Surrender to the Marquess Read online

  ‘Certainly I swam. Out and around the point into the next bay.’ He gave her a significant look which made her blush deliciously. ‘I find I have a great deal of surplus energy to get rid of.’

  ‘I wish I could have swum with you,’ she murmured. ‘There are some coves along the coast where no one goes because the paths down are steep. If the weather is fine tomorrow—’

  She broke off suddenly, the colour draining from her face as she stared out of the window at the promenade, lit by the hotel’s lights and a string of lanterns swaying in the light breeze.

  ‘Sara? What is it? You look as though you have seen a ghost.’ Lucian twisted in his seat, trying to see what she had seen, but all there was to be seen was the cavalcade of beach donkeys being led back to their stable, a gig drawn by a single horse vanishing into the distance and a few strolling couples.

  ‘I…’ She made a visible effort to compose herself. ‘I think I probably did. See a ghost, that is.’ Her laugh was utterly unconvincing.

  ‘A ghost? You mean your husband?’ Had their betrothal stirred up memories and feelings she had buried?

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, not Michael. Not the ghost of anyone dead, at least, I hope not. It was nothing.’ She stared at the salt cellar as though it held some vital significance, then took a deep breath and shook her head. ‘I am not going to be brave and independent about this. That would be foolish. Now we are betrothed I should tell you what worries me, share with you as I hope you would with me if something was wrong.’

  Despite her words she stayed silent, not meeting his eyes. Lucian waited, forcing himself to patience until Sara took a shuddering breath and spoke. ‘I thought someone was watching the house last night when we arrived. It was a fleeting impression and I put it down to being half-asleep. But just now, the man driving that gig…his face was shadowed by his hat, but he was staring at us so intently…’

  ‘So is just about everyone else who passes by. It is someone being nosy, that is all,’ he said with relief, although the thought that someone was skulking near her house was concerning. He would deal with that later. ‘We are the talk of Sandbay and this bay window is well lit. I am sorry you find it intrusive, but I did not want to appear to be hole-and-corner about our being here together. Where’s that waiter? I will have the table moved.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand, Lucian. I thought it was someone I knew, I thought it was Francis.’

  ‘Francis?’

  ‘Francis Walton, Michael’s friend. The man who killed him in the duel.’

  *

  ‘Hell.’ Lucian was halfway to his feet, a soup spoon went clattering to the floor and every head in the dining room turned. Lucian made a half-bow to the other diners and sat down. ‘My apologies,’ he said, raising his voice to carry. ‘Hot soup.’

  ‘He will be long gone.’ Sara held up her hand to stop the waiter who had started towards them, napkin at the ready. ‘Whoever it was. It is only my imagination. It must be,’ she added with what sounded like desperation to her own ears. ‘Francis fled abroad immediately afterwards. The coroner’s court gave a verdict of unlawful killing, so he cannot come back to England without risking trial.’

  ‘So how has he been supporting himself?’ Lucian paused while the waiter cleared the plates and brought a lobster in aspic. ‘Is he a wealthy man?’

  ‘No, he is the son of a prosperous squire. I think his family send money abroad to him.’ She shivered. ‘I have no idea why I should suddenly start imagining that I see him now.’

  ‘Has it ever happened before?’ Lucian seemed to realise that people were still staring so he began to serve the lobster. ‘Laugh, pretend nothing untoward is being discussed.’

  Obediently Sara gave a trill of laughter and pointed to something outside on the promenade and heads turned back again. ‘No, never,’ she said, the artificial smile feeling as though it had been glued on to her lips. ‘Lucian—’ How to say this? ‘I do not think that becoming betrothed to you is the reason I am imagining this.’ If I am imagining it… ‘But I have thought more deeply about my first marriage, I must confess.’ She wondered if that offended him, but she was determined to be truthful.

  ‘It would be remarkable if becoming betrothed again did not prompt those kinds of thoughts.’ They ate their lobster in silence for a while, then Lucian said, ‘I have no intention of trying to replace Michael, Sara. I am a very different man, I think.’

