Unmasked (27 page)

Mari looked at him. “I think I was half-mad with fear and the memory of the past that night I met you at the Star House,” she said unevenly. “I thought you were going to enforce another unholy agreement, just as your cousin had, and I did not think I could bear it.”

She saw Nick close his eyes for a second. The muscles of his jaw clenched but he spoke very softly. “I am not my cousin.”

“No,” Mari said. “I know that. I knew it then, I think, deep down. But I was afraid that I had misread you. I could not trust you because my very life depended upon it and it broke my heart that I had thought you so much better than it seemed you were proving to be….”

Their eyes met and for a moment it felt as though all the unspoken dreams and desires Mari cherished shimmered between them as fragile as gossamer.

“I thought that about you, too,” Nick said quietly, and Mari’s heart leaped. “After you ran from me that night I fought my instincts so hard but I knew you could not be the woman you seemed to be.”

The heat rose in Mari’s face. She tore her gaze from his and fixed it on the amber liquid swirling in her glass.

“So,” Nick said, “there are no more secrets between us.”

Mari looked up. “Just one. Why were you at the Hen and Vulture that night?”

He laughed. “What I told you that night at the Star House was true. I had gone to meet Rashleigh.” His smile faded. “He had been borrowing heavily from impressionable sprigs of the nobility, leading them astray. He owed thousands of pounds.”

Mari sat forward. “Then you must have the money back! If Rashleigh had incurred debts, you must allow me to pay them.”

Nick shook his head. “Keep the money,” he said. “I have more than enough of my own and my uncle settled the debts. And Mari—” he came to sit beside her again “—you must never blame yourself for what happened. It was none of your fault.”

It seemed too much. He had given her back her freedom, released her from the secrets of the past and now he was promising his silence forever. Mari’s mind tried to grapple with the intimacy that they had somehow achieved—not a physical intimacy but an understanding that seemed far deeper and more profound. She did not understand how it had happened nor did she know how to reverse it and she could feel herself sliding deeper and more hopelessly in love with him all the time. Hopelessly indeed, for his mention of his uncle had reminded her that he was heir to a Marquisate and she was his cousin’s former mistress, a thief and a freed serf. Her past was dark and she was scarred by it. How many reasons did she need to realize that there could never be any future for them?

She stood up and her head spun immediately and she realized that perhaps the brandy was not as restorative as she had supposed. “You have given me too much to drink,” she said helplessly. “I must lie down.”

The rain was lashing down outside and the sky was dark. In her confused state Mari was not even sure if it was day or night. She swayed and caught hold of the back of the sofa to steady herself.

A moment later Nick had scooped her up in his arms and was carrying her toward the door. He held her very securely, her head on his shoulder, and she could hear his heart beating against her ear.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, making a grab for the shreds of control.

He glanced down at her. “You said you wished to rest. Which is your bedchamber?”

“I will find it myself.”

“I doubt it. You are so drunk you will probably fall down the stairs. I had no notion you had so poor a head for drink. I thought that all Russian women would be able to drink their men under the table.”

“That is a ridiculous generalization.”

He smiled down at her. “I suppose so.” His grip tightened as he started up the stairs. “Now, trust me. I’ll keep you safe.”

Safe. It was so seductive an idea.

His breath stirred the hair around her face. “Your room?”

She gave in. “The second on the right.”

He maneuvered the door open and laid her gently on the bed. “Can you manage to undress yourself?”

“Certainly. You are
not
to do that for me!”

She saw him grin. “Very well. I will leave you to get ready for bed.”

Contrarily fear grabbed at her. Perhaps it was the brandy talking but all those nameless terrors that she had suppressed for years were rising to mock at her.

“But you will not leave me alone in the house? Please? I need to know I am safe.”

She saw him hesitate for what seemed a long time but then nodded. “I will send word to the village and stay until the servants return. Will that suffice?”

She nodded, feeling only relief. “Thank you.”

