Surrender to the Marquess Page 12

  ‘You parents must be very kind for you to be so certain that they will welcome three extra guests at such short notice,’ Marguerite ventured. ‘But I expect they will be pleased about you and Lucian.’

  ‘About—what on earth do you mean?’ Mata might not turn a hair about Sara taking a lover if that made her happy, but her father and Ashe would react in a way that was completely predictable.

  ‘You are going to get married, aren’t you? I am so pleased about it. We will be sisters and—’

  ‘No, we are not going to get married,’ Sara snapped, too startled to control her reaction. ‘What on earth makes you think that?’

  ‘But…’ Marguerite’s cheeks were pink with embarrassment. ‘But you…he… Last night, there were only two bedchambers,’ she finished in a rush.

  Sara gritted her teeth and kept her voice reasonable. ‘Marguerite, I am a widow. A discreet liaison in those circumstances is, shall we say, overlooked, by society.’

  ‘But don’t you love him?’ Marguerite looked mystified. ‘I was sure you loved him.’

  ‘I find your brother very attractive. I admire his desire to protect you. I also find him infuriating, stubborn, single-minded, authoritarian and domineering. He is the last man I would wish to marry.’

  ‘Truly? And he does not want to marry you?’

  ‘No.’ He made that perfectly clear. ‘He wants an affaire, has wanted it ever since he realised I was possibly…available. I have no doubt that next Season Lucian will be choosing a bride from the young ladies making their come-out.’

  ‘I think I know who he will choose.’ Marguerite wrinkled her nose. ‘She was out last Season and she lives near us in the country. Lady Clara Fairhaven. She is perfect.’ The emphasis was not one of approval. ‘She is pretty and dull and has all the right connections and never puts a foot wrong and her father would be delighted if Lucian marries her. I thought he was going to make a declaration last Season, which was infuriating because I wasn’t out so I couldn’t do anything to stop him.’

  ‘Such as?’ Sara asked, fascinated despite herself at the thought of anyone thinking they could stop the Marquess of Cannock once he had made up his mind to something. ‘What could you do to prevent it?’

  ‘I could get her drunk at Almack’s or bribe some rake to flirt with her outrageously or put a mouse up her skirts at a dinner party,’ Marguerite said darkly. ‘She would make him dull, too. You wouldn’t.’

  ‘I am one-quarter Indian, I am a widow, my husband died in a duel and I have led a somewhat unconventional life since his death. None of that makes me a suitable wife for your brother, certainly not set against a well-bred young lady of perfect deportment. Even if I wanted to marry him, that is. Which I do not.’

  Even as she spoke she could think of nothing but waking that morning in Lucian’s arms, the tender fierceness of his lovemaking, the pleasure they had exchanged and shared, the harmony she felt with him. And yet…and yet, this was the man who had only permitted his sister to marry for love when every other option had been removed, the man who would have killed Gregory and thought it was his duty, an honourable thing to do, the man who seemed to have no understanding of her own need for freedom or her anger at what Michael had done in his misguided desire to protect her honour.

  There were fleeting moments when she imagined being with Lucian, sharing ideas, impressions, laughter. And there were long hours when she could see what would be the reality, a conventional husband expecting a conventional wife and exerting all the power that men had to enforce that.

  ‘I definitely do not,’ she repeated and looked away from the broad shoulders of the man driving ahead of them.

  ‘I suppose it will make it awkward for you, going to your family house like this,’ Marguerite ventured. ‘With Lucian, I mean.’

  ‘I have no intention of carrying on an affaire under that roof, you may be certain. And neither will you. Everything depends on the other guests witnessing the beginnings of a love-match and you behaving like an innocent young lady not quite out.’

  ‘Yes, Sara,’ Marguerite said meekly, making her feel forty-five at the very least.

  *

  It was a long day, but Sara was pleased to see that Lucian allowed Gregory to take the reins for several stages. Whether that was simple common sense because he knew he should give himself a break from time to time or, as Marguerite thought, a sign of forgiveness, it did at least mean they could keep up a good time. They reached Northampton just after sunset and she let out a sigh of relief when they finally drew in to the yard of the King’s Head.