  ‘Yes. You most definitely are.’ Sara pushed a tiny shrimp, trapped in a pearl of aspic, around her plate. ‘I was not ready for you before, when I was younger. I could not have coped with you, I think.’

  ‘Coped?’ His eyebrows lifted.

  ‘You are… You have responsibilities that Michael did not have and that gives you a maturity, an assurance. He was like a student in many ways and I suspect always would have been.’ And perhaps they would have grown apart as he became more immersed in his work, in the academic world. Looking back now, she could see it had already begun to happen. ‘He let me into his world, but he could not truly share it. Now, I think, I can move in yours fully.’

  ‘I am certain that you can.’ His smile was sudden, as warm as a hug. ‘But why not before?’

  ‘I was running away. This was a strange country, one where I was different. Ashe and my mother adapted to it, my father made himself into an English marquess by sheer force of will, but I saw only so many rules, so many traps and snares, so many disdainful smiles because I was not quite one of you.’

  ‘And now you are?’ The smile became teasing.

  ‘No, and I never will be. But now, you see, I do not care because I know who I am. I will be different and you do not mind, and I do not mind, and that is all that matters.’

  ‘I will drink to that.’ Lucian raised his glass as the waiters came to reset the table. ‘I thought we would not want a heavy meat course and so I ordered fruit and ices next. But say if you would like something else, won’t you?’

  A month ago, Sara thought, she would have felt belittled by not having her opinion asked first. But now she realised that she did not have to be defensive. If she did not like his choice she would simply say so and Lucian would not be offended, would simply call the waiter over for her to order.

  And if he was offended, why, then I would tease him for it, she thought, and he would smile that slow, lazy smile and I would fall even deeper in love with the man.

  ‘Fruit and ices would be delightful,’ she said and meant it.

  ‘To the Marchioness of Cannock,’ Lucian said, lifting his glass. ‘My perfect Marchioness.’

  ‘My perfect Marquess.’ She toasted him back and felt the familiar cold finger of apprehension trail down her spine. She was not perfect, she knew that only too well, was coming to realise just how flawed she was. She had done nothing to displease Lucian yet, she realised. Right from the beginning of their relationship she had done the things that he wanted—helped Marguerite, become his lover, agreed to marry him. What would happen when, inevitably, she did not please him over something? He wanted a perfect wife, a perfect marchioness, it seemed, but she did not want to pretend to be perfect, or expect him to be.

  I love you just as you are, she thought, watching him peel a pear for her. If only you could come to love me the same way.

  *

  ‘Chin up, shoulders back, smile in place,’ Lucian whispered as they stepped into the ballroom of the Assembly Rooms. The level of noise rose immediately, then dropped as people stopped their own conversations and watched the latest sensation, the greatest Sandbay had ever had—their Lady Sara and the Mystery Marquess. As Sara had visited the cloakroom to leave her cloak some of the more romantic young ladies had come up, flushed with excitement, and congratulated her on catching this elusive creature and she had been hard put not to box their ears, the silly chits.

  She glanced up at Lucian, who was perfectly composed and dealing with all the attention as to the manner born and had the wicked desire to disrupt that calm. It se
emed her earlier qualms about being an imperfect marchioness had subsided a little. ‘The young ladies call you the Mystery Marquess, you know,’ she whispered. ‘That was how I first thought of you once I discovered your secret. I think that is so romantic.’

  ‘Codswallop,’ Lucian retorted inelegantly, making the Master of Ceremonies shy like a startled horse. ‘They have air between their ears, the lot of them.’

  ‘Oh, look, there is Miss Wharton, wearing her primrose silk. You must ask her to dance, Lucian, it will make up for not falling in love with her at first sight, which you would have been bound to do, if you recall her mother’s words.’

  ‘Introduce me then and I will do my duty.’ He let her steer him across the room to where Lady Wharton was fanning herself furiously and nudging the blushing Miss Wharton.

  ‘Lord Cannock, may I make known to you Lady Wharton and her daughter Miss Wharton? Lady Wharton, allow me to introduce the Marquess of Cannock as a suitable dance partner for your daughter.’

