A Breach of Promise (The Rules of Engagement #1)(11)

Her contemptuous snort only inspired his chuckle.



Lady Russell presided over her table as a queen over her court. Supper comprised seven courses of soups, meat, fish, fowl, compotes, crèmes and jellies, salads, various puddings, fruits and cheeses, served by a liveried retinue with the full-table coverings removed and replaced six times before the lengthy affair concluded.

With nerves strung too taut to appreciate the gastronomic efforts of her hostess’s kitchen, Lydia picked and sipped, smiled and cheerfully chattered her way through the seemingly endless meal. Keenly and uncomfortably aware of Marcus’ presence at her side, she carefully avoided direct eye contact, yet his heated gaze sent her pulse skittering out of control.

Desiring nothing more than escape, Lydia was the first to rise when the customary time came for the women to abandon the gentlemen to their drink. But Marcus—blast him—stayed her gently by the arm. “Miss Trent,” he began with an ironic lift of his brow. “Would you care to take a turn about the garden? I believe we’ve several matters of import to discuss…privily.”

“Indeed we do, my lord, but perhaps now is not the appropriate time.” She cast a helpless look to her hostess who appeared disinclined to rescue her.

“My dear, there is hardly any impropriety in taking the air with your betrothed,” said Lady Russell. “But for form’s sake I shall leave the terrace door ajar.”

Still, Lydia noticed, the draperies pulled in their wake which seemed to counter any other decorous measure.



The early autumn, evening air was more invigorating than chill as they perambulated the garden walk leading to an ornamental fountain. Lydia’s manner was cool and distant which only challenged Marcus all the more to fracture her reserve. He led her to the stone bench beside the trickling fount.

“What is that lovely scent here?” she asked, following a deep inhalation. “I thought nothing could overpower the coal smoke that pervades the London air.”

“Antares,” Marcus said. “It’s a night-blooming water lily named after one of the brightest stars in the Milky Way. Mother keeps the fountain pool filled with them.” He plucked the stem of a large, bright-red flower, one of myriad floating gently in the pool. “Close your eyes,” he said.

She wrinkled her brow at him.

“Please,” he amended.

With a softened expression, she complied. Marcus raised the bloom to her nose and watched her lush mouth curve as she took in the heady scent. Marcus found his groin reacting with an involuntary twitch at the slow, sensuous arc of her lips. Transfixed by her artless show of sensuality, he grazed the bloom across that luscious mouth and against her cheek. He used it to trace the pulse of her neck, imagining the vibrant petals were his fingers stroking skin that shone with alabaster luminescence in the moonlight.

For a long moment, Lydia appeared lost in the sensation but then her eyes jerked open to fix him with an accusing stare. “I thought we came here to discuss the state of our betrothal.”

His lips curved. “Did you indeed?” he taunted. “And I thought we were simply enjoying the air.”

Her gaze narrowed and then flicked away. “I’ll allow this to be an awkward situation, my lord, but the entire matter may be resolved quickly and quietly between us. I see no need for any public announcements.”

“Then you desire a private wedding?”

Lydia flushed. “You intentionally mistake my meaning. I have already asked to be released.”

Marcus affected a pained look. “But my dearest Lydia, you have hardly given us a chance.”

“Us?” She stared at him incredulous. “I can’t believe you just said that! There is no ‘us’. I’ve waited six years for you to come around!”

“The majority of which I spent abroad addressing—”

“Urgent matters of State?” she interjected cynically. “I find it hard to believe you could not have found the time to write or occasionally to visit, had you been inclined to expend even a modicum of effort.”

“Lydia, pray be reasonable. I was but one-and-twenty when we were betrothed, hardly an age for a man to consider marriage.”

“Yet you agreed to the contract,” she challenged.

“You know I did so, at the time, to gratify my mother, as no doubt you did to oblige yours. But time changes many things, my pet.”

“Time has only allowed me to come to my senses.”

“Indeed?” Marcus chuckled. “Pray forgive my disbelief. Your senses clearly still respond to me, though you try so hard to conceal it.”

Lydia turned away. “It befuddles me why you would suddenly take an interest in me after six years of silence. Why don’t you spare us both the trouble, for I have freed you from your obligation. You should be exceedingly pleased to be released.”

“Is that so, Lydia?” He moved in, grasping her shoulders, leaning into her ear. “And just how would you know what pleases me exceedingly?”



This was not going at all according to her plan. His actions, all contrary to what she had preconceived, angered and bewildered her. His words, brimming with innuendo and illicit promise, seemed designed to set her off balance, and her body’s reaction to him further jumbled her confused emotions.

The warmth of him standing at her back and his big, strong hands on her bare skin heated her blood. His hot breath, the deep rumble in her ear, racked her with tiny tremors. Lydia caught his sweet and tangy scent, the mysterious, erotic and nearly forgotten essence of male, and her insides clenched with desire. Uncontrollably breathless, her mind raced to catch up with her pulse.