In the Arms of a Marquess(51)

“You are foxed, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He released her abruptly and dropped his face into his palms. “Yes. Mauled, yet still without an idea of how to—” His head snapped up. “You mustn’t cry off. You mustn’t, Octavia.”

Her eyes widened. “How do you know I intend that?”

“I always expected it, especially since— But you cannot.”

“I cannot?” She backed up. “You are disguised and I did not wish to have this conversation with you in such a state. Frankly I hadn’t any idea you could be in such a state. But I fear you have mistaken my measure.”

He stood up, swaying a bit.

“I haven’t mistaken it. I know you are clear-headed, forthright, and honest. I know you haven’t the ability to be cruel and that you forgive easily.”

“Good heavens. You know those things about me? Are you certain?”

He clamped her hand in his again. “Certain. You mustn’t cry off.”

“You said that already, twice. Marcus, I am at a complete loss. If I am clear-headed then allow me to state with perfect confidence that you are not in love with me.”

He seemed to try to focus his gaze. “Do you require that your husband offers you such sentiments?”

She stared. “That is beside the point, which is that I cannot fathom why you are so attached to this betrothal. I will bring a suitable portion to a marriage, of course, but you are hardly impoverished, and you are handsome and charming. At least, usually. There must be a dozen young ladies with fine dowries who would marry you in the blink of an eye. Again I ask, why me?”

“Because I know I can trust you.”

“That you have reason to need to trust me so desperately is ample reason for me not to return the favor.” She pulled away again and moved swiftly across the chamber, then turned. “You are involved in illegal business dealings, aren’t you?”

He began to shake his head, but instead his shoulders slumped.

“Marcus, I cannot marry you. I should thank you for the honor. I should be grateful you bestowed it upon me. But at this moment I cannot.”

His brow lowered. “You must marry me. You haven’t a choice now.”

Tavy’s spine stiffened. “Are you threatening me?”


“Only with my life if you cry off.”

“No, that is foolishness.” But memory of the chestnut burr halted her. “It makes no sense.”

He pivoted away, covering his eyes with his palm again, then turned back around to face her.

“My life is in danger, Octavia. If you do not marry me yours may be as well. Perhaps even your family.”

“How on earth—”

“I don’t know!” His eyes were wild. “I don’t, God help me.” His voice weakened. “But you must marry me and it must be soon. Three weeks by the banns, or sooner if I can find a bishop that will sell me a special license.”

“You cannot threaten me into marrying you.” She fisted her shaking hands. “I will not do it.”

He gripped her shoulders. “You must. You will. You will make it well.” His fraught gaze bored into her, losing focus quickly as though the images behind his eyes were more powerful. Abruptly he released her and strode across the chamber, knocking against a table as he went. The door slammed behind him.

Knees like aspic, Tavy sank onto a chair and pressed her frigid hands between her thighs. She tried to breathe evenly, but the thickness in her throat and prickling behind her eyes would not abate. Through the darkened window, lightning flickered distantly. A tear slid down her cheek. Thunder rumbled, low and slow.

She stood, passed her palm across her damp face, and moved to the door. Sniffing hard, she pulled the panel open.

Precisely the person she expected to see stood in the corridor. In a house full of servants, this particular footman, the one she had seen first at Ben’s London house, seemed to be nearly everywhere she went. His ubiquity reminded her of Abha.

“Pardon me.” She cleared her throat.

“Miss?”

“Can you tell me where I might find your master now?”

“I believe my lord is without, miss. At the lake, if I’m not wrong.”

She turned back into the parlor toward the terrace doors.

“May I fetch your wrap, miss?”

“No, thank you.” She was hot enough already. Foolish and heedless of her better judgment as well. But her hands felt numb and tears still wobbled in the back of her throat.

She walked quickly, straight to the lake. Thunder rolled closer now, but the moonlight-dappled path still shone bright. A modest Greek folly graced the lake’s bank, its Doric columns and limestone pediment austere above the silvery expanse. Ben stood at its edge, silhouetted by the glittering water.

He turned to her.

She did not break stride. If she slowed, her legs might not carry her the distance. He remained still as she ascended the shallow steps, heavy rumbles cascading over the treetops.

“I told Marcus I suspected him of dishonest business dealings and that I could not marry him.” Her voice sounded hollow between stone and water. “He said I must, that his life depended upon it and possibly mine and my family’s. He was foxed, but I believe he was quite serious.” She dashed fresh tears from her cheek. This was not how it was supposed to be. This was all wrong, horridly so.