  ‘And it is a waltz!’ Lady Wharton was almost beside herself with joy as Lucian led her daughter on to the dance floor for the set that was just forming. ‘All the young gentlemen will see how favoured she is and all the other mothers will be beside themselves with envy. I do thank you, Lady Sara, for your gracious introduction.’ She sank down in a billow of purple silk and flapped her fan.

  Sara bit the insides of her cheeks to control her smile and strolled slowly around the room, pausing to exchange words with acquaintances, most of whom managed to keep their rampant curiosity in check. She had no desire to dance yet and managed to avoid being asked with some strategic dodging, until she found herself by the doors on to the terrace.

  That was where she and Lucian had exchanged their first kiss. She smiled at herself for being such a romantic as to begin treasuring landmarks like that and was about to move on when a movement outside caught her attention.

  ‘Sara.’ The whisper stopped her in her tracks. ‘Sara, out here. I must speak with you.’

  No… No, this is my nightmare again.

  Despite herself she stepped outside and closed the door behind her as a hand caught her wrist and pulled her behind one of the potted palms that flanked the entrance. ‘Francis. It was you.’ Not a nightmare, or, rather, not a bad dream. She stared at him blankly, all feeling and all ability to move deserting her.

  This is the man who killed Michael, a voice in her head stated, as though giving a lecture. But it was also Michael’s friend. Her friend. She had never believed he intended Michael harm and she could not feel fear now, or hatred, only a numb sort of shock.

  ‘I have to talk to you,’ he said urgently, his voice low. ‘I had to see you before you heard that I had returned in any other way.’

  He was thinner, she thought. Still handsome, although all the vibrancy that had made him so attractive to be with had gone, leaving his face serious and drawn. ‘Heard… How can you be back?’ she managed.

  ‘I have been cleared of any ill intent towards Michael. My godfather used his influence to get the inquest re-opened. No, do not say it—he did not use any influence to change the verdict, only to allow the evidence to be heard properly, but—’

  Behind them, in another world, the music stopped and reality rushed back and with it, her voice. ‘We cannot talk now, here. Anyone might come out at any minute. Go to my house and knock. Give this to Maude, my maid, she will let you wait in the drawing room.’ She took a card from her reticule and scribbled a few words. ‘You know where I live, don’t you? You were there last night.’

  ‘I know. I saw you come back, but you looked so tired, I didn’t have the heart to approach you then.’

  ‘Go. Please, just go.’ She gave him a little push. ‘I cannot be seen with you.’

  ‘No, of course—I hardly fit in, dressed like this.’ He smiled wryly and waved a hand to encompass his breeches and boots and somewhat dusty coat.

  That was not what Sara meant, but she nodded and turned back to the ballroom before Francis had even vanished around the corner of the building.

  ‘Are you well?’ Lucian was at her side, his broad shoulders shielding her from the crowded room. ‘I saw you go outside—is it too hot for you?’

  ‘I—’

  I should tell him, ask him to come home with me and then talk to Francis with Lucian at my side. But would he understand?

  Inevitably, the reason for the duel would come up. Would Lucian think less of her? It was cowardly to fear the truth, but she could not help it. And Francis was no threat to her. That was the one thing she was certain of. Whether she was a threat to him remained to be seen.

  Michael…

  ‘It is hot, isn’t it? But I am well.’ She went up on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, ‘But too jealous to watch you succumbing to the charms of Miss Wharton in her primrose silk.’

  ‘It is a close call to choose between you both,’ Lucian said, straight-faced. ‘But as I have fallen deeply for your mother I can make the decision based on a comparison of mothers-in-law and there is no contest in that case.’

  ‘Wretch.’ Sara poked one finger into his flat stomach, surprising a grunt from him. ‘Dance with me so I can make all the other ladies jealous.’

  ‘They must be already,’ Lucian murmured, caressing one long finger down her cheek, then cupping her face tenderly. ‘You are the most beautiful, the most accomplished, the most elegant lady here.’

  ‘And you, my lord, are the most arrant flirt!’ If she didn’t think about Francis until she got home she could do this, appear natural and relaxed and happy—and deceive Lucian.

