Surrender to the Marquess Read online

  ‘Yes. I am aware that this visit did not get off to a good beginning because we had chosen to anticipate this decision,’ he began. He was damned if he was going to be defensive about becoming Sara’s lover, but an acknowledgement of Eldonstone’s feelings was certainly in order.

  ‘You’ve changed your tune. Marriage was out of the question, I seem to recall.’

  ‘Certainly it was while we were unsure that our feelings would endure. Neither of us wants this marriage to be less than happy.’

  ‘You’ve a glib tongue, Cannock.’

  ‘I have an honest one, sir. I thought I would be looking at the cream of the crop of next year’s Marriage Mart, some well-bred little chit scarce out of the schoolroom. Observing some at close quarters and in proximity to Sara has shown me that what I would truly value in a wife is a woman of character and intelligence.’

  ‘And you are telling me that my daughter, who you quite rightly say is a woman of character and intelligence, has agreed to marry you?’

  A nasty dig, that. This was a man who had fought his way round the Indian sub-Continent and then taught himself how to be a marquess in middle age. He was never going to be a soft touch.

  ‘I am almost as surprised as you are,’ Lucian agreed, refusing to let Eldonstone rile him.

  ‘Hah!’ It was a bark of laughter. ‘I trust Sara and she, it seems, trusts you. But if she is wrong you’ll have her brother to deal with and I will be standing right behind him to finish off anything that is left breathing.’

  ‘As I would expect. You forget, perhaps, that I have a sister. I share your sentiments about men who betray the trust of a lady.’

  ‘Is that why you refrained from retaliating when Ashe hit you? I was most impressed.’ Eldonstone lifted his brandy glass in an ironic salute.

  ‘Brawling on my hosts’ doorstep when Clere was merely being protective seemed unlikely to endear me to Sara.’ Lucian returned the salute and took a mouthful of the dark liquid. ‘My compliments to your wine merchant.’

  ‘Good, isn’t it?’ They sipped in comfortable silence for a while. ‘Doubtless brothers-in-law would enjoy sparring a little.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ And there was no need to wait until he was Ashe Herriard’s brother-in-law. Just as soon as they found themselves outside and safely out of sight of the ladies he intended returning that punch with interest. ‘You will want to discuss settlements. I’ll have my secretary assemble some figures for you.’

  ‘You can discuss that with Sara and she will ask me if she needs advice. I presume I have no need to worry about your ability to keep her in the manner I would wish for her?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Then I suggest we take our brandy back to the drawing room and rejoin the other guests. When do you want to announce this?’

  ‘Tomorrow night before dinner?’ Lucian suggested. Now they just had to get Marguerite’s love life choreographed to climax at the most advantageous moment and all would be well.

  They strolled back to the drawing room as the clocks struck eleven. It seemed incredible that so much had happened in so short a time—that his life had turned around so completely.

  Sara was with a somewhat subdued Marguerite, talking to her mother and some of the older ladies, and he went to drop a kiss on his sister’s cheek. ‘Staying up late, Puss?’

  ‘I shall go to bed shortly,’ she said, then adopted a chiding tone. ‘Poor Mr Farnsworth is probably still labouring over all that paperwork you gave him and you are not worried about him.’

  ‘You are very protective of young Farnsworth,’ Lucian observed with a tolerant smile. ‘I hope you are not flirting with him and distracting him from his work.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of flirting with him,’ Marguerite said indignantly. ‘He is far too serious to take any notice if I did. I admire him greatly,’ she added, verging towards Mrs Siddons at her most tragic.

  And you are a loss to the stage, my dear.

  He smiled across at Sara and she smiled back, with a little gesture of her head towards her mother. Whispered confidences had been exchanged, he assumed. He met the Marchioness’s beautiful green gaze and was rewarded with a smile, as lovely as her daughter’s, but holding years’ more experience and guile. This was the woman who had taught her daughter to defend herself with a knife and to ride astride and he had asked of Sara that she was at least as conventional a marchioness as her mother.

  A month ago all he had asked of life was to have his sister back well and happy and to find a wife of the utmost, highly conventional, suitability. And now… He met Sara’s smile again. And now what could possibly go wrong?

