’s dressing table. “Perhaps the white lead, my lady,” Lucia said. She held up a small porcelain vessel. “Nothing else will conceal the shadows.”

Ellie sat in front of the mirror, wearing a dark blue dressing gown that only added to her pallor. “There isn’t a potion in England that will make me look like less of a hag. I look wretched if I haven’t slept.”

The fine lines starting to crinkle around her eyes drew attention to the dark circles beneath them. She hadn’t indulged in her annual cry the previous night, but she had barely slept. She couldn’t stop thinking of Nick — both the Nick who touched her like he loved her, and the Nick who intended to take every bit of vengeance he could wring from her flesh.

But the fragile winter sunlight brought unwelcome clarity. The part of her that craved his seduction was thoroughly browbeaten by the part that raged at his villainy. Hadn’t she vowed to stop being obsessed with him? Wasn’t she ready to leave England and all her desperate dreams of him behind?

She was in command of herself again. She knew what Nick wanted now, and she wouldn’t be tricked into betraying what she felt for him. She could manage him until she raised enough money to buy her escape.

Or at least she could lie to herself.

Lucia tapped her on the shoulder. “White lead?” she asked, with all the patience of a nurse talking to an invalid.

“No. We’re going to London for business, not pleasure. I trust my face won’t scare the men at Rundell and Bridge too terribly.”

“They may give you a better price for your jewels if you terrify them,” Lucia mused.

Ellie laughed. “I should have asked you to manage my estate instead of Marcus. You’re ruthless enough for it.”

Lucia didn’t smile. “Mr. Claiborne will regret what he’s done to you, my lady.”

Her words sounded like a vow. The maid’s relationship with Marcus had always been prickly. Lucia had once been a gentleman’s daughter, although Ellie had never asked how she’d fallen from grace and landed on the Theatre Royal stage where Ellie had discovered her. She had been in Ellie’s employ for over two years, since the day Ellie had asked her to sit for a painting and then impulsively asked her to stay on as her lady’s maid.

Lucia’s bold dark hair and dreamy grey eyes made her look enchanted — a Celtic witch, perhaps, rather than a household drudge. She was far too striking to be safe as a servant in most houses. But Lucia knew how to take care of herself. She kept every man, and particularly Marcus, at arm’s length. They still called each other Mrs. Grafton and Mr. Claiborne, although Ellie suspected Marcus wanted more from Lucia than the cool disregard she offered him.

Today, Lucia's voice finally held a thread of emotion toward him. Ellie wanted to grin, but she kept her face solemn. “Leave Marcus ungutted until he explains exactly where the money went. After that, you may have him.”

Lucia made a noncommittal sniff before disappearing into the dressing room. She was usually as quiet as a church mouse, but this morning she slammed through every drawer as she selected Ellie’s attire. She returned with a fresh chemise, stockings, and stays. She had just helped Ellie into her undergarments and fastened the corset when a knock on the door interrupted them.

Ellie glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was a few moments after eight. She nodded at Lucia, who answered the door as Ellie shrugged into her dressing gown again.

“This is the earliest I have ever known you to be out of bed,” Madeleine said as she walked into Ellie’s chamber. “When we were in Scotland last autumn, I swear I never saw you before ten at the earliest.”

Ellie accepted her sister-in-law’s kiss. “Desperate times and all that. I am sorry to have sent for you and Prudence so early.”

Behind them, Miss Prudence Etchingham entered, followed by a servant bearing a tray with tea and chocolate. “This isn’t early by my standards,” Prudence said. “Lady Salford is an early riser, and I am up even earlier so that I may have an hour to myself before attending her. But I will gladly sacrifice that hour if the story you want to share is as delicious as I expect it to be.”

“I don’t have anything delicious to share, unfortunately. You will have to settle for tea.”

Prudence arched an eyebrow at Ellie’s evasion. “That’s not what I would have guessed after last night. Even Lady Salford remarked on how taken Lord Folkestone was with you. If he had accidentally strayed near the chairs where the dowagers and companions sat, they might have flayed him alive with their curiosity.”

Prudence was a companion to Madeleine’s aunt and Alex Staunton’s mother, the widowed Lady Salford. Lady Salford had taken Prudence in several months earlier, an arrangement that had freed Prudence from her overbearing, impoverished mother.