Her eyelids felt weighted with lead. As soon as she heard the click of the door closing behind him she kicked off her shoes, dragged off her gown and dropped it on the floor and hid under the bedcovers. She did not want to think, did not want to feel. Too much had happened and she was exhausted. It could all wait until the morning. A second later she was asleep.

N
ICK WALKED SLOWLY
back down the stairs and headed for the door. No matter that it was raining. He had to get out of the house. He needed fresh air, to clear his head, to help him think. Besides, the thunderstorm outside was a pretty good match for the violence of the feelings inside him.

He had never felt so angry in his entire life. He had not even known he could feel like this. Whilst he had been talking to Mari he had been able to dampen down on his rage and think only of her. Now, though, he was filled with a furious, impotent hatred of his cousin that could never be quenched. If Rashleigh had still been alive, he thought that he would have hunted him down and killed him with his bare hands. And even that would not be good enough. It would never be good enough.

As it was, he could never make Rashleigh pay for what he had done to Mari and his inability to avenge her filled him with frustrated rage. He balled his hands into fists and thrust them into his pockets for fear of the violence that he might wreak. He had always considered himself a civilized man but now he realized how thin that veneer was. Rashleigh had transgressed every code and had hurt Mari beyond reparation, and he could never make him pay.

He went out of the garden door, onto the terrace and down the steps to the lawn. The rain beat down on his bare head. The sound of the downpour filled his ears, drumming on the stone of the terrace, beating a more muted stroke on the thick grass beneath his feet. He turned his face up to the sky and prayed that there was vengeance in heaven or in the other place to which he hoped Rashleigh had been condemned. The thunder echoed off the fells with distant threat. He was soaked to the skin within minutes, drenched, but the downpour made him feel a little better, as though he could wash away some of the anger from his soul.

He found Frank stolidly closing up the greenhouses and sent him off to Peacock Oak village to find Jane and tell her that Mari had returned, and then he let himself back into the house and stood for a moment in the darkened hallway, the water from his clothes dripping onto the tiled floor. He had no way of knowing how long it would be before the servants returned but he had promised Mari that he would not leave her until he knew she was safe. Unless he was to catch a chill in the process he thought that he had better try to dry himself off. He went into the kitchen and found a towel near the stove, which he used to rub vigorously at his hair. He then removed his shirt, which was so wet that it was sticking to his chest, and draped it over the wooden drying frame in the little laundry room. He was just debating whether or not to light the fire in an attempt to dry off his soaking trousers, when he heard a sound from above. It sounded as though Mari was crying.

He took the stairs two at a time and found her lying tangled in the blankets. Her gown lay crumpled on the floor and she was in her petticoats. Her face was flushed and she was breathing quickly in little gasps. He knew she was having a nightmare.

He touched her gently on the shoulder and she struck his hands away with a violence that was shocking.

“Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!”

He had no idea how to soothe her but he caught her flailing hands and drew her into his arms. “Hush.” He spoke against her hair. “You are quite safe. I promised to keep you safe and I will.”

She opened her eyes. They were dark and soft and then they focused on him and she smiled and he felt as though a fist had squeezed his stomach, turning his feelings inside out. How could Rashleigh have taken this girl and used her and destroyed her innocence? The anger rose in his throat, as thick as bile. Unconsciously his arms tightened about her.

“Nicholas,” she said, and he realized it was only the second time that she had used his name. She put a hand against his cheek. Her hair spilled over his bare chest. “Don’t leave me,” she said.

“I won’t,” he said, and her eyes closed and she smiled again and he was lost.

Clover—Be mine

T
HROUGH THE THICK
,
muffling layers of brandy-induced sleep, Mari could hear the sound of screaming. She stirred, resisting the urge to wake. She was warm and comfortable and for the first time in as long as she could remember she felt so safe and so protected that she thought she could sleep forever.

Except that someone was screaming, and it sounded like Jane.