  Lucian came to help them down from the chaise while Gregory went inside to secure rooms. ‘I told him to bespeak four rooms and a private parlour,’ he told his sister as he swung her down on to the cobbles. ‘You need to get into practice for the house party.’

  ‘Yes, Lucian,’ she said obediently, her docility at odds with the longing look she gave Gregory from under her lashes.

  Will Lucian come to my chamber tonight? Sara wondered as they went into the inn. Or was last night enough for him? Perhaps he has sated his desire and his curiosity. Although he had seemed to imply a longer relationship in his words when they were dressing that morning. She hoped so, since her desire and curiosity were certainly not sated yet.

  When they were settled in their rooms, which all led off a small upstairs parlour, Lucian ordered dinner, poured wine and settled at the head of the table. ‘We need to get this story straight. Where will we have come from tomorrow?’

  ‘Reading would have been a good place to have broken our journey from Sandbay,’ Sara suggested. ‘Then we have no need to leave too early tomorrow.’

  ‘Very well. Now then. Marguerite has been unwell—a severe attack of influenza that you could not shake off.’ His sister nodded. ‘I took her to Sandbay to recuperate and Sara befriended her and invited us to the house party. Just before we left we were joined by Farnsworth, who has been taking a holiday to recover from his injury. That can have happened just as it did, and in Lyons but, shall we say that I was there on business and you had accompanied me?’

  ‘So I have not seen Greg… Mr Farnsworth…for some time and I find myself surprised at how shaken I am by his accident,’ Marguerite chipped in. ‘Lucian has heaps of work for him, which is why he must accompany us, but I will keep checking to make sure he is not being overworked while he is still convalescent.’

  ‘And it will not occur to anyone that they need strict chaperonage because they never have before,’ Sara suggested, shrugging when Lucian raised his eyebrows at her. ‘And before we know where we are they have fallen in love.’

  ‘And so on and so forth,’ Lucian said. ‘And I will amaze everyone by yielding to my sister’s pleas to allow them to marry, even though she is not yet out. The company will think I have lost my mind. As well they might,’ he added grimly.

  Gregory was fiddling with his eyepatch, presumably prey to nerves, or perhaps embarrassment. The bruise on his chin from Lucian’s punch the previous night was darkening.

  ‘How did Gregory acquire that bruise?’ Sara asked.

  ‘I am not used to having only one eye and I misjudge distances, Lady Sara. I could have tripped over last night,’ he suggested.

  ‘That will have to do,’ Lucian said impatiently. ‘Now remember, both of you, for the sake of Marguerite’s reputation, this has to deceive a number of people, some of whom are probably eagle-eyed matrons on the lookout for the slightest impropriety.’

  *

  Sara reminded him of those words when he slipped quietly into her bedchamber several hours later. ‘My lord, are you by any chance here to commit some slight impropriety?’

  ‘I sincerely hope so, given that I face at least a week of being on my best behaviour,’ Lucian said as he turned the key in the lock. Under-lit by the candle flame, his face had a stark, unearthly quality.

  I could look at that face for ever, she thought. Desire is such a snare. I see him, I want him and I cannot seem to think bey
ond what is going to happen in this bed tonight.

  Lucian shrugged off his robe and put down the candle, easy in his skin, relaxed about his nakedness. But there was nothing relaxed about the look in his eyes as he watched her waiting for him, nor could she be in any doubt that however long and tiring the day had been this man fully intended to make love to her now—and probably for half of the night.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Darling!’ Lady Eldonstone, looking like a woman half her age, ran down the steps and reached the door of the chaise before the footman. She stood there while the man opened the door and let down the step, then seized Sara in a fierce hug the moment she emerged. ‘You look beautiful, darling, and do not take any notice of your father, or of Ashe. They are being ridiculous, the pair of them. You must be Lady Marguerite, welcome to Eldonstone. Have you had a good journey? Come along inside, both of you.’

  ‘Why must I take no notice of Papa and Ashe, Mata?’ Sara dug in her heels and stopped dead. ‘What are they being ridiculous about?’

  ‘Ashe went down to Sandbay to see you. I think he wants to plot a surprise birthday party for your father next month. He got back this morning saying that you were not there and had left mysteriously and that Mr Makepeace told him some cock-and-bull story about being worried because you left town with a Mr Dunton.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, you know what he and Nicholas are like, so primitive about that sort of thing, which when you consider that your father and I hardly had a conventional courtship and if you can convince me that Ashe was exactly as pure as the driven snow—although I am sure he would die if he heard his mother say so—is most unreasonable of them.’