  *

  ‘May I come in?’ he asked as he gave her his hand to help her from the sedan chair and walked her to her door. ‘This morning was bliss, but very quick bliss. I would very much like to spend the night making up for that…slowly. I will come round to the back gate so no one will see me go in. That would be more discreet.’

  ‘Lucian—I am sorry, but not tonight. Do you mind very much? I had such a bad night last night. Tomorrow—come for luncheon and then you need not leave at all.’

  ‘Of course.’ His kiss was quick as they stood in the shadows, then he took her latch key and waited until she was inside before murmuring, ‘Good night and sweet dreams, Sara.’

  ‘I will try and dream of you,’ she promised as she shut the door.

  Maude came out into the hall at the sound of the door closing, but Sara held up her hand for silence, leaning back against the panels until the sound of Lucian’s footsteps faded away down the street.

  ‘Did a gentleman call, Maude?’ she said at last.

  ‘Yes, my lady. He showed me your card and I put him in the drawing room. I gave him a light supper, my lady, and the decanters. I hope I did right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Maude. He is an old friend from Cambridge.’ Which did not explain receiving him at night. She took a deep breath. ‘Maude, that is the man who fought the duel with my husband.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘My lady! Shall I call the constable?’ Her maid caught at her hand, tried to pull her towards the front door.

  ‘No, he is quite safe to be with.’ Sara freed herself and patted the other woman’s hand in reassurance. ‘It was an accident, Maude, a horrible accident. But I need to speak with him before all of society knows that he is back. I would like you to sit in the dining room, if you would, and we will leave both doors ajar. I am quite confident that will be adequate, but I would not like Lord Cannock to think I was unchaperoned.’ Lord Cannock was probably going to resemble one of Congreve’s military rockets going off when he found out about this, but she would deal with that when she had to.

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ Maude said dubiously as she took herself off to the dining room, leaving the door wide open.

  Sara did not give herself time to get any more nervous than she already was. She tossed her evening cloak and reticule on to the hall chair and went straight in.

  Francis got to his feet, a brandy glass
clenched in one hand. ‘Sara. Thank you for receiving me. I would not blame you if you never wanted to see me again.’

  ‘I do not know how I feel.’ She sat down before her shaking knees betrayed her and forced herself to look at him. ‘I just want to hear what you have to say and then, I think, I will ask you to leave.’

  ‘Of course.’ He sat down again. ‘We were both drunk that evening, you know,’ he began abruptly. ‘I could not believe it at first when he challenged me, Michael had always been so scathing about men who fought duels. But I had been such an idiot, I knew it as soon as I opened my mouth and all that nonsense came out, I could hardly blame him. I was too proud to apologise, can you imagine? If he was too proud to back down, I was far worse.

  ‘But I knew I had to delope, whatever he intended, whatever he did to me. It was all my fault that it had come to such a pass and besides, I couldn’t hit a barn door with a pistol if I threw the thing at it. That was the trouble, I suppose, my utter hopelessness with a gun—’ He broke off, scrubbed his hands over his face, then swallowed hard as though forcing his stumbling words to come out in some order. ‘I aimed wide, as I intended. The white handkerchief dropped, Michael deloped, fired into the ground, and I twitched, I think, at the noise and with nerves and I stumbled and the gun went off. And…’

  ‘And he was dead, shot through the heart,’ she finished when his voice gave out. Strange that she could say it so steadily, but there seemed to be a cold emptiness where her own heart should be.

  ‘Yes. And George Harper, my second, said he had to get me away, off to the Continent, because the coroner could bring it in as murder, or unlawful killing at the very best, and I could hang. The doctor had already made a bolt for it, there was nothing he could do and who can blame him, he didn’t want to be an accessory. Jimmy Philips, Michael’s second, said he didn’t think I had done it deliberately, but he agreed with George that it wasn’t safe to chance it, so I ran.’

  Sara could imagine him, white-faced, stark with the horror of what he had done, driving at breakneck speed through the early morning light. While Michael lay still and cold in the dew in a Cambridge meadow.