  *

  ‘I would like to see your stables, Clere. Any objections?’ For the first time Lucian found himself alone with Sara’s brother. The ladies of the party, Sara and Marguerite amongst them, were either sketching on the back lawn or admiring the artists. The other men had accompanied the Marquess to see his improvements at the Home Farm and Lucian had taken the opportunity to come across Ashe Herriard on his way to the front door, dressed for riding.

  ‘None at all. Care to ride?’ The Viscount nodded thanks to the footman who opened the double doors for them and led the way diagonally across the circle of the carriage drive to where a clock tower appeared above a screening shrubbery.

  ‘I would certainly enjoy some exercise,’ Lucian agreed, truthfully.

  ‘I gather you are marrying my sister,’ Clere said as they emerged from the shrubbery on to a rather trampled area just outside the arch into the imposing stable block. ‘You had better make her happy,’ he added with a charming smile that entirely failed to hide the threat behind it.

  ‘Oh, I intend to.’ Lucian smiled back. ‘We don’t know each other very well, do we? I keep my word, I take my duty to look after my family very seriously and I never, ever, forget a debt.’

  The right hook was perfect. Solid, powerful, right on the point of Clere’s chin. The bruise on his own chin ached in sympathy. And he had taken the other man totally by surprise.

  Ashe Herriard levered himself up on his elbows in the dust and grinned. ‘Point taken. Give me a hand, will you?’

  He held out his right hand and Lucian took it, was jerked forward and on to a booted foot that rose to catch him squarely in the stomach. He let himself go with the move, over the top of Clere and into a rolling somersault. Lucian came to his feet and stripped off his coat to find Clere doing the same thing.

  ‘Come on.’ He lifted both hands, open, beckoning Lucian to advance. ‘I am going to enjoy this. Who do you spar with?’

  ‘The Gentleman, of course.’ Lucian tossed aside his neckcloth and squared up to the other man. ‘I’ve seen you there, but I’ve never seen you fight.’

  ‘Thought I’d come across you at his saloon. Jackson’s a good teacher, even if he does live up to his soubriquet.’

  Gentleman. That is a polite warning that this pupil will be anything but gentlemanly, Lucian guessed. And Ashe Herriard had grown up in India, learning any number of exotic tricks, he had no doubt.

  As he closed with him the other man’s left foot shot out, aiming a high kick at his elbow. Lucian spun away, untouched and landed a punch on Clere’s ribs. Oh, yes, this is going to be fun.

  *

  ‘Darling, can you see if you can find that album of prints of Calcutta? Mrs Galway was interested and although I left them on the side table in the Chinese Salon they aren’t there now. I cannot think where they have got to.’

  ‘Of course, Mata.’ Sara made for the library first, glad of an excuse to escape the knowing looks and whisperings of Lady Thale and Mrs Montrum. It seemed the logical place for an over-tidy housemaid to have put it and she took a shortcut from the side terrace where the ladies had been sitting out of the direct sun and through the rear corridor that led from the gardens into the flower room, the boot room and down to the basement.

  A glance through the glazed back garden door as she hurried past brought her skidding to a halt on the worn ol
d flagstones. Two men were coming across the gravel from the direction of the stables. Staggering across, holding each other up. Ashe and Lucian.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sara wrenched open the door and ran to them, nightmare visions of riding accidents blurring her vision. When she came to a panting halt in front of them they straightened up a little and she could take in their injuries and their clothing.

  ‘You’ve been fighting—look at the pair of you!’ Both had grazed and bloody knuckles, Ashe was sporting a split lip, a promising black left eye, a ripped shirt and seemed to be limping. Lucian’s right eye was bruised, the side seam of his breeches was gaping, there was a nasty graze on his left cheek and a footprint on his shirt over his ribs.

  ‘Sparring, that’s all,’ her brother said and winced.

  ‘Bare-knuckled without gloves? In your decent breeches? Kicking? You’ve been fighting, you horrible creatures. How could you? You are going to be brothers-in-law, for goodness sake.’ Oh, she could have wept, if she wasn’t saving all her energies for thumping the pair of them just as soon as she was sure neither had any serious injuries. ‘Come inside, quickly, before any of the ladies see you and faint dead away. Into the flower room, at least there is water in there and good light.’

