Penniless Until the Earl's Proposal, page 13
Then slowly, almost haltingly, Marcus lowered his mouth to hers once more in a kiss that warmed her to the centre of her being. Parted lips, tender and insistent, caressed hers, moulding and shaping them to his own while his arms wrapped round her. She had been kissed before by Thomas and then again by Marcus, but never like this. Those kisses had not aroused the passion that the kiss she had just experienced did, a passion so primitive, which swept through her. A passion almost beyond her control, evoking feelings she had never felt before, and this new awareness of her own desire shook her to her very core.
Seeing the hunger in her eyes, Marcus sighed deeply. ‘So, I was right.’
‘Right?’ she whispered. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That the first time I saw you, to me, a stranger, you seemed to have everything and, I imagined, every young man in London at your feet. But you seemed remote, as if only part of you was alive. There was also a wilfulness about you, a stubborn tenaciousness that told whoever got in your way to have a care. You became an enigma to me, Juliet, and I was determined to get to know you better, convinced that behind that cool façade you presented to me and the world, there beat the heart of a warm and passionate woman. And, it seems, I was right. I hope you will never have cause to regret your marriage to me.’
‘How could I? You have given me everything I could possibly want.’
His dark brows knit together as he considered her thoughtfully, a shadow of doubt darkening his eyes. ‘Everything?’
Just for a moment her eyes clouded, but quickly they became clear, as if she had suddenly come to a decision, and then she looked at him directly, a determined tilt to her chin. ‘Well, almost everything.’ Smiling, she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips, just as the carriage came to a halt outside the Sinclair townhouse. ‘Companionship, loyalty and love are important in a marriage, Marcus. It’s what I want—what I consider important between two people who are to spend the rest of their lives together, and I am certain that will happen between us with time.’
* * *
On leaving the church, Marcus had allowed his gaze to linger on Juliet’s features, unable to put his feelings into words. His throat constricted at the picture she presented as his bride. He observed how young she looked, how pale and exquisite her face was against the upholstery, making him realise that it would be virtually impossible to keep his hands off her now she was his wife. Pray God, he thought, let me be worthy of her. Before today she had been lovely, but today, as his bride, she was exquisitely perfect.
When he had swept her into his arms in the carriage, he had kissed her slowly, feeling her lips open under his own. In that instant he felt the suppleness of her body, her breasts pressed against him, and when he felt her surrender, a melting sweetness had flowed through his veins. When he finally raised his head, her eyes had lifted to his, and the gentle yielding he saw in their amber depthsd melted his heart. Already he was anticipating the time when all the guests had departed and they would be alone.
* * *
On entering the Sinclair house in Henrietta Street, Lydia, who had been following close behind the newlyweds with Richard, hugged Juliet.
‘Congratulations, love, and to you too, Lord Cardell. I sincerely hope you will be happy together. ‘You made a lovely bride, Juliet.’
‘Seconded by me.’ Richard pecked his sister’s cheek and shook Marcus’s hand.
The wedding breakfast was a prolonged and happy affair, the hired butler and extra staff presiding over the proceedings and making sure everyone was taken care of. The food was exquisite, the champagne cold and delicious, the toasts numerous. Juliet chatted and graciously accepted the congratulations given her by the guests and Marcus’s brother, all the time aware that the moment when she would be alone with her husband was drawing closer.
Marcus’s mother was clearly satisfied and highly delighted that her second son was married again.
‘With your brother in charge of the estate, Juliet,’ she said when she managed to get the newly-weds alone, ‘your dear mother would have been well pleased. I shall look forward to visiting you at Mulberry Hall, but not too frequently. I want you and Marcus to get to know each other and familiarise yourself with the house without me breathing down your neck.’
‘You will be welcome always,’ Juliet said.
‘I know I will, my dear,’ the dowager countess said, looking fondly at her new daughter-in-law. ‘I hope you will like living at Mulberry Hall. It is natural that you will be filled with trepidation, but you will soon settle down and grow to love the place.’