She tried to move and found that someone was holding her close to them. She felt the heat of another body, the slide of warm skin against hers. Something tickled her cheek, a lock of dark hair. And there was a masculine scent that teased her nostrils with it woody, fresh smell.

She rolled over and he made a protesting sleepy noise and moved slightly, trying to draw her back into his arms. She froze rigid. Oh, good God. She was in bed and she was in Nick Falconer’s arms. He was holding her close. Her hand was against his bare chest and…She drew a deep breath. He was cuddling her, his cheek slightly rough against hers.

Cuddling. She had heard about that. She had never done it, though.

It felt warm and intimate and entirely delightful and it made her want to burrow even closer to him and drink in the scent of his skin and stay curled up there comfortable and safe forever.

The knowledge of how she felt, the fact that she was not afraid of Nick’s physical proximity, stunned Mari for a moment. Then another scream penetrated her brain and she sat up and felt her head spin. When she opened her eyes the floor of her bedroom rose and fell like a ship in a stormy sea. At the bottom of the bed stood Jane. In one hand was an empty brandy bottle and in the other was something that looked suspiciously like a man’s shirt. Mari looked from the shirt to Nick, whose bare-chested appearance suggested that he must be the owner. He was starting to stir now.

“Oh, dear,” Mari said, inadequately.

Jane had stopped screaming. “Well, upon my word!” she said. “And I thought it was Lady Hester who had the reputation with the gentlemen!”

“This is not what it seems, Jane,” Mari began, then put a hand to her forehead as a headache like a nutcracker squeezed her temples. “I beg your pardon, I do not feel quite the thing.”

Jane looked at the empty brandy bottle in her hand. “I am sure you do not, madam! Cavorting with gentlemen, drinking and running about in the rain…This is the second time I’ve found a
shirt
lying around the house.” She gave a loud sniff. “I’ll heat some water, shall I, and prepare a tisane for your headache? Not that you deserve it, madam. And is the gentleman staying?”

“Yes,” Nick said. He sat up and Mari tried to avert her gaze from the hard, defined muscles of his torso. She knew she was staring like a startled virgin but she had never seen anything so riveting in her life.

“Yes,” Nick said again, “I am staying until I have persuaded Mrs. Osborne to accept my proposal of marriage.”

Jane sniffed again. “Fine persuasion!” she said. “I shall be in the kitchen if you need me.” She looked at him. “Not that
that
seems likely.”

“Oh, dear,” Mari said again, as the door closed behind the maid with a quietly outraged click. “Major Falconer,” she enunciated carefully, “I think that you had better go. I will explain matters to Jane.”

“You called me Nicholas when you begged me to stay with you,” Nick said helpfully.

Mari blushed. “Begged you? But I…” She cast a look around at the tumbled sheets. “I don’t remember,” she said helplessly. “I am sure nothing happened between us.”

Nick grabbed her hand. “You were having a nightmare,” he said. “I promised to stay with you and keep you safe.”

“You had no need to take it so literally,” Mari said. She dropped her gaze to their clasped hands. “I did feel safe,” she admitted in a whisper. “I thought that I would be afraid to be so close to you after what happened that night at the Star House, that it might bring back terrible memories again, but I know that you would never hurt me. I trust you.”

His fingers tightened on hers and she looked up to meet the look of brilliant intensity in his eyes. “Then marry me,” he said. “This news will be all over the village by now anyway. You are compromised, Mari. Accept me. Be my wife.”

“Accept you?” Mari repeated. She felt stunned. “Have you run mad, Major Falconer? Earlier today you abducted me from a convent. Then you plied me with brandy. Now you are proposing to me. This all seems so out of character that I suggest that you need to see a physician.”

Nick laughed. He stretched and Mari watched his muscles move beneath the smooth skin and felt a sudden and very hot wave of sensation sweep over her.

“I feel very well,” he said. He looked at her and Mari blushed. “In fact, I feel extremely well.”