  ‘Good light for what?’ Lucian asked as the two of them resumed their unsteady progress towards the house.

  ‘Checking you over and patching you up, of course, you pair of savages. Peter!’ One of the footmen came out of the door with a vase of drooping flowers in his hands. ‘Put those down for now and go and fetch me the bandages and salves. Hurry now.’

  She got them into the flower room and sitting on benches. ‘Take those coats off, strip to the waist. Oh, let me help—have you broken ribs?’ she demanded as Lucian struggled out of his coat and began to tug at his shirt.

  ‘Doubt it. Just bruised.’ He squinted down at himself as Sara tossed the shirt aside and prodded the discoloured foot-shaped area. ‘Hell’s teeth. Yes, just bruised, possibly a crack.’

  ‘And you.’ She whirled round to her brother. ‘Why are you limping?’

  ‘Twisted my knee when I went down. And, no, I am not going to take my breeches off.’

  Peter came in with the hamper full of salves and bandages. ‘Shall I stay, Lady Sara?’

  ‘No, thank you. Fetch hot water and some small bowls, would you please?’ She waited until he was out of earshot. ‘How could you both? Papa and Mata are happy for me—couldn’t you be, too, Ashe?’

  ‘I am. Cannock’s a perfectly decent fellow.’ Her brother shrugged, swore in Hindi under his breath and managed a lopsided grin at Lucian. ‘Can’t fight worth a spit, but otherwise, I approve.’

  ‘Can’t fight, you cheating excuse for a viscount?’ Lucian lobbed a wadded-up neckcloth at Ashe. ‘I had you down as many times as you floored me and you know it.’

  Sara glared at them both. ‘Oh, I see. This is that ridiculous male thing where you have to knock seven bells out of each other and then you’re friends for life, is that it? Never mind that Mata has a houseful of guests, or that Lucian’s sister might be upset at the sight of him in this mess or I might be, come to that. And do not roll your eyes at me, Ashe Herriard!’

  ‘Are you certain you want to marry her?’ Ashe enquired, reaching for a wad of lint and dipping it in the cold water before he applied it gingerly to his eye. ‘She’s grown into a shocking nag.’

  Lucian looked at her, his face as innocent as any young urchin explaining how it wasn’t his fault he’d come home bloodied, dirty and with split breeches. ‘I’ve got to,’ he said, sounding resigned but noble. ‘A gentleman doesn’t jilt a lady even if she turns out to be a virago and he was expecting a ministering angel.’

  ‘Well, the virago can jilt the gentleman,’ Sara retorted and put down the pot of calendula salve with a bang. ‘And you can minister to each other as you are such good friends now.’

  She swept out and off to the library where the volume of prints was sitting in the middle of the table, which did something to soothe her. By the time she came across Porrett in the hallway she was calm enough to ask him to send Ashe’s valet down to the flower room. If anyone could make them halfway respectable in time for dinner it was Gorridge.

  She delivered the album to Mrs Galway and plumped down on a fat cushion next to her mother. ‘Those wretched men have been fighting.’ When Mata raised an interrogative eyebrow she explained, ‘Lucian and Ashe. They are black and blue, limping and look as though they have been in a street brawl.’

  ‘Oh, bless them. That is a relief. I was so worried about Ashe refusing to accept Lucian.’

  ‘Mata, they look as though they were trying to kill each other and now they are apparently the best of friends.’

  ‘That is men for you.’ Her mother shrugged. ‘They are like dogs and need to establish their order in the pack. Lucian outranks Ashe, but Ashe is your brother. It sounds as though they were evenly matched when they fought, so they have settled for equality, with each respecting the other.’ She fell silent for a while as Sara sat and fumed quietly. ‘Michael didn’t fight, did he?’

  ‘Certainly not, he was far too civilised for that.’

  ‘A pity, because they let so much aggression go that way. If Michael and Francis had been used to that sort of rough-and-tumble way of settling matters, then possibly Michael would have punched him, not challenged him.’