‘I’m sure I shall,’ Juliet said, smiling.
Marcus looked at her, his eyes warm and full of affection for his bride. ‘And she will love it all the more because I am there,’ he teased softly. He arched a brow, amused when Juliet gave him a feigned look of exasperation.
‘Why, I see your conceit has not diminished now you are a married man, Marcus,’ she chided playfully.
‘You’re not impressed?’
‘Not in the least. You’re a complete rogue.’
Marcus gazed at her, his eyes amused. ‘I do not deny it. But it cannot bother you too much, otherwise you wouldn’t have fallen so readily for my irresistible charm,’ he teased, and he smiled, the kind of smile that would melt any woman’s heart.
Juliet returned his smile a little shyly. ‘I am beginning to see that I was a complete fool to get involved with you. You’re quite outrageous.’
‘Absolutely,’ he grinned.
‘He always was,’ commented his mother in complete agreement.
As they moved among the guests, Marcus was charming, regaling them with fascinating stories of his time in the Peninsular, taking care not to dwell on battles fought which had taken so many men’s lives on both sides. They chatted and laughed until, replete and exhausted, the time came for the guests to depart.
Juliet and Marcus were to spend their wedding night at the Sinclair residence. Tomorrow they would leave London for Mulberry Hall. When the time came for the Countess and Adele to leave for the Cardell residence, Marcus had no intention of going with them, until Adele became tearful on being parted from her beloved father. She implored Marcus not to leave her. Concerned that the day’s excitement might have proven too much for her, he gave in to her childish appeal and agreed to accompany her, promising Juliet he would return as soon as she had been put to bed.
Seeing Richard hovering in the doorway, seeming undecided whether he should leave for his club so that the newly-weds could be alone, realising she had hardly exchanged a word with him all day, Juliet went to him.
‘The day has gone well, Richard, don’t you agree?’
‘Absolutely. As you know I intend to make myself scarce so you and Marcus can have the Sinclair house to yourselves. I am to reside with a friend for the time being who has put his house at my disposal.’
‘Before you leave, come into the sitting room with me, Richard. It’s the first time we’ve had a chance to be alone together all day.’
Juliet relaxed on the sofa, watching Richard with concern as he sat opposite, sipping a brandy. That he wasn’t quite himself was obvious. He fidgeted with his cuffs and crossed and uncrossed his legs, which he always did when nervous. They made small talk for several minutes about the wedding and other unimportant matters, until Juliet could stand it no longer.
‘What’s wrong, Richard?’
‘Wrong?’ he asked, somewhat surprised.
‘Yes, something’s amiss. I can tell.’
He laughed nervously, taking another gulp of his brandy. ‘Nonsense. Nothing’s wrong,’ he replied, trying to sound casual.
Juliet studied his face closely. ‘Come, Richard. It’s me, remember? I know you too well. I always know when something is not quite right. You cannot deceive me. You’ve been on edge ever since we left the church. What is it?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing. But if you think I’ve been on edge, then it’s probably just the excitement over the wedding and what your marriage to Marcus means for our future.’
‘Are you sure that’s it?’ asked Juliet, not convinced. ‘And that it doesn’t concern me?’
‘You. Of course not.’
Juliet shook her head and sighed. If there was something wrong and Richard didn’t want to tell her, then she couldn’t make him. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘Yes, I am sure. Don’t trouble your head about me. You have other things to think of now. Your husband, for one. You’re so lucky.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I am lucky, aren’t I? And you will be too, when Amelia’s father agrees to your suit. My marriage to Marcus will make a difference, I am sure of it. But although you say otherwise, I am still not convinced there isn’t something you have to tell me.’ Hearing a carriage out in the street come to a halt followed by loud knocking on the door, she sighed. ‘Whatever it is will have to wait. I think we have a visitor. More than likely, one of the guests forgot something.’
