The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(60)

He withdrew abruptly, gathered her into his arms and stroked her quivering body, forehead and then her eyelids as soft sobs that she was trying to choke back shook her.

‘Marissa? Marissa – don’t cry. You must tell me what is wrong. What have I done?’

He could almost feel the effort it took her to answer, to compose herself. ‘Nothing. It is only that it has been such a long time, and I was shy… I am quite all right, Marcus, believe me.’

But he could not. That was a lie, a brave one, but a lie. He had never taken an unwilling woman, nor would he ever. But although she had hidden it so much better than she had on the beach, hidden it to the point that he had, for the moment, been totally deceived, Marissa had been afraid at the moment he had entered her.

They lay together quietly, Marcus nuzzling her hair, stroking the white slope of her shoulder until Marissa dozed. When he was sure she was settled he eased his encircling arm from under her and pulled the sheet over her body. Then he lay back on the pillows, hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling as though the moulding could furnish him with a clue.

She had wanted him, had responded to him with an ardour and passion he had never experienced before. And the thought came to him again, as it had done after the night on the beach, that her responses had an edge of innocence which did not square with her married state. If he had not known better he would have sworn she had never been kissed before.

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. It was not his lovemaking that had frightened her, but the act of possession itself. She had begged him not to hurt her, but it was not her heart she feared for as he had thought, but her body. What sort of man had his cousin been, for heaven’s sake, to frighten his beautiful young wife so? He felt uneasy, remembering the odd hint he had picked up in the clubs that the late Earl had had… unusual tastes. He recalled the chilly perfection and discipline of Southwood Hall, the reticence of the staff and estate workers to say anything about their late master, good or bad.

Marcus shifted restlessly. Could he talk to Marissa about this? He instantly dismissed the idea. If she was capable of speaking of it she would have done so – she had been so reluctant to allow him to make public their betrothal yet she had given him no good reason – this had to be it. No, he could not talk to Marissa, but he needed a woman’s viewpoint. Miss Venables was obviously out of the question, but he could discuss anything with Diane. Friendship had always been more important to them than their physical affair.

He had just come to this conclusion when Marissa murmured and stirred. Then she opened her eyes. As soon as she saw him watching her she blushed and drew the sheet up to her chin. ‘I must get dressed before the others get home and the servants return,’ she stammered.

She was so obviously embarrassed he made no move to stop her, or to talk. Instead he handed her his dressing gown and tactfully turning his back as she gathered up her scattered clothing and slipped quietly from the room.



It was a very thoughtful Earl of Longminster who stood at the drawing room window as Sir Frederick's carriage brought Jane and Nicci home. He had heard Marissa moving around upstairs but had made no attempt to speak to her. The servants had returned an hour ago and were busy preparing the evening meal.

Marcus went out onto the steps to greet the returning party, offering his hand to Miss Venables to assist her to alight. She thanked him, turned to bow to Sir Frederick and thank him in a stilted voice for his kindness in conducting them back to the Lodge. Nicci, her face flushed under her ridiculous hat, bobbed a schoolgirl curtsey before scuttling into the house, her hot face averted from his puzzled gaze.

Sir Frederick was still standing in the open carriage as Marcus came down the steps to offer the baronet his thanks. ‘Will you not come in and take a glass of wine? I am most obliged to you for escorting Miss Venables and my sister.’

‘No trouble, Longminster, a pleasure,’ the banker replied with a twinkle. ‘But I will not accept your kind offer, not just now. I rather think you will be glad to have no strangers in the house this evening.’ And on that enigmatic note he sat down, resumed his hat and called out, ‘Drive on, John!’

Marcus was barely in the hall when the storm broke. Nicci was halfway up the stairs, Miss Venables at the foot. ‘Come down here immediately, Nicole, and tell your brother how you have disgraced yourself.’

‘No, I shan’t!’ Nicci sobbed and plumped down on the stair, head in her hands.

‘Oh, Lord,’ Marcus muttered under his breath. He went to stand beside Miss Venables. ‘Nicci, come down here. Marissa is not feeling well and I do not want her disturbed by you making a hullabaloo out here. Miss Venables, let us go into the drawing room and you can tell me what has happened.’

Nicci descended reluctantly and stood sniffing while Miss Venables told him. ‘I found her – I can hardly bring myself to use the word, my lord, but there is no other way of putting it –in the embrace of a man. An officer, and behind the pavilion! Anyone could have seen her. My lord, I am so sorry that I have failed in my duty as a chaperone…’

Marcus cut across the anguished apology. ‘But did anyone else see them?’

‘Only Sir Frederick and I believe we may rely absolutely on his discretion. As soon as I realised she was missing, during the second race, he accompanied me in search of her. Oh, I would never have believed she could behave so… so…’ Miss Venables rummaged in her reticule until she found her smelling bottle and waved it wildly under her own nose.