Rhonda Woodward (12 page)

The wind whipped again, and Miss Brandon’s wails rose with it.

“Miss Brandon, I’m so sorry, I cannot imagine how dreadful you feel, but we should think about returning,”

Miss Brandon only cried harder, rocking back and forth on the bench.

“I love him so much! Why? Why did he do this?”

“I do not—”

“Good God, Eugenia. What is wrong?”

Marina whirled around to see Lord Cortland and Mr. Penhurst, both on horseback not fifteen yards away.

Lord Cortland swung off his horse, tossing the reins over a low limb, and approached his cousin, his charcoal greatcoat swinging behind him. He sent Marina a questioning look and she could only respond with a helpless shrug, her hands wide.

He knelt before Miss Brandon and said in a gruff tone, “Here I thought I’d find a wounded animal. What is wrong, Genie?”

“I am wounded!” She raised her red, puffy face to him. “I thought he loved me! How could I have been so wrong?”

His frown betrayed surprised bemusement. “I’ve been telling you this all along.”

This set her off on another gale of sobs.

“I must say, that isn’t the least helpful,” Marina said with some asperity.

Lord Cortland tugged off his gloves and cast her a look of utter exasperation. “What would you have me say, Miss Buckleigh? She knows Sefton is a profligate cur, why is she behaving as if she hasn’t heard this a dozen times before?”

“Profligate?” Miss Brandon fairly screamed. “You’re a fine one to talk. He doesn’t gamble as much as you do!”

“I understand the odds and can afford to lose when they turn, that’s the material point. Good lord, Eugenia, cease this crying and let me take you back to Ridgeton Abbey.”

She shoved his hand away. “No! I am not going anywhere with you! You are worse than Grandfather, you do not care whether I’m happy or not.” She ended this on a sobbing wail, burying her face in her muff again.

“Happy?” Lord Cortland muffled a curse. “You haven’t developed enough sense to know what would make you happy if you think running off with that fortune hunter is the thing to do.”

“Oh! You are the coldest, most heartless thing I’ve ever met!”

Lord Cortland appeared unmoved by this slur. “Come. You have plagued Miss Buckleigh enough. Let us return.”

Miss Brandon jumped up and began rapidly walking in a direction that neither led to Buck Hill or Ridgeton Abbey. “Stay away from me, Fitzhugh. I hate you.”

“I say, Cortland, you didn’t handle that at all well,” said Mr. Penhurst from atop his horse.

Lord Cortland slapped a glove against his thigh. “I daresay I have little experience in dealing with such foolishness. Maybe she will wear herself out, and gain some sense.” He directed this last bit loudly to Miss Brandon’s retreating back.

“Leave me alone!” Miss Brandon shouted over her shoulder, continuing to move rapidly away.

“I shall follow along and make sure she gets back to the Abbey,” Mr. Penhurst offered. “Good day to you, Miss Buckleigh. Please convey my regards to Lord and Lady Buckleigh.” He made her a creditable bow, then urged his horse to trot after Miss Brandon.

This left Marina doubting her ability to control her mortified rage against the man standing next to her.

Chapter Twelve

Such was the state of her emotions, Marina could not trust herself to maintain her composure, so without a word, she stalked off toward Buck Hill.

Lord Cortland retrieved his horse’s reins and strode over to her. They descended the slope in silence, the wind continued to whirl, and the dark clouds that only a few moments ago seemed far away, now moved to block the sun.

“Well, Miss Buckleigh, I’d say the day has taken a turn. Thank you for your forbearance with my foolish cousin. At least, I hope things shall return to normal, for which her family will be most grateful.”

Marina bit her tongue for a moment before replying. Her humiliation did not come from Mr. Sefton’s caddish behavior. No, Sefton had her contempt, her disappointment. This gnawing feeling of mortification came straight from the odiously condescending Marquis of Cortland. That he had known of Mr. Sefton’s perfidy all along, and had been laughing at her could hardly be borne.

“I do not find Miss Brandon foolish, only very hurt and disillusioned. I do not blame her.”

“She will get over it soon enough. At least she sees him as the dowry-hunting jackanapes he is. No doubt he’s already looking around for another fortune to woo.”

“I’m sure he still has hopes of hunting mine,” she said with more acid in her tone than she ever recalled using. “My portion is not quite forty thousand, but a bird in the hand as they say.”

He dropped the reins and moved to step in front of her, causing her to halt abruptly.

“Would you care to explain why you seem so angry?” His expression was impassive, his tone polite, but his eyes smoldered dangerously in the overcast light.

She glared back, feeling her anger growing as the last few minutes continued to sink in. “How can you ask? From the moment you arrived, you knew of Sefton’s intention to elope with your cousin. Every time you saw him speaking to me, or . . . or waltzing with me, or whispering to me in the church, you knew he was false and you didn’t say a word.”

He took a step closer, watching her face intently, his arching black brows furrowed. “In truth, Miss Buckleigh? All this heat from one moonlit waltz and a few cow-eyed looks?”