Getting to her feet, she crossed to the window and drew back the drapes a little, peering out at the gathering dusk, noticing the long shadows cast by the surrounding buildings. She sighed, about to turn away, but her eye was drawn to a large carriage in front of the house. The horses were lathered and the carriage travel-stained, indicating that it had come a long way. Juliet suddenly turned icy cold when she recognised the familiar coat of arms emblazoned on the door panel. It was the Waring crest.
She stared at it, unable to believe what she saw, but then she told herself that it must be some relation of Thomas’s, his father, even, and she reproached herself for not having written to tell him of her marriage. Letting the curtain fall back, she turned and faced the door. A footman stood aside to allow the visitor to enter.
‘Lord Thomas Waring, my lady.’
Juliet froze, one hand rising to her throat, the colour draining from her face, her lips, and her eyes fastened on the man who had entered the room sporting a gold-knobbed walking cane. He was quite tall, with a languid, aristocratic grace, his attire elegant. He wore a dark blue coat, and there was white linen spilling from his neck and wrists.
Juliet stared at him, unable to believe her eyes, remembering so vividly the pale blond hair falling in a heavy wave over his forehead and the handsome features, the cynical smile on his lips and hooded lazy grey eyes. She must be dreaming. It could not be true. How could fate play such a cruel trick? Thomas was dead and she was married to someone else.
Chapter Seven
Thomas looked at her and smiled lazily. Juliet felt all the blood drain from her face and with one hand frozen at her throat she watched, feeling an agonising wrench in the region of her heart, as he moved farther into the room. Then she knew her eyes were not deceiving her.
‘Thomas,’ she breathed, a hazy mist floating before her eyes, darkness threatening to engulf her. ‘It—it cannot be you. They told me you were dead.’
He raised his brows in mock surprise. ‘Did they really? I assure you, Juliet, that—as you see—I am very much alive.’
It was then that Juliet gave a desperate cry and crumpled to the floor.
Alarmed, Richard hurried to her and fell to his knees beside her, taking her cold hand in his while raising his face to Thomas Waring, utter dislike blazing from his eyes. ‘Why did you have to come here? Why couldn’t you leave her alone?’
Very slowly Thomas smiled, a thin, cruel smile, his eyes like ice. ‘I shouldn’t have thought it necessary for me to have to explain my reasons to you, Richard, and, besides, Surrey is a trifle dull just now. Why did you not tell Juliet that I am alive?’
‘I didn’t want her to know. I hoped and prayed she’d never find out. My God, man! She’s better off without you.’
‘How could she not find out? This is London, Richard, and gossip spreads like quicksilver. Anyway, shouldn’t she be the judge of whether or not she’s better off without me? I doubt she would agree with you,’ he drawled.
* * *
Reassured that Adele was suffering no after effects from the excitement of the wedding, Marcus had returned to the Sinclair townhouse and was going to join Juliet when he heard her strangled cry and halted in shock. Seeing the door to the sitting room open, he hurried inside to find her lying in a crumpled heap on the carpet with Richard by her side. His face clouded with concern.
‘Juliet?’
‘She’s all right,’ Richard said quickly. ‘She’s fainted, that is all.’
Marcus picked her up effortlessly, cradling her in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. It was only as he straightened up that he became aware of the presence of someone else standing across the room. At first, taken unawares, Marcus was startled by the man’s presence, and it was when their eyes met that recognition came to each man simultaneously.
‘Permit me to introduce you,’ Richard said, his face ashen.
‘I think the social distinctions can be ignored, thank you, Richard,’ Marcus said tightly. ‘We are already acquainted, although his name escapes me.’
‘I don’t believe we were introduced,’ Thomas said, his cold grey eyes narrowed with murderous fury. ‘So, it is you. The man I had the misfortune to encounter on my journey back to London.’
‘The same, and I observe you have discarded your uniform.’
