The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(71)

He kicked open the bedroom door, strode to the bed and laid her against the pillows. For a long moment he stood looking down at her, as if deciding something, then to Marissa’s surprise he crossed to shut the door, twisting the key in the lock. He brought the key across, dropped it on the bedside cabinet by her hand then went to sit on the window seat.

Marissa met the steady, grave look he fixed on her face. ‘You spent all night out there on the landing.’ she asked, almost in disbelief. ‘Why?’

‘I was worried about you,’ he replied simply. ‘You ran away from me.’

She flushed, biting her lip, and for a moment could not meet his eyes. But Marcus did not help her out. Marissa realised that this was the turning point: she could be honest, trust him, tell him what she knew and had feared, or she could prevaricate and send him away. If she trusted her instincts and she was wrong about him, then they had no future together – but if she did not grasp this nettle they had no future anyway, and she wanted a future with Marcus.

‘I saw you going into a house. One that Matthews told me Charles used to visit.’

‘Yes.’ The single syllable was like a blow: one part of her mind had been clinging to the hope that Matthews had been wrong, or that it had not been the right house.

‘You don’t deny it?’ she almost whispered, her hands creeping to her throat.

‘No, I don’t deny it – but why do you think I went there?’ His voice was even, but she could see the pulse beating in his throat and his body was tense.

‘At first I was shocked. I thought you were going there for the same reason as Charles had always done. I was devastated that I could have been so wrong about you. That was why I ran, because I could not bear to be close to you if that was the truth.’

‘At first?’ he queried. ‘What do you think now, Marissa? What do you believe?’

‘I believe I was wrong. Lov… knowing you as I do, once the shock wore off, I knew there had to be another explanation.’ She searched for the right words, because she had to be honest. ‘I can’t live with fear, through fear, any longer. This was the last piece I needed in the puzzle of Charles. I realised it wasn’t my fault he was like that, it was him, his nature. And I knew that you would never hurt me, or anyone else. That you could never be cruel.’

Marcus stood and walked slowly to the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on her face. ‘You have been very discreet about Charles, very loyal, but I knew he had hurt you very badly, had frightened you to the point where I feared you could never love me.’

Marissa caught her breath. Does it matter, then, that I love him?

Marcus smiled at her and carried on speaking gently. ‘I had heard something of my late cousin’s tastes, but only recently. I decided to seek out the truth for myself.’

‘But why? Why does it matter to you? He is dead.’

‘But his shadow still lies over you and I love you. I want you to be free.’

‘You love me?’ Marissa breathed, afraid to believe her own ears.

Marcus came and sat beside her, gathered her hands in his, a rueful smile on his lips. ‘It has taken me a long time to say it, but I think I must have loved you from the moment I saw you. For a long time I believed you were grieving for Charles, that you could never love anyone else, especially someone who reminded you so painfully of what you had lost.’

‘Lost? I lost only fear and cruelty. You taught me that not all men are like that, that I could love, and trust a man not to hurt me. Trust you. I am sorry that my instinct was to run, not to ask you for the truth.’

She found herself gathered in Marcus’s arms, held so tightly against his chest she could hardly breathe. ‘You have to learn to trust again, I understand,’ he said, before he covered her face in kisses.

When she emerged, breathless, she saw he was searching her face, a touch of doubt in his eyes. ‘You do love me, Marissa? The bastard hasn’t killed that for you, has he?’

‘Yes, I do love you. I knew I loved you when you went back to Jamaica and I ached for you, lived for your letters to Nicci.’

‘Then why would you not marry me?’ His hands were straying down her shoulders, stroking through the lace, tangling as his fingers sought the ribbons tying her peignoir.

‘I didn’t think I could ever be a true wife to you, that Charles had so affected me that I could never give you everything. And I believed that you would turn to Diane for comfort. I could not bear to share you.’

‘Diane? It has been all over between us for a long time, way before I left Jamaica to come to London. She is a true friend to me, that is all.’

His fingers had found their way beneath the fine cotton lawn and were stroking the swell of her breasts. It made it difficult to think, to speak, to do anything except give in. ‘But, Marcus, I do not know if I can,’ she confessed. ‘I do not know if I will ever be able to love you as I want to.’

To her shock he stopped caressing her and sat back, watching her with smiling eyes. ‘Then now is the time to find out. Make love to me, Marissa. You take control, you do what you want and only what you want.’ He shrugged off his shirt and breeches as he spoke.

Marissa struggled to find her voice. ‘But I don't know… I mean, I’ve never… Marcus, what do you want me to do?’

Marcus threw himself on the bed beside her and with a deft twist of his arm caught her up, stripped off the peignoir and nightdress and threw them across the room. ‘Right.’ He lay back against the pillows, pulling her against his aroused body. ‘Now, Marissa, you are in charge.’