  ‘Lady Eldonstone.’ Marguerite had stopped, too, and was listening, white-faced. ‘You have discovered that Sara is helping me to cover up my disgrace and, of course, you do not approve. I apologise, I will tell Lucian that we must leave immediately.’

  ‘Goodness, child, this is not about you at all. My ridiculous menfolk have come over all male and protective of Sara. I can only hope that your brother is impervious to insult or we may have a very exciting day in front of us.’

  ‘I believe you will find that the Marquess of Cannock is about as impervious to insult as Papa or Ashe are,’ Sara said, looking round. Yes, there they were, grim-faced on the terrace. She picked up her skirts and ran across the gravel to put herself between them and her lover.

  ‘Papa.’ She kissed his cheek and received a fierce hug in return. ‘Ashe. Where is Phyllida?’

  ‘I asked her to stay inside and distract the other guests,’ her brother said, glaring over her shoulder. ‘They are all round at the garden front.’

  ‘Distract them from what?’ Sara demanded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Lucian had handed over the reins of the curricle to a groom and that he and Gregory were walking across to them.

  ‘Us dealing with Cannock.’

  ‘Lucian does not require dealing with. He is a guest and my friend, as is his sister, and—Ashe!’

  *

  ‘Farnsworth, I believe we might be in for a somewhat cool welcome.’ Lucian began to stroll across the gravel towards the steps, assessing the two men standing there with Sara in front of them. He was too far away to hear what was being said, but from the rigid set of her shoulders and the vehement hand gestures, he suspected not all was well. Gregory’s head turned as he looked for Marguerite. ‘Do not react, whatever the provocation,’ Lucian added. ‘Leave this to me.’

  This was Sara’s home and he owed her a great deal, too much to cause a rift with her family. Her brother brushed past her, took the steps down two at a time and strode towards them. Instinctively Lucian shifted his stance, but kept his hands down when every ounce of instinct and training told him to lift his fists in the face of the Viscount’s evident hostility. Even so, he had expected some preliminaries, some insults at least, not that Clere would aim a right hook squarely at his jaw. He rocked back three paces, riding the punch, but stayed on his feet.

  He ran one hand over his chin and contemplated throwing manners, caution and common sense to the wind and taking out the frustrations of the past few months on the man in front of him. Then he saw Sara run across the carriage drive towards them and gave her the faintest shake of his head. She stopped, then walked forward warily to stand beside him, facing her brother. Her loyalties would be torn between them both and he admired her for even attempting the balancing act.

  ‘An unusual welcome,’ Lucian drawled, ignoring the pain. Damn, but the man has a punch like a blacksmith’s hammer. It was a miracle his teeth were not all over the drive. ‘Farnsworth, this is Viscount Clere. I suggest you stay out of his way until we establish whether this is his normal greeting to guests or if I am uniquely honoured by a display of pugilism.’ He should be diplomatic, soothing, make a joke of it, perhaps. He needed this family’s help. But he was not going to act the punching bag for anyone, not even this man whom he had always liked and who was reacting as he strongly suspected he would have himself if he was in Clere’s shoes.

  ‘You have seduced my sister,’ the other man snarled. ‘And—’

  ‘Why not wait until you can find a speaking trumpet, Clere? I am sure there must be one or two of our audience who did not quite catch that announcement. Look, the men scything the grass over there must have missed it.’ The truth was, a fight would be welcome. More than welcome. Some mindless violence… His hands curled into fists as Clere took another step forward.

  ‘Stop it, both of you.’ Sara managed to wriggle between the two of them when they were almost toe to toe. ‘No one has seduced anyone.’

  ‘It was ravishment, then?’ her brother snarled.

  ‘It was no such thing and none of your business whatever it was, Ashe Herriard,’ Sara snapped. ‘I am a grown woman, an independent widow, and you have absolutely no right interfering. And, might I remind you, this is not your house and if Mata is happy to welcome my guests—which she is—what have you to say to it?’

