Unclaimed (Turner #2)(80)
“But I am.” He pulled her down to sit beside him once more. And then he ran his hand over her head, finding the sore spot where she’d whacked herself. He rubbed it gently, soothing away the hurt.
“Stop it.” Jessica pulled from his arms. “You’re mussing my hair. I didn’t dress to visit a duke.” Her panic was beginning to rise. “He’s going to toss me out the instant he claps eyes on me. What are you thinking, bringing a courtesan to see the Duke of Parford?”
Mark simply shook his head. “You misunderstand. I’m not bringing a courtesan to visit a duke. I’m bringing my future wife to see my brother. It just so happens that he is also a duke. But Ash is… Ash is… Look, he just doesn’t care about that sort of thing. He’s not the kind of person who will toss someone out simply because she doesn’t fit some preconceived notion of his. Trust me, Ash will be delighted to be able to do something for me.”
“Mark.” All her fears came rushing back. “Mark, I am a courtesan. I don’t fit in your world. Your reputation—your good name—is at stake.”
“So far as I can tell, I would greatly benefit if my reputation were to suffer. No reporters following me about. Nobody writing about my household refuse.” He sighed and leaned back. “It sounds idyllic. We could live in the country. Would you mind that?”
That notion she’d once had, of a cottage in the country, came back to her. But this time, she wasn’t alone. Mark was with her. And that made her country cottage not a place to hide away and lick her wounds, but a place to start afresh, the situation for a new life where she was liked and respected, where she had Sir Mark, where she found herself Lady Turner and not some woman who would be snubbed by the meanest letter carrier. It was so powerful a thought that she was staggered.
“Do you love me?” he asked casually. “You said you did.”
She gaped at him, unsure how to answer.
“Thought so.” He grinned at her. “I can understand that you may feel some trepidation now. But wait until you meet my brothers. They’ll adore you.”
“Awk,” Jessica managed.
“Don’t worry.”
She shook her head. “Those are the two most ineffectual words ever put together by man—don’t worry. I can’t stop worrying just because someone assures me it’s unnecessary.”
He blew out his breath. “Then do worry, if you prefer.”
His assurance did nothing to calm the fluttering confusion she felt. It peaked, sharply, as the crunch of wheels on gravel sounded, and the carriage jerked to a halt. A few moments later, a liveried footman opened the grimy door. Mark handed her down, onto a pristine half ring of white rocks outside a Portland stone building. He took her arm and then swept her through the front door as it opened.
“Sir Mark,” the butler greeted him. He did not seem to think anything was amiss with Mark’s wrinkled attire. Still, Jessica could almost envision the headline that afternoon. Sir Mark: Turning to Dissipation at Last?
“Is Ash still at breakfast? Is Smite here?”
“No, sir, and yes, sir. Mr. Smite Turner is at breakfast.” The butler paused, contemplating his words. “Mr. Smite Turner informed me that you’ve spent the last two nights with him, and that I’m to expect you to be out of sorts.”
That latter, Jessica decoded, was a hint that his brothers were already spinning stories to save his reputation.
“Ah,” Mark said. “I see. Is Ash in his office?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Busy, is he? Could you have him duck into the blue parlor when he’s got a chance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is…” Mark paused and cast a look askance at her. How awkward. He probably didn’t even recall her true name. “This,” he said again, “is my fiancée. Do tell Ash.”
There was a slight pause, as the butler turned to look at her. He waited, no doubt expecting a name. When none was forthcoming, he nodded. “I’ll do that.”
“Oh,” Mark added, “please send a tray up, as well.” He conducted Jessica into a room on her right.
She’d known his family was wealthy—he had, after all, thrown five thousand pounds her way without thinking. But she hadn’t quite understood the extent of it until this moment. She felt as if she might have been in a royal palace. Blue velvet cushions lay on delicate rosewood chairs. A tapestry covered one wall; a globe sat on a table, the countries fashioned of amber and turquoise and lapis lazuli.
Jessica didn’t even have a name worth giving. She set her finger on Africa and gave the globe a spin. Mark came to stand by her as it whirled.
“I didn’t introduce you properly,” he said in a low voice.
“I noticed.” Continents passed under her gaze.
“Until I speak with Ash, and we determine how to proceed, I thought it best to wait.” He reached out and stopped the earth as it turned on its axis. “Once we tell the servants who you are, there’s no going back.”
“Of course.” It all made perfect sense. Still, it heightened the feeling that she might not truly be present. This was a room for other people—wealthy, respectable people. Even the candle sconces were decorated with crystals that sent rainbows shimmering about the room.