‘Temporarily, I assure you,’ he replied, his voice like steel. ‘We have an account to settle, you and I. You cannot have forgotten.’
‘I have not, and neither have I forgotten the sordidness of the situation in which we met, and I have no doubt you are still the same black-hearted villain who tried to force himself on a defenceless young woman. As I recall, the account was settled. Now, it appears Juliet has received quite a shock. I suggest you leave this house before I do something I would not regret.’
‘Wait,’ Richard said as he was about to turn away, his face a picture of confusion. ‘Marcus, have you no idea who this is?’
‘No, nor do I wish to.’
Richard ignored his cutting remark. ‘It is Thomas Waring. Thomas, this is Marcus Cardell, Lord Cardell the Earl of Ashleigh. Thomas was betrothed to Juliet before he went to the Peninsular and was reported killed.’
The tension inside the room was ominous, an eerie silence wrapping itself about them.
With anger pouring through his veins like acid, Marcus did not reply at once. He just stared at Thomas Waring, showing neither shock nor surprise, his face a hard, inscrutable mask, the muscles tight. ‘Dear God,’ he said when he finally did speak, his voice not without contempt. ‘How unfortunate for Juliet.’
Still holding Juliet, who was beginning to stir in his arms, he gently laid her on the sofa and stood looking down at her, relieved to see that some of the colour had returned to her face. He was well aware of all the torment, the suffering she would feel when she came to, and it tore at his heart.
* * *
The first person Juliet saw when her eyes fluttered open was Marcus, his dark form staring down at her, his eyes full of pain and concern but also something else, which puzzled her—understanding and pity. An anxious Richard stood beside him. Juliet blinked her eyes to clear the mist, wondering what she was doing lying on the sofa, and then she remembered Thomas and that he had come back to her, and her heart leapt and began racing as her eyes moved around the room, searching for him.
Thomas stood, seeming very much at ease at the far side of the room. She stared at him, unable to speak for what seemed to be an eternity, and her eyes shone with the unbelievable comfort of knowing he was alive, and yet why, when he looked the same, did she feel that she was looking into the face of a man she did not know—a stranger?
Seeing her open her eyes, Thomas moved towards her, ignoring Marcus, whose face wore a hard mask of disapproval. With Richard, he stepped back to observe the reunion between his wife and her one-time betrothed.
Aware of and slightly amused by his audience, arrogant in his demeanour, Thomas dropped to one knee beside the sofa and took Juliet’s hand in his own. Slowly she reached out with the other and gently touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers to convince herself that it really was him.
‘It is you,’ she whispered. ‘It really is you.’
‘Yes. I apologise if my sudden appearance gave you a shock, but I came as soon as I was able.’
‘Of course you did,’ Richard uttered, unable to conceal his scorn at this barefaced lie. ‘But you were reported killed.’
‘That I didn’t know until later.’
‘What happened?’ Juliet asked. ‘Please, tell me.’
‘It was during the battle at Albuera that my horse was shot from under me, and afterwards grapeshot shattered my leg. I was also injured in the chest. I lost consciousness, and I knew nothing else until I came to, only to find myself a prisoner of the French.’
A deathly pallor spread over Juliet’s face. So often she had pictured him lying wounded on some battlefield or other, his life’s blood ebbing away. She couldn’t bear to think of it. ‘How did you get back to your regiment? Did you escape?’
‘No, it was later, when I began to recover, that I was rescued by the partisans. They came under cover of darkness and freed several prisoners. They returned me to my regiment, but it was only to find that most of it had been wiped out.’
‘How dreadful. Are you going back?’
‘Yes. I was sent home to recuperate and shall return when the officers who returned with me to England have recruited fresh men.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Did you miss me, Juliet, as much as I missed you?’
‘Yes. Yes of course I did.’ Even as she said this, she was vividly aware of Marcus standing behind Thomas as if turned to stone, his hands clenched by his sides, but she did not look at him—she dared not.
