The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(62)

‘Loved him – or hated him. They are two sides of the same coin, Marcus.’

He put down his wine glass with great deliberation, his eyes fixed on her intelligent, concerned face. ‘Hated him? But, Diane, that would explain a great deal. One day, soon after the funeral, I found her in the family chapel. She was standing by the mausoleum, and when she saw me she was terrified, as if I were his ghost. And her words struck me as strange at the time, but I put it down to the shock of her loss.’

‘What did she say, Marcus?’ Diane’s food lay untouched on her plate.

‘She said, He has really, gone, has he not? He will not be coming back? Naturally, I assumed that her words were spoken in grief.’

‘Oh, no.’ Diane shook her head, making the ringlets fall over her shoulder. ‘Oh, no, she wanted to make sure he was really dead. That is why she needed to see the tomb, his name on it, to make certain he was in it.’ She forked up a piece of salmon and chewed thoughtfully. ‘Did you see me speaking to her father? Mon Dieu, but that man is a pig. How one such as he could have sired Marissa, I cannot imagine! All the time he was talking to me he was undressing me with his eyes, leering at my bosom. Ugh.’ She shivered and sipped her wine, as if to wash away the thought of Sir George’s lecherous behaviour.

‘It is not like you to tolerate such a type. Why did you remain with him?’

‘I was curious to know more of Marissa. The first time I met her I could tell she was not happy, that she was hiding something. And I tell you, that man would sell his soul to the Devil, never mind his daughter, if the money was enough. That first marriage was all wrong, yet I can tell she is in love with you.’ She met his arrested gaze with a smile. ‘Yes, she is in love with you, you fool! How could you doubt it?’

Marcus pushed his chair back and stalked over to the buffet. But then he stopped, the carving knife and fork in his hands, staring at the roast capon with unseeing eyes. ‘But if she loves me why was she so reluctant to agree to marry me and, when she finally did agree, why did she insist on keeping it a secret?’ He hacked at the chicken, producing a ragged lump of breast meat.

‘And?’ Diane prompted. She knew, as always, that something else was eating at him.

‘And when I made love to her this afternoon, she wept.’

‘Because she was happy?’

‘No,’ Marcus said bleakly. ‘Because she had forced herself to go through with it.’

‘She was unwilling?’ Diane asked incredulously.

Marcus abandoned the capon and paced away, to stare down into the dark street below. ‘Not at first. For God’s sake, Diane, you know I would never force myself on a woman.’

‘I know, chéri,’ she said soothingly.

‘Then I thought she was shy. After all, it is over a year since her husband died.’

‘But there is more.’

‘Yes. It was fear, Diane. I know fear when I see it, and she was afraid. How can that be?'

‘Has it occurred to you that your highly respectable late cousin was not all he seemed? That perhaps he had tastes which, how shall we say, were unusual, that made his young bride afraid?’

It was what he had half-feared, had pushed away because he couldn’t bear to think it. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Marcus, you are a man of the world. You know there are other men who take pleasure in inflicting fear, pain. She was a very young woman, a virgin, when she came – was sold – to the Earl. How was she to know it could be any other way?’

‘And every time I made love to her…’ He dropped into his chair and stared blankly at his untouched food while his stomach roiled. ‘I would remind her of him every time she looked at me. She was waiting for me to be cruel to her as he had always been.’ A vivid image of Marissa’s reaction on the beach, when the moonlight must have increased the likeness even more, stabbed through him.

‘But how can I confront her with this? How can I ask her to resurrect the humiliation of her marriage? Yet if I do not we could never be happy together; it will be doomed from the beginning.’

‘Knowing you love her, she will come to trust you,’ Diane said gently. He looked up, met her eyes. ‘You have told her, have you not?’

‘No. How could I speak of love when I thought she was still in love with Charles?’

Diane uttered a particularly unladylike word in French. ‘Why are men so stupide?’ she demanded. ‘Tell her you love her, tell her you know that Charles was a beast and that you are not. Make love to her until she forgets he ever existed. And do not,’ she added with a wicked twinkle, ‘tell me you cannot do that!’

He smiled back, sharing the memories for a moment. He stretched across the table and took her hands in his. ‘Then I can only attribute it to my excellent teacher. Thank you, Diane, for all your love and warmth.’

‘Foolish man.’ She caressed his cheek affectionately. ‘Now go. Do not waste time here. Go to your Marissa and tell her you love her.’

‘Bless you.’ He dropped a kiss on her cheek and was gone.

The moon was high as Marcus sent the bay gelding flying back along the road towards the Lodge. The air was warm and balmy, clouds of gnats danced above the thick hedgerows and amongst the tangled banks of dog roses nightingales pierced the silence with their bubbling song.