  She laid her hand on Sara’s head and began to smooth her hair absently, as she might have stroked a cat. Sara let herself relax back against the rattan chair and absorb her mother’s words.

  ‘It isn’t that I object to fighting if it is necessary,’ she said, as much to herself as to her mother. ‘You taught me to defend myself and sparring wearing gloves seems to be very good exercise for men, but that fight must have been brutal.’

  ‘Are either of them seriously hurt?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly.

  ‘Then they were deliberately making sure it did not become dangerous. Ashe is trained to kill and if Lucian was holding his own with him then he knows how to fight seriously, too.’

  So Lucian’s instinct to fight to protect his sister and now, she supposed, her, was actually part of a strictly controlled repertoire of responses and if Michael had allowed himself to be just a bit more uncivilised he would not be dead now? It was an indigestible thought and part of what made it so hard to accept was the nagging fear that her own expressed opinions on what constituted civilised, rational behaviour might have contributed to Michael’s reluctance to simply let fly when his friend was so foolish.

  *

  Sara was too preoccupied with her thoughts about Michael and the duel to have any room for anxieties about the evening’s announcement, other than to think that if Lucian and Ashe were too obviously battered, then Papa would simply postpone mentioning the betrothal. But she dressed in her best evening gown, a pale straw-coloured silk sheath embroidered with crystals around the low neckline and the hem. She put her hair up with strings of crystals woven into it and wore no other gems. The image in the mirror was elegant and ethereal and renewed her flagging confidence in everything from her basic beliefs to her decision to marry Lucian.

  It was a reaction, she told herself. Meeting Lucian had turned her world on its head just when she was beginning to feel unsettled in Sandbay, thinking about what she should do with the rest of her life, how she wanted to live it.

  Perhaps this disquiet about Michael was simply a stage in the mourning process, a belated upwelling of unhappiness at his loss. But marriage to Lucian was a very big step away from everything she had thought that she wanted. Just how well did she know him?

  I know him quite well enough in bed, she thought ruefully as she descended the staircase towards the hum of conversation in the drawing room. Even though they had only slept together twice she knew her betrothed was skilled, thoughtful, demanding and understood to a certainty how to pleasure a lady. But how well do I know him as a future husband?


  ‘That is a very charming blush on your cheeks.’ Lucian appeared at her elbow as she entered the room and handed her a glass of champagne. ‘Who has been flirting with you on the stairs?’

  ‘The second footman,’ she said with a smile of thanks for the wine. It would never do to let him guess she had been thinking about him, let alone his performance in bed. ‘Ashe’s valet has done wonders, I must say. You look as though you have actually been indulging in a proper sparring match with padded gloves, not some primitive free-for-all. Does Ashe look as respectable?’ She wanted to brush the hair away from his brow where it fell over a discreet patch of sticking plaster, wanted to run her hands all over his body and check him for injury. If truth be told, she was feeling possessive and wanted to fuss. ‘And how are the ribs?’

  ‘Your brother is pretending not to limp, although I suspect Phyllida has kicked the other leg, so it is more of a pained hobble. And my ribs are merely bruised. It doesn’t hurt at all unless I laugh.’

  ‘I will promise not to say anything amusing.’ They moved until they were shielded by the partly open door and Sara slipped her hand between his coat and waistcoat to cup it around his ribs. ‘I really do not blame Phyllida.’

  ‘But you forgive me?’ He was smiling down at her and under her hand his body was warm and solid.

  ‘I might as well forgive you for being male,’ Sara said and leaned in until she could rest her forehead against his lapel.

  ‘I cannot do much about that state of affairs, whether you forgive me for it or not—and if I wasn’t male I wouldn’t find you half as beautiful when I looked at you. Tonight you are exquisite, a creature of fairyland, Sara.’

  She looked up as he bent his head to kiss her and his breath feathered over her lips, blurring her mind and her fears.

  ‘Stop it, the pair of you.’ Ashe was resting one hand on the edge of the door, a screen between them and the room. ‘If the old biddies see you before the announcement they will very correctly conclude that this is not a well-regulated, carefully contrived dynastic marriage and that the two of you actually care for each other. Bad enough Phyllida and me making a love match, but both of us being so unsophisticated? Shocking.’