“Ooh,” she gasped in rage, clasping her hands tight within her muff. “You are insufferably arrogant. When you came onto the terrace and found me dancing with Mr. Sefton, you knew what he was and said nothing.”

His frown grew fiercer, his gaze moved to her lips as she threw this at him. “True. I challenged him, but he refused to meet me on the field of honor. The coward.” The amusement had left his voice, replaced with a bite.

“A duel? I have heard you are fond of the activity. You told me before that you do nothing unless it ensures your pleasure or amusement. You’ve certainly proved it, my lord.”

The cool, unperturbed expression returned but a dangerous gleam lurked in his eyes and she could not look away. Her breath came faster as her anger continued to grow. She felt mortified, worse, she felt inexplicably hurt. How stupidly foolish she had been to think that beneath the odd tension that existed between them there had been something else—a kind of strange understanding.

He took a step closer, but she held her ground and suddenly felt engulfed by the sheer maleness of him. Her gaze took in his broad shoulders, narrow waist, traveling down to buckskins that did nothing to hide heavily muscled thighs. Quickly, she brought her eyes back to his, feeling breathless and angry and strangely exhilarated. It wasn’t only the chill wind that made her shiver.

“My dear Miss Buckleigh,” his low voice vibrated through her body. “I couldn’t share the whole ridiculous tale with you; you didn’t know me from Adam. But from our first conversation, I knew you were not taken in by his honeyed words.”

The ache in her heart increased at the mild amusement in his words and she took refuge and relief in the towering anger driving her to lash out.

“Did you? All along, you have not bothered to hide your enjoyment of this appalling situation. And I was in the dark. I
could
have been in love with him. Never in my life have I been treated so shabbily and I will never forgive you for it.”

She paused and took a deep breath, shocking herself by throwing her muff to the side. It was either that or throw it at him, and she’d already lost too much of her dignity.

In a flash, his powerful arms were around her body. She gasped, stunned beyond measure at the sudden intimacy of his hard body against hers, but she did not pull away.

His eyes roamed her face. “Such is your beauty and manner that for the rest of your life dandies and beaux will trip themselves to flatter you. Why would I blame you for enjoying yourself? But do not lie to yourself or me by saying you could have been in love with that whelp.”

Before she could absorb the full meaning of his words, his warm lips were on hers, shocking her to the core of her being. The world swirled and she closed her eyes against the dizzying feeling, snaking her arms around his neck as if that was where they were meant to be. Firmly, gently, his lips moved over hers, slanting them open. She felt one hand move to the small of her back, drawing her closer.

Deeply, searchingly, his lips held hers in such an intimate caress her knees trembled. Slowly, a nameless need melted through her body, warming her, settling heavily in the pit of her stomach. Shifting again, his arms tightened even more, bearing most of her weight as she surrendered to growing passion.

Mindlessly, her hands traveled down well-muscled arms then back up to his shoulders and around his neck. Needing more, she arched against him and felt rather than heard his muffled groan.

The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, hungry. Exploring, demanding his lips drew from her sensations and emotions that held her in thrall. Time evaporated and she continued to kiss him back, reveling in the heady feelings.

Only when his hand came up to the side of her breast did she pause, feeling a distant alarm. As if sensing the change, he pulled back slightly, dragging his lips from hers.

“Marina—”

The sound of her name so huskily spoken made her pause, and with half-open eyes, she stared into his passion-filled gaze. As much as her vanity, even pride, may have been hurt over Sefton’s perfidy, this was something else.

Breathing heavily, she stared into his striking eyes with a sense of wonder. Nothing in her life had prepared her for even the possibility of this stirring need, this wordless want. This feeling was worlds away from moonlit waltzes and starlit skies. This overwhelming feeling had everything to do with him.

He continued to gaze at her with smoldering, confident eyes, and the chill wind brought a wave of self-consciousness.

She was Miss Buckleigh of Parsley Hay, he was Lord Cortland of gambling and duels, and scandalizing his family to the point of being cut off.

Lord Cortland, cool and unflappable, always standing back and watching them all with barely concealed amusement, held her against his hard body.

Still wrapped in his arms, she knew he felt the pounding of her heart. It hit her how dreadfully out of depth she was and she had no clue how to reach the shore. She may have looked silly over Sefton, but something deep within her warned that she was in real danger with this man.

She pulled away, praying she wouldn’t stumble on her weak knees.

Somehow, within her dazed thoughts, she understood that it was not concern for her reputation that made her pull away from Lord Cortland the way she pulled away from Sefton during their waltz. Primal fear of being hurt in a way she instinctively knew she could never recover from made her jerk from his arms.

Gathering her self-control and dignity with a ragged breath, she wished she could think of something cutting that would leave him speechless.

“Lord Cortland, this situation is completely untenable. I have nothing more to say to you, and you certainly have nothing to say to me.” Her voice caught at the sharp pang of loss that seemed to come from nowhere.

Speculation now gleamed in his eyes. “That is not at all how I see the situation, but we’ll leave it at that for today.”

She turned from the easy, confident voice, unable to reply.

It took all her will not to run.