But for all that Prudence was grateful, Ellie saw the tightness around her mouth. A future as an older lady’s companion was not one that any woman with Prudence’s mind would embrace wholeheartedly, even if Lady Salford was easier than most. Ellie had planned to take Prudence with her to Europe for a few months…but Nick’s return had changed all that.

Ellie gestured the ladies into comfortable chairs by the fire. Prudence dismissed the servant and offered to pour. Lucia returned to the dressing room for Ellie’s carriage dress, but Ellie stayed standing. With all her shields in tatters after Nick’s arrival, she needed to feel like she had troops to command — even if those troops were friends who now viewed her as the finest bit of entertainment they’d had in ages.

As Prudence passed around their cups, Ellie considered how to phrase her request. If this were one of their normal meetings, they might have discussed Prudence’s new historical treatise or heard a dramatic reading from Madeleine’s latest play. Madeleine and Prudence had been friends for years, while Ellie had only joined their circle the previous summer. They had invited her to join their secret artistic club, the Muses of Mayfair, when they had discovered that she was a painter during Madeleine and Ferguson’s courtship. The only member missing was Madeleine’s cousin Amelia, the newly married Countess of Carnach, who had stayed in Scotland with her husband rather than attending Ellie’s house party.

But while Ellie usually guided them into talking about themselves instead of her, Lord Folkestone’s return was so momentous that none of them could forget it. Prudence started the inquisition. “I was concerned for your health when Folkestone dragged you from the ballroom last night. Is everything well?“

“I hope it’s well,” Madeleine added. “Thank goodness Ferguson and I retired early. If he had seen what Prue described to me, he might have murdered the man.”

“I don’t need my brother to protect me,” Ellie said.

Her tone was mild, but her feelings weren’t. Ferguson had been missing from her life for years. They were on much better terms now that he had returned from the exile their father had sent him to, but his newfound protectiveness occasionally rankled.

Madeleine smiled. “You know Ferguson. If he decides to protect someone, he will do it whether she wants to be protected or not.”

Ellie tried not to hate the dreamy look in Madeleine’s eyes. “Well, don’t let him decide to protect me. I already have a plan.”

Lucia came out of the dressing room with one of Ellie’s carriage dresses — a gorgeous grey that made her think of a Scottish sky in winter. Prudence’s eyes flickered from the dress to Ellie’s face. “Don’t say you’re leaving us?” she asked.

Ellie set aside her chocolate and removed her robe so that Lucia could help her into the dress. “That’s why I asked you to attend me so early this morning. I have pressing business in London that cannot wait, and I need someone to act as hostess and entertain the ladies until I return. The men can mostly take care of themselves, particularly if Lord Folkestone chooses to play the host…”

“Unlikely,” Prudence said, interrupting her. “Lady Salford’s maid helped me to dress, and she heard that Lord Folkestone had already left for London. Not that I gossiped with the servants, of course — but they can be useful.”

Madeleine grinned. “Planning a rendezvous in the capital? How shocking of you, Lady Folkestone.”

Ellie sucked in a breath that had nothing to do with Lucia's sharp tug on the back of her dress. She hadn’t known that Nick was going to London, but she couldn’t delay her trip just to avoid him. “What that scoundrel does is no concern of mine,” she said sharply.

She knew her mistake immediately — both of her friends went from interested to
very
interested. “So he’s a scoundrel now?” Madeleine asked. “Was he a scoundrel before or after he moved into the room next to yours?”

“I didn’t put him in the room next to mine,” Ellie said smugly. “The only room left, other than the master’s chamber, was a small bachelor’s room in the old wing of the house. He may freeze to death there, but it would save me the trouble of finding a new residence.”

Prudence and Madeleine both looked into their cups at the same time.

“What are you not telling me?” she asked.

“I must have made a mistake,” Madeleine said, in a voice that didn’t allow for mistakes. “But I saw him leaving this hallway when your maid requested that I join you for tea. Since I knew all the other rooms on this floor were occupied, I assumed he was in the master’s chamber. Unless he was in here with you?”

She sounded so guileless that her innocence somehow wrapped around itself and became an insinuation. “Yes, you made a mistake,” Ellie said firmly. “I’m sure he stayed where I put him. But that is neither here nor there. All I need is for you to keep my guests entertained until dinner so that I may deal with an urgent matter in the City. I’m sorry if you came to my room expecting a grand story of reunited lovers, but there’s no world in which that story is going to happen.”