Page 35

It was a damned embarrassing situation, but it shouldn’t, Marcus reflected, be anything more than that.

Though it seemed that the universe was conspiring to hurry them to the altar, none of these people – not even the terrifying Lady Keswick who, thank God, was not present this evening – could actually force them to get married this Thursday.

Banishing the alarmingly realistic vision of the lady aiming a shotgun at him with deadly intent, he struggled to regain control of the situation, much like the poor fool in Portugal attempting to steer the out-of-control wagon down the hill without loss of life.

‘It’s excessively kind of you both,’ he began, ‘but we wouldn’t think of trespassing on your good nature…’

Lord Wyverne too had clearly seen the horror and panic on Lady Amelia’s face, and added his voice to that of Marcus.

‘Sir Humphrey,’ he said smoothly, ‘Lady Aubertin, it is impossible adequately to express our gratitude, but we have not so much as discussed the date of the wedding yet, nor the venue. All our plans have been overset by the unfortunate events of the last few days. Amelia, I am sure, would prefer to be married at Wyverne House, our ancestral home, which also has a chapel, while perhaps Thornfalcon might argue persuasively for his own seat, where my sister will after all soon take her place as chatelaine. I shouldn’t wonder if that has a chapel too. ’

‘It does,’ said Lord Thornfalcon with emphasis. ‘A very large chapel. Enormous.’

‘Save the arguments,’ Lady Aubertin persisted, ‘which one of you is bound to lose, resulting in lingering resentment.’

Her husband nodded vigorously, clearly being familiar with the notion of lingering resentment.

‘Accept our offer.’

‘I think I must beg a little indulgence from you and consult with my betrothed on the matter, ma’am,’ Marcus said firmly.

‘In the end, it must be her choice – after all that she has gone through – and I am sure it must be a young lady’s prerogative to decide such important matters without pressure, however kindly meant, from her future husband or from anyone else.

I would not think to interfere in her bride clothes… ’

‘Quite right,’ said his hostess darkly.

‘And I must similarly defer to her in this, and insist that she be allowed some time to make up her mind.’

Amelia’s expression was a complex mixture of gratitude – for his averting disaster at least temporarily, he thought – and irritation that he had by this means focused everyone’s attention on her.

‘Thank you, Lord Thornfalcon,’ she responded sweetly.

‘It is good of you, and I am sensible of your concern for me, but I believe your first thought was best. We must discuss it together. In private.’

‘There’s a fine terrace here,’ put in Sir Humphrey helpfully.

‘After dinner, of course – we seem to have been eating this soup for hours; take it away, Watkins, for heaven’s sake, and bring the meat – I’m sure you can go out for a minute or two.

Moonlight, and so on. Engaged couple, getting married before the end of the week – perfectly in order.

Eh, Felicity?’ And he perpetrated something that appeared to be, but surely could not have been, a wink.

‘On this occasion, I am sure there can be no objection,’ his spouse replied austerely. If she had seen his facial contortion, she did not allude to it.

Lord Thornfalcon could not remember later what they ate, or what, after this extraordinary beginning, they could possibly have spoken of.

Lady Wyverne, who seemed earlier to have been flirting with Sir Humphrey for purposes he could not begin to guess at, briskly assumed a more normal manner and conversed in a sensible fashion with both her table companions equally.

This left Sir Humphrey free to pay some courtly heed to Amelia, and to take a glass of wine with her in accordance with the quaint old custom.

Marcus himself spoke chiefly to Miss Aubertin, whom he’d sadly neglected before: a pleasant enough girl, though shy.

Their rather laboured conversation occupied only a small part of his attention and gave him ample leisure to see that Amelia was looking uncomfortable, as well she might, and gulping down her wine rather faster than seemed advisable.

He didn’t suppose she was used to it; no, it brought a wild-rose flush to her cheeks and a hectic brightness to her eyes.

What it boded for their impending private interview – in the moonlight – he did not care to speculate.

She wasn’t eating much, either, though Sir Humphrey pressed each dish on her with oppressive courtesy.

One of the longest meals he’d ever endured came to an end eventually, and when the gentlemen rose as the ladies left the room, he found himself separated from them in order to escort his betrothed out onto the famous terrace.

It wouldn’t be quite accurate to say that they were pushed out onto it by their hosts, but they certainly found themselves there by means that he considered mysterious. The door was shut firmly behind them.

It was an undoubtedly lovely scene. The sun had not long set; there were still streaks of bright colour in the sky to the west, and the moon, despite what had been claimed, was not yet visible.

Sir Humphrey’s mansion had a larger garden than was common for the centre of London; there was indeed a broad terrace with steps at each end that led down to a charming garden, with arbours and winding paths.

Large Grecian pots stood at the corners of the balustrade, also filled with flowers that glimmered white in the moonlight.

Heady perfume – rose, jasmine, lavender, night-scented stock, recently cut grass – wafted to them where they stood, and a fountain trickled somewhere below them.

He’d been oblivious to the weather this spring and early summer, having many other things to worry about, but he realised now that it was deliciously warm.

A perfect evening, full of possibilities.

Apart from the noise of the water, it was surprisingly quiet and peaceful out here, as though the whole of London were holding its breath and waiting for something.

It was intimate. Seductive, even. And a very, very bad idea.

Amelia said with a wild little laugh, ‘Do you mind if we stay far away from the steps?’

‘Of course not. There’s a bench here – shall we sit?’