  God, she is magnificent. Ashe folded his arms and prepared to leap to Sara’s defence if she showed the slightest sign of needing him. At the moment, though, she appeared to have her brother on the back foot.

  ‘Father is not—’

  ‘Good day, Cannock.’

  Lucian looked away from the seething Viscount to the tall figure of Sara’s father standing behind him. ‘Eldonstone.’ He inclined his head a trifle, as much courtesy as he was prepared to offer the older man in the midst of this crackling hostility. ‘We came at the invitation of Lady Sara. If we are not welcome we will, naturally, remove ourselves.’ He locked gazes with Clere again. Unfinished business, he promised. You will not provoke me into a fist fight on your mother’s doorstep, but later…

  ‘Do come in.’ The older man regarded him, unsmiling, his grey eyes uncannily like Sara’s. ‘I feel you and I have matters to discuss.’

  One thing, and one thing only, kept him from turning round and driving out of there and that was Marguerite. For her sake he would swallow his pride, shackle his temper and deal with these two angry men. But he was damned if he was explaining himself or discussing his relationship with Sara.

  He sent her a quick smile and strolled across the expanse of gravel beside Eldonstone. The colour was up on Sara’s cheekbones and she was bristling at her much taller brother like a she-cat confronting a mastiff. As he passed her, Lucian heard her snap, ‘Don’t you dare,’ presumably at her brother. The Marchioness was already leading Marguerite inside, gesticulating with her hands as she talked. It seemed she had prevented his sister from seeing what had just occurred, thank goodness.

  ‘My study.’ Eldonstone opened a panelled door at the end of the hallway and gestured for him to enter. ‘Have a seat, Cannock. Brandy?’

  ‘Thank you, no.’ Not when he was an unwelcome intruder in this place.

  ‘My son went down to Sandbay to visit his sister and found that she had left early that morning, alone with you. And yet you would have us believe that you, and your ent
ourage, have come direct from there. The rumours were already spreading. Something clandestine is going on.’

  ‘Not under your roof,’ Lucian said coolly. ‘I do not discuss my private affairs with anyone and if you wish to know about Lady Sarisa’s, then I suggest you discuss them with her. My sister and I owe her a great deal and, she is, as she pointed out to her brother, an independent woman.’

  ‘She is my daughter and if you have been toying with her affections with no intention of marrying her then your private affairs are most definitely my concern.’

  ‘Her affections do not enter into this.’ The Marquess’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Lucian deliberately poured oil on the flames. Get it over with. ‘Nor does marriage.’

  The big hands that had lain relaxed on the desk curled into fists. ‘In my house—’

  ‘In your house I imagine that Lady Sarisa would conduct herself with the greatest respect to your wishes. As would I, were I a guest here.’

  ‘He is playing with words.’ The door in the far corner was flung open to reveal Viscount Clere. ‘Playing with us. Will you or will you not marry my sister?’

  Lucian curled a lip at him for the drama and received a glare in return. A bout in the stable yard would be so very satisfying. ‘No,’ Lucian said baldly, staying where he was and crossing his legs. Marriage was not what their relationship was about. They were lovers. Sara was not ready for marriage to anyone, he could tell that, and as for himself, he had other plans. Long-standing plans that involved the careful and considered choice of the next Marchioness of Cannock.

  ‘No, he will not,’ said Sara, emerging from behind the screen in the opposite corner. ‘Why should he? Why should I, come to that?’

  ‘Give me strength!’ The Marquess slammed one fist down on the desk. ‘What is this? A French farce? This confounded room has too many doors—and I have two disrespectful offspring. Ashe, sit down. Sara, if this man has seduced you, he must marry you.’

  Her colour was up and so was her chin. Under any other circumstances Lucian would have sat back and admired the show, but this was his lover under fire and, magnificent as she was, it was his battle to fight, not hers. He stood up and went to stand at her side, not touching. ‘Lady Sarisa makes her own decisions, her own choices. She is an independent woman with enough force of character to withstand seduction. I believe she has made it clear that she does not wish to discuss her personal life. As for my own, I would simply point out that I would not dream of abusing my hostess’s hospitality by any behaviour that might cause her distress or embarrassment.’ And if they could not interpret that to mean that he and Sara would behave with perfect propriety when under her parents’ roof, then he would have to draw them a diagram.