The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(46)

‘They are very fine, Jane. I agree you have nothing suitable to wear with them, but just think of that lovely cream silk shot through with silver we saw in Debenham’s. You could have that made up in a simple, elegant style for evening and that would quite set off the gloves.’

‘I do declare, Marissa, you are too extravagant. To buy gloves and then have a gown made to match is quite the wrong way round – I do not know what has come over me.’

Marissa jumped up. ‘The gauze scarf I brought with me would be perfect. Let me fetch it and we will try it out with the gloves.’

She darted out of the door, leaving it ajar, and hurried down the corridor. Behind her she heard Jane call, ‘Marissa, come back. This is really too frivolous for me!’

She spun round and called back, laughing, ‘Nonsense, Jane, it will be just the thing, you will see.’ She turned, stumbled and found herself colliding with a strong, warm male body. ‘Oh! Oh, Marcus – I thought you had gone out.’

‘Did you?’ He smiled down at her. ‘What have you been up to? Mischief, by the look of you. I like that gown.’ His words were warm, his gaze appreciative as he took in her dress of jonquil twill.

Marissa was seized with an overwhelming desire to press herself against him, kiss him with the passion they had shared on the beach.

Something of her desire must have reached him. He went very still, his blue gaze intent on her face as the laughter faded, leaving her staring up at him, wide-eyed.

‘No, not mischief. Shopping with my minx of a sister,’ Marcus said softly, the look in his eyes at odds with the light words. ‘I wish I could make you laugh like this.’ His fingertip traced the curve of her cheek, down the line of her jaw, then up to her lips. He let it rest there until Marissa let them part. Slowly, almost of its own volition, the tip of her tongue crept out to touch the pad of his fingertip.

A sharp intake of breath was his first response, then he swept his arms around her, pulled her to his body and bent to kiss her. Behind them the sound of footsteps on the staircase made them both freeze, then Marcus stooped, swept her up into his arms and shouldered open her bedchamber door.

She surrendered to his strong clasp, trying to believe that it would be different this time, that she could give herself to him completely. And then she could accept his offer of marriage… Even if he did not love her it would be enough if she could only give him everything.

Marcus kicked the door shut behind him and made for the bed. For one giddy moment the passion swept her along, then, despite her desire for him, instinct froze her, made her limbs rigid, the breath catch in her throat. Marcus stopped and looked down at her questioningly then turned to the chaise and sat down, holding her on his lap.

He held her against his chest, stroked her hair and waited until she relaxed a little. ‘Now, what was that about?’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, trying, failing, to keep her voice steady.

'Just now you wanted me to kiss you, you answered me with equal passion, yet you froze in my arms. And on the beach you were the same. Tell me what is wrong, Marissa.’

In that instant she wanted to pour out everything to him. How she loved him. how she wanted him. He had shown her it was possible for a man to give pleasure to a woman, even if that was only before the act itself. But two years with Charles had destroyed her ability to give herself, even to a man she loved, she knew that. If Marcus took her to his bed she would either freeze again or break down – and no man, however understanding, would tolerate that from his wife.

Marcus waited patiently as she struggled for the words to describe to him something so intimate she could hardly even allude to it to a female companion, never mind a man. His fingers lifted the curls at the nape of her neck and stroked the sensitive skin beneath with mesmeric slowness.

No, it was impossible. She could find no way to explain to Marcus that she could never respond to his lovemaking, that the very act was so abhorrent to her that, even loving him as she did. The words, when she finally spoke them, were true, but not the whole truth.

‘Charles… You look so like Charles it is a constant reminder.’ She struggled, failed, to say aloud the words in her head. He treated me so coldly, used me so badly, that I can never give myself to you as I crave to.

Marcus became very still, his fingers arrested on her skin. When he spoke his voice was dry. ‘I understand. You are trying to tell me that you are still in love with your husband. I am sorry that my attentions give you so much pain. I am afraid I can do nothing to alter my outward appearance, but believe me, I shall no longer trouble you.’



Marissa shivered, buried her face against the lapels of his coat. Marcus gritted his teeth and resisted the temptation to kiss away her tears. Of all the damnable luck. No wonder she responded at first to his lovemaking. She had fallen into his arms seeking the husband she had lost. Well, that was a salutary lesson to his pride – he was a poor substitute for Charles, and if he had not looked so like his cousin Marissa would not have given him a second glance, let alone let him glimpse the passion that burned within her.

‘Marissa! Marissa, dear, where are you?’ There was a tap on the door and without waiting Miss Venables bustled in. ‘Have you lost that scarf? I thought I saw it – ’ She broke off, her face scarlet with embarrassment.

He loosed his hold and Marissa scrambled to her feet, blushing. ‘Jane… er, his lordship was just…’