Loving Lady Marcia (23 page)

The act was sensual.

Bold.

And damnably possessive.

So she did something that shocked her to the core. She reached over and laid her hand on the flat, hard plane of his belly and inched it down until it rubbed satisfyingly over his full arousal.

She could see his surprise and then how he struggled for composure.

“You minx,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder.

When a great drum rolled from the orchestra, she removed her hand, and folded both of hers in her lap. She waited to feel heady with power over the man who’d done her wrong all those years ago.

But when she looked steadily into his eyes—eyes that had minutes ago been filled with worry and love for Joe—she saw that beneath his façade of command, the earl was … good heavens, he was as vulnerable as she.

She was surprised to feel herself drawn to him. It wasn’t what she’d intended at all.

“We
will
talk of the Duke of Beauchamp,” she whispered. “But maybe not quite yet, hmm? We’ll wait until the intermission.”

The intermission she’d originally planned to spend with Finn. How easily she’d let that notion go.

When she looked back at the stage, she tried to convince herself that the earl was the vanquished one tonight. Not she. But something in her had changed. Something in her didn’t want to hate him so much.

Something in her wished things could have been different.

Chapter Nineteen

Something had happened between Duncan and Lady Marcia in the dark of the theatre. After her bold move, they’d locked gazes, and for the life of him, he couldn’t have looked away if someone had held a pistol to his head.

And she’d stared at him as if seeing him for the first time.

“I’m sorry if this staying behind puts a damper on your social life,” she told him uneasily when the lights came up for intermission.

“I don’t mind a bit being trapped here with you.”

She blushed and looked away. He lounged carelessly in his seat as they both watched the rest of their party stand and prepare to exit the box.

Out of respect, everyone waited for the marquess and marchioness to go first, even though they were the farthest away from the throngs of people gathering in the corridor.

“We’re so glad you’re with us,” the marchioness said to Finn with a smile. “You, too, Lord Chadwick.”

Duncan allowed Finn to profess his thanks first, then he followed suit.

“We should have done this ages ago,” the marquess said. “But of course, we couldn’t as you weren’t with us, Mr. Lattimore. You must come to dinner and tell us all about your years in America.”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Brady echoed him.

That could become a very prickly conversation, Duncan knew, but he accepted on behalf of both of them for the following week.

“Prepare to stay long,” Lord Peter told Finn with a grin. “We’ll ask a million questions.”

“All at once,” Lord Westdale explained. “You might need to bring a horn to be heard.”

“I look forward to the inquisition,” said Finn.

And Duncan knew he really did. Despite his leaving Richmond in disgrace, Finn would manage to come up with all sorts of thrilling—and perhaps inappropriate or exaggerated—tales to relate. They’d have to rehearse what he could and could not say.

But that was Finn. And Duncan … well, as a boy, he used to love those stories his brother could tell. All Finn needed was to turn a corner … to take the best of who he’d been as a boy and leave the childish parts behind.

Every day, Duncan hoped Finn would take that next step.