The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(39)

‘Out with it. I can feel you thinking from here.’

‘I apologise if my thoughts were loud, my lord. I noticed you were looking a trifle heavy-eyed and preoccupied. I therefore decided this was not the time to raise the matter of the under-footman who was found last night asleep on the pantry floor clutching an empty bottle of your lordship’s best port.’

‘No, definitely not the time. I trust you to deal with it.’

Jackson lowered the lids of the chafing dishes silently and moved to take up position by the buffet as one of the double doors opened and James peered round. Jackson raised his eyebrows in silent reproof but the footman ignored the look and beckoned urgently.

‘Excuse me, my lord,’ Jackson murmured, and left the room.

Marcus watched him go. The footman had been not so much discreet as positively furtive. He stood up and walked silently to the door, which was just ajar.

Through the gap Jackson’s low voice was just audible. ‘What are you about, James? You know his lordship doesn’t like being disturbed at breakfast and he is not in the best of moods today. Can’t it wait?’

‘I’m afraid not, Mr Jackson. It’s her ladyship, you see.’

‘Lady Nicole?’

‘No, her ladyship, the Countess. She’s here, pacing up and down the hall – and she’s in an odd mood too, I can tell you.’

‘I’ll come – and don’t go gossiping about your betters, lad. Doubtless her ladyship is experiencing some problem with the travel arrangements up to Town.’

Marcus opened the door and followed them on silent feet along to the point where the corridor opened out onto the landing. As Jackson neared the head of the stairs Marcus could hear the swish of long skirts on the marble floor of the hall.

‘Good morning, Jackson.’

‘Good morning, your ladyship. I hope you have had a pleasant ride. Lady Nicole is in her room. Would you like me to send up a cup of chocolate for you?’

Marcus could make nothing out from Marissa’s tone of voice and from where he stood he could not see her.

‘Thank you, no. I have come to see his lordship, not Lady Nicole.’

‘His lordship is at breakfast, my lady. Will you wait in the Blue Salon and I will let him know you are here?’

‘Is he breakfasting in his chamber?’

‘Why, no, my lady, he is in the morning room…’

‘Then I shall go up.’ She was clearly in no mood to be kept waiting. ‘You need not announce me, Jackson.’

Marcus turned and strode back to the morning room. He still had not come to terms with last night, had no idea what he was going to say to Marissa and had no desire to try until he had thought this through.



Marcus looked up as the doors opened and Jackson, looking uncharacteristically flustered, announced, ‘The Countess of Longminster, my lord.’

‘I am not at home, Jackson.’

Marissa swept past the butler. ‘I doubt I am hallucinating you. Thank you, Jackson. I can pour myself some chocolate.’

Without risking a glance at Marcus Jackson effaced himself, closing the doors behind him.

‘Good morning, Marissa,’ Marcus said coolly. He resumed his seat as she sat at the other end of the table, cup of chocolate before her. He raised one eyebrow and waited.

Marissa was beginning to regret the impulse which had brought her here. A night’s sleep had not changed either her feelings for Marcus or her belief that they had no future together. Whenever she closed her eyes it was Charles’s face she saw, Charles’s weight she had felt as Marcus’s body moved over hers. And then the fear had come, as it always had before. And in the shifting shadows of the moonlight Marcus had looked so much like his cousin.

The overwhelming, wonderful, unfamiliar sensations she had experienced in Marcus’s arms, and her own instinctive responses to him, had shaken her to the core and made it difficult to face him. Marcus was watching her now, his deep blue eyes steady on her face. Under his scrutiny Marissa could feel the colour start to rise up the column of her throat, up her cheeks. until it reached the curls on her forehead.

‘Why have you come, Marissa?’ he asked calmly, leaning back in his chair. ‘Not that is not always a pleasure to see you.’

Marissa realised she did not know. She had left the Dower House because she could not bear to stay still any longer. She was confused, almost angry, but she did not rightly know with whom. She wanted to be near him, yet his very closeness frightened her. She needed to be in his arms, yet was terrified of what that might lead to.

‘Marissa?’ Marcus prompted.

‘I cannot come to London,’ she blurted out finally.

‘Why ever not?’

‘Um…’ It had only just occurred to her how impossible it would be. How could she live under Marcus’s roof for months, seeing him every day, watching him as he set about the task of finding a wife when she had fallen in love with him herself? She muttered, ‘After last night… It is impossible. You must see that.’

‘I do not see that it is impossible, far from it. You are naturally agitated that I allowed my passions to run away with me last night and I have to apologise for both that and the way I spoke afterwards.’

‘There is no need. Please do not mention it again.’

He inclined his head. ‘You are very good. We will be married, of course, it is an eminently suitable solution for both of us. You are the perfect mistress for Southwood Hall and, for my part, I can offer you the style of living to which you have been accustomed. If you wish a longer period to elapse before we announce our betrothal, then I accept that, naturally.’