They did so. The smooth marble seat was perceptibly warm under Marcus’s thighs, and he thought that Amelia, in her much thinner garments, must be able to feel it even more.

Though on the whole, that wasn’t a very sensible train of thought, and one he didn’t intend to dwell on.

She still hadn’t put her gloves back on after the meal, and her bare arms and shoulders were almost brushing his coat, since the bench wasn’t very large, and he was.

He felt acutely conscious of his size and her slightness just now.

Their thighs weren’t touching each other, quite, but she was barely an inch away in her pink silk gown.

If he shifted just a little… He could smell her perfume – light and floral, just an elusive hint of it under the overpowering scents of summer.

He felt achingly aware of his body, and of hers.

Of his blood in his veins. He moved restlessly on the stone, then realised this brought him closer to her, and edged back.

But if he moved any further away, he’d fall off the end of the bench like a damned idiot. Jesus .

‘What shall we say to them?’ she asked. He wasn’t sure if she was talking to him, or musing aloud to herself. If she’d noticed his fidgeting, she was considerate enough not to mention it. He could only hope that she didn’t know what it meant. And why should she? He wasn’t entirely sure himself.

‘It doesn’t matter what we say, as long as we don’t allow them to force their crazy scheme on us. I’ve never seen anyone look so terrified as you did when she proposed that we should marry in two days’ time. If we show the least sign of agreeing to it, everything will be out of our hands for good.’

She sighed deeply. Possibly it was Marcus’s imagination, but it seemed to move her bare arm a little closer. Tantalisingly so. It was a most attractive sound, her soft exhalation of breath in the warm dusk. He would like to hear a different kind of sigh from her…

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all my fault.’

‘It obviously isn’t. You did not plan this… this madness. Nobody could have. You certainly didn’t plan to get pushed down the stairs.’

‘Very well. I’ll say we want to be married at Wyverne on a date of our choosing. Not this Thursday. It’s not true, of course, none of it’s true, but I have to say something. If it’s my choice, my home, it’s harder for them to question it. If they continue, I’ll… I’ll say I feel unwell.’

‘You don’t, do you?’

‘My head is swimming slightly, perhaps. But it’s not at all unpleasant.’

‘That’ll be the wine,’ he said resignedly. ‘It can do that, you know.’

‘I’m not inebriated,’ she replied with dignity.

‘Not foxed, of course. You’re not about to start breaking windows and singing vulgar songs, I don’t suppose. Just up in the world a touch.’

‘I don’t know what your horrid slang means. I’m not an expert in the degrees of inebriation as you plainly are.’ She pronounced this sentence with excessive care. ‘But I really don’t think I’m drunk. It’s just, I don’t know, Marcus – I’m tired, and I feel a little reckless.’

‘Wine can do that too.’

This was very bad. Very, very bad. A reckless Amelia was the last thing he felt able to cope with out here, as warm, scented darkness fell and they were all alone in it.

‘It makes me want to say and do things. No, that’s not true at all. I would normally want to do them. And say them. But I wouldn’t actually do them. Or say them. Does that make sense?’

‘Yes… No!’

‘It makes sense, but you don’t want it to,’ she puzzled out. ‘Oh, I see. You know I want to kiss you again, but you don’t want me to.’ Her voice was small and sad.

‘Of course I want you to – of course I want to!’ He hadn’t meant to say that at all. But it seemed he couldn’t endure that she thought he didn’t want to kiss her, because he did. Very, very, very badly.

‘Well, then?’

They’d both been looking ahead – staring blindly at the darkening garden and the rising moon, in his case.

Trying not to gaze at her, see how lovely she was, because he’d known it would only make things worse.

But now she turned to look up at him, her cheeks flushed and her soft lips slightly parted.

She was breathing fast, and he could just see the swell of her breasts above the modest neckline of her gown.

Her shoulder brushed his arm. Such a slight, accidental contact, to have so powerful an effect.

An electric jolt shot through him, from his shoulder to his toes. And other places.

Desperation edged his voice. ‘I can’t kiss you, because you’re not in full command of yourself. You said you wouldn’t normally do it. You said that yourself, Amelia. So you must see why I can’t.’

‘I think I said I would want to, but I wouldn’t do it. Normally.’

‘Exactly.’ Exactly .

‘So we both want to, and we’ve both admitted we want to, but we still can’t. Even though we did once. And both liked it. Presumably.’

‘You were sober then.’ How many men, he wondered, would be sitting here in a summer garden in the moonlight trying to persuade this lovely girl – his fiancée – that they mustn’t kiss?

It wasn’t even as though it was a stolen, clandestine moment – they’d been all but forced into each other’s arms. It seemed she wanted it as much as he did, or thought she did, which made it so much harder.

But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerable state.

But she was triumphant. He had made an error, he realised, and she pounced on it, moving even closer. ‘So you’d kiss me now, if you didn’t think I was drunk? Which I’m not, by the way.’

‘No!’

‘So you don’t want to, after all. Though you said you did a moment ago. It’s very confusing. See how I remember what you said before, because I’m not horridly drunk. I’m sure a drunk person wouldn’t remember.’

‘If I were to kiss you…’ This was highly dangerous territory. ‘If I were to kiss you… Amelia, it’s not at all a question of wanting to or not wanting to.’ This was a bare-faced lie. ‘I can’t take advantage of you. It would be dishonourable – not the action of a gentleman. You must see that.’

‘Well, I’m no gentleman, thank goodness. What if I took advantage of you ? What if I stood up and moved to stand in front of you so I could kiss you? Again?’

And then she did.