“I still do not think there is any need to propose to me,” Mari said. “You must surely understand that the concept of being
compromised
—” she felt faintly amused “—is as foreign to one in my situation as is the idea of marriage, Major Falconer. I fear I must decline your…rather astonishing…offer.”

Nick grinned. He looked, she thought with trepidation, like a man who was thoroughly elated rather than one who had just been turned down flat. The change in him was remarkable. It was as though laying the truth bare between them had freed something in him, as well as in her. He seemed to think he could
court
her. It was a shocking idea.

“I could persuade you—” Nick said

“No!” Mari felt a flash of genuine panic. She put a hand on his bare arm and whipped it away equally quickly. He felt warm and smooth and tempting in a way that she did not understand. She wanted to touch him
all the time.
Surely that was not normal. Hastily, she shuffled away from him on the bed as her whole body started to burn.

“Nicholas,” she said, saw him smile at her use of his name and felt a helpless rush of feeling, “I understand what you are trying to do. You are trying to atone for Rashleigh’s actions toward me. But you are not your cousin, as you have told me before. It is not your responsibility to make good the evil he has done.”

Nick caught her hand in his again. “You mistake me,” he said. “That was not why I asked you to marry me.” His grip tightened. “It is true that I deplore the way that Rashleigh behaved and I would do anything in my power to put it right—” He felt her instinctive withdrawal from him but held on to her hand and carried on doggedly. “But that was not why I proposed marriage to you. I want you, Mari, and nothing else matters. I love you.”

Shock silenced Mari for a moment. “You cannot love me, Nicholas!” she burst out. “You cannot wish to marry me. You do not know me.”

She freed herself from his grip, intending to get to her feet and put a little distance between them. Then she realized her state of undress and thought better of it. In nothing but her petticoats she felt hopelessly vulnerable, especially as Nick was sitting and watching her with a look in his eyes that made her tingle with awareness. She swallowed hard, trying to concentrate.

“When you first met me,” she said softly, “you thought that I was a criminal and a whore and it was
that
Mari Osborne you wanted. You wanted the woman who kissed you at the tavern and danced naked in the fountain. Then you discovered the truth and thought me a virtuous woman wronged, and it was a different Mari Osborne you wanted then. You wanted to save me.” She pushed the tumbled hair back from her face. “But you do not know me, Nicholas! You do not know the real Marina Osborne. You create these different images yet you know nothing of the real Marina at all.”

Nick started to speak but she gestured him to silence. “Please. Let me finish.” She looked across to the window where the night was dark now. “Nor do I know you,” she said, a little sadly. “Did you never wonder why I did not ask any questions about you, ask about your history, or your interests or your tastes when you were so curious about mine?” She raised her gaze to his. “It was not because I was so self-absorbed that it did not occur to me. It was because I did not want to discover the real Nicholas Falconer. I was drawn to you by instinct but I knew you were here to trap me and I was afraid to see you as a real person; afraid I would
like
you as a real person, like you too much, perhaps. But as a result we neither of us know the other well and that is no basis for marriage, leaving aside the dozen or so other reasons there must be against us.”

Nick did not move nor did he touch her but his gaze moved over her face and left her feeling breathless.

“May I speak now?” he asked, with exemplary courtesy, and when she nodded, he said, “You say that we do not know one another and yet I have to challenge you on that. These are the things that I know about you. You are brave and strong and devoted to those people and causes you believe in. I have seen your loyalty to your friends and theirs to you.” He did not take his eyes from her face. “You have compassion and gentleness—I will never forget your distress when you untied my wrists after the Glory Girls had attacked us.” He smiled. “And you are wild and passionate and sweet and I want you in my arms and in my bed and those are good reasons for marriage.” He paused. “Oh, and you are a hopeless horsewoman and I have wanted to teach you to ride properly from the moment I saw you fall off.”

He caught her wrist suddenly, tumbling her beneath him on the coverlet and leaned over her, his lips an inch from hers.

