In the Arms of a Marquess(60)

“You are all demureness, to be sure, dear. You’ve nothing to fear from the gossips.” She paused. “As long as they don’t see the two of you together.”

Marcus appeared the next morning, dapper in a gray coat and Hessians, looking fully restored to spirits. He handed her up into his phaeton.

“What an impressive carriage,” Tavy commented.

“Only the best for you.” He snapped the ribbons. “I took this pair off Lord Michaels yesterday. Fellow’s down on his luck, you know. Doreé recommended them. He is a fine judge of horseflesh.”

Tavy mumbled acknowledgment. It seemed a poor omen that Marcus would mention Ben so immediately. Or at all.

He guided them into the park. “I am glad to have the opportunity to speak privately.”

“I expect you wish to apologize for your behavior two nights ago.”

“Forgive me, Octavia. It was unpardonable—”

“You needn’t elaborate. Gentlemen will drink spirits and say unwise things. One cannot wonder at it.” One could also not help but wonder what Ben would say to her under the influence of strong drink.

“You are a treasure, Octavia.” His smile seemed genuine.

“Thank you. You are overly fond of considering me in that light, I think.” Was guilt to be her constant companion now?

He slowed the vehicle. “I cannot fathom how fortunate I am to know you.”

“You are doing it a bit too brown, Marcus.”

“No.” He drew the horses in and turned to her as fully as the narrow seat would allow. “I am sincere in my praise, and in my affections. Octavia, you make me hope.”

A sizzle of nerves worked its way through her middle. His brow was drawn.

“Hope?”

“I am within the grip of something I should not be. I am hoping that with you at my side I will be able to master it.” He took a hard breath.

“Marcus, are you quite all right?”

“Not at all, I’m afraid.”

“Has this anything to do with the blackmailer?”

He met her gaze squarely as though he would speak, then his fell away.

“Please tell me.” She dove in. “You see, I was foolish the other night. Unthinking, really. I have been reconsidering your offer and I find that my feelings on the matter have altered.”

His face lightened, the hope he’d spoken of clear upon it now.

“But on a condition,” she added quickly. “I must know the particulars of this dangerous business in which you are engaged. If I am to be your wife, I need to understand why you, I, and possibly my family could be in danger.”

He gripped her fingers, but not too tightly. Today he was sober, and although his hazel eyes now showed distress, he was in possession of himself again.

“I wish I could tell you.”

“Yes, you have said that before. But if you expect me to be your wife you simply must. What is the blackmailer’s name and what does he want of you?”

“To be forever bound to a preoccupation that I cannot like,” he said with unusual vehemence.

“A preoccupation?”

“An obsession.” His voice was low. “An influence from which I wish to free myself.”

Tavy’s stomach churned.

“Marcus, you haven’t— What I mean to say is, you are not—”

“Am not master of my own mind in this?” He looked away to the treetops. “Yes.”

“We are not speaking of opium, are we?” Plenty of English traders and soldiers in India practiced eastern pastimes, but she had never seen the signs of it upon him.

“I only wish we were.”

“Then—” How could she ask it? But abruptly it made a great deal of sense. “Is it a-another man?”

His head came around sharply, eyes wide. “Octavia.”

“Well, you are very mysterious and seem so thoroughly distressed about this. And despite our long acquaintance you have kissed me only that once. What else am I to imagine?”

“You oughtn’t to know about such things.” But he did not sound particularly offended, and his eyes held a crisp appreciation she had not expected.

“But I do know. So, is that it?”

He put both hands around hers. “No, it is not. And I would like to kiss you again.”

But he had not. Yet Ben had taken nearly every opportunity to do so.

“Tell me about the blackmailer and I will allow you to kiss me all you wish.”

He said nothing for a minute. “You are accepting me upon that condition only?”

“Yes.”

“Octavia, you must not seek out this man. He is a dangerous person.”

“I do not intend to,” she said with complete honesty. The lie came just as smoothly. “I only need to be assured that you are fully honest with me.” Her lungs ached.

“His name is Sheeble.”

The last mote of respect Tavy possessed for the baron of Crispin disintegrated. He should not have told her, no matter what she begged and no matter what conditions she placed upon it. Given her nature and persistence, he should know that she would not rest content with only a name. A man who cared for a woman would not put her in this danger. He had no true concern for her, only for acquiring what he wished.