When she finally reached the manicured hedges that bordered the formal garden, she could not stop herself from turning to look back. Her heart lurched when she saw him still standing where she left him, next to his horse, his head bare.

He was too far to see his expression, but even from this distance, she could see his proud, powerful stance. She now knew what that power felt like, and her heart pounded anew.

With effortless ease, he swung on to his horse as if he’d been watching to ensure she returned home safely before he rode away.

But Marina did not immediately return to the house. Confusion kept her walking through the formal gardens for some time, her head spinning with what had transpired in the last hour.

Raising trembling fingers to her lips, she wondered if she looked as different as she felt.

Lord Cortland had kissed her, and she had kissed him back.

For those few moments, before the world had intruded, it had felt amazingly wonderful to be held and kissed by him—to feel his desire and to feel her own surge to match his.

She pushed these overwhelming thoughts away, telling herself she had more immediate problems.

Like what to say to Lady Meredith about why her daughter had not returned with her.

Knowing she could wait no longer, she entered the house and crossed the foyer, pausing before the drawing room door to remove her bonnet. With a poise born from desperate panic, she put a pleasant smile on her face and swept into the room, almost losing her nerve when they all turned to look at her.

“Why, Marina, where is Miss Brandon?” her mother asked in surprise.

“We met Mr. Penhurst and Lord Cortland on our walk—they were coming to call—but Miss Brandon began to feel a bit ill and so the gentlemen offered to escort her home. They send their compliments, Mama.”

“Oh?” Mama looked at her closely but said nothing more.

Marina smiled at Lady Darley and Lady Meredith. The latter gave her such a sharply penetrating look that Marina was sure she suspected a fib.

Deirdre sent her an odd look and pulling her gaze away, Marina sank into a curtsy. “Please excuse me, but my boots got quite damp and I should change.”

“Of course, my dear,” her mother said with a nod.

“Good afternoon, Lady Meredith, Lady Darley.” She smiled brightly as the ladies acknowledged her farewell with smiles.

With great effort, she left the room at a serene pace. Once the door closed behind her, she ran across the foyer and up the stairs.

***

Marina managed to avoid her family for the rest of the day, claiming a headache from walking too long in the cold. During supper, the conversation was solely on the preparations for the hunt, which was now only two days away. Marina was most grateful for Papa’s steady conversation for she could think of nothing to say. Before long, she excused herself to go to bed early.

During the night, she lay awake in the firelit darkness of her bedchamber and found it easier to stay angry with Lord Cortland than to dwell on her unexpected feelings.

After all, the kiss meant nothing to him. There had been such confidence in his kiss, she recalled with a shiver. And she was not such a green girl as to believe he had not shared intimacies with any number of women.

Lord Cortland was a rakehell and a cad—well, not a cad exactly, in all fairness, she would leave that insult to Sefton—but disdainful and arrogant. He would rather watch her make a cake of herself, as if enjoying a play, than have told her the truth about Sefton. This galled her deeply.

Before exhausted sleep finally claimed her, she sent up a near-incoherent prayer that Mr. Penhurst’s guests would cut their visit short and take themselves off, never to be seen again.

The next morning, with a new resolve to behave with dignity and circumspection, Marina bathed and dressed in a lavender-gray morning gown and made her way downstairs.

Papa was not at breakfast, which was not unusual for this sporting time of year. Mama and Deirdre talked of all the ladies they would entertain while the men rode to hounds in a few days, but Marina felt too subdued to join the discussion and only picked at her breakfast. Despite her resolve, she could hardly think of anything but yesterday’s disturbing events.

Reliving the moments when Lord Cortland held her so close brought a fresh wave of heat to her face. How dared he, the dreadful man!

She could not look on her own behavior without a hot blush, and could only add to his list of offenses that he had the vexing ability to bring out the worst of her character.

Holmes came in to interrupt her thoughts, and with great ceremony usually reserved for honored guests, he intoned, “Miss Marina, his Lordship would like to see you in his library as soon as may be.”

Marina felt herself gape at the butler, then turned a baffled, questioning eye to Mama.

“Goodness my love, your bemused expression does you credit.” Her smile was conspiratorial, furthering Marina’s confusion. “Now run along, do not keep your father waiting.”

Deirdre giggled and said, “Aren’t you excited, Marina?”

“I daresay I might be if I knew what was going on.” She left the breakfast room and took the main hallway to the library, which acted as her father’s office as well.

Never before had he stood on such ceremony with his daughters. A sneaking guilt over her behavior with Lord Cortland had her feeling apprehensive. What if one of their neighbors had perchance to see her in his arms yesterday?

That could not be it, she decided, for Mama would not have looked so pleased a moment ago.

Upon entering the large room, she saw him seated behind his large desk, fingers steepled, obviously waiting for her. “You wished to see me, Papa?” No matter how she tried, she could not quash her nervousness at her father’s unprecedented behavior.

“Yes, my love, sit, sit,” he gestured to the wing chair in front of the desk. “I see you are confused, but I considered that this occasion warranted some formality.”