“Marry me,” he whispered. “You can learn all the things you wish to know about me during our engagement.”

“But what if we both discover things about the other that we do not like?”

She saw his lips curve into a smile. “I do not think that likely. Say yes.”

“No.” Mari tried to remember all the good reasons why she should not agree. It was difficult when he was so close. Her heart was thundering in her ears. “I do not want a husband,” she said.

“How do you know? You have never had one.” He nuzzled at the tender skin of her neck and she felt the quivers of acute sensation shake her body. “Mr. Osborne does not count,” he continued, “since he was imaginary.”

He leaned on one elbow beside her. “I know that you are afraid of physical intimacy, Mari.” His gentle fingers traced the lines of her face. “I understand that now. I frightened you that night at the Star House and I am sorry for it, but I am sure that, if you trust me, it could be different. You have responded to my kisses before and I can be patient and I believe it
will
be good for you in time.”

Mari closed her eyes. She concentrated on his touch, so light, so soothing and yet with an undercurrent of excitement that lit her blood.

“I am not afraid, precisely,” she admitted, wanting to be honest with him. “I do respond to you. I
want
to respond to you.” She swallowed hard. “When first you kissed me, I confided in Laura that it was amazing and wonderful to me that I could be drawn to a man after all that I had experienced.” She saw the flash of masculine triumph in his eyes and laughed. “Nicholas, you are pleased!”

He took her fingers and kissed them. “Of course I am pleased, my love! How could I not be, to know that you want me, too?”

Mari put a hand against his chest, holding him back from kissing her. “Wait! That is true, but after what happened at the Star House…” She stopped. It felt painful even to think of it. “I am afraid,” she said honestly. “I am afraid that the same thing will happen again.”

Nick sighed. “I understand,” he said. His fingers were gentle against her cheek, turning her face to his, “And I would never hurt you, Mari, so we will just go very slowly and see what may happen.”

He looked at her and sighed again. “What else is there troubling you?”

Mari looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Your uncle!” she burst out. “You are the heir to a Marquisate and I am your cousin’s former mistress and nothing can change that.”

“Hush.” Nick’s kiss was gentle on her lips. “Neither of those things matter, Mari, if you wish to wed me.”

“They
do
matter—”

“They do not matter to me.” Nick sounded stern. “And I care nothing for the opinion of others.”

Mari was not so sure. “If anyone discovered that I had been Rashleigh’s mistress, you would be shunned by society,” she said. “Your family would probably cast you out. No one would receive us! For myself, I do not care about such things but it is scarcely fair for you to have to face that future when all you wish to do is put matters right for me.”

Nick’s face was dark and he did not answer immediately, proof, she knew, that what she had said was true. For all her life she would live with her history and if she married Nick, he would, too.

He gave a sigh and sat up. “I cannot deny that may happen. I would hope that, in time, my family would come to love you as I do. I am sure that they will. But the
Ton
is riven by scandal and slander, and if your secret were to come out…” He kissed her again. “As I say, it matters nothing to me because I love you, but are you strong enough to live with the threat of that, Mari? Could you do that with me by your side?”

“I do not know,” Mari said. She rubbed her fingers thoughtfully over the curve of his bare shoulder. “I do not know if I can. I don’t want to bring that upon you.”

“I make my own choices,” Nick said, a little harshly, “and my choice is you.”

Mari dropped her gaze to the bedcovers and fidgeted with the material.

“You have given me much to think about, Nicholas,” she said, “and it is too soon. All this is too new.”

Nick smiled ruefully. “Well, that is honest.”

“I am sorry,” Mari said. “My head hurts and I have had too much brandy to think properly—”

He kissed her, a little less gently this time. It was tender but beneath the sweetness ran something heated, something more demanding. Mari raised a hand to his cheek and felt his stubble rough against her palm. She felt dazed and confused, trying to see past this assault on her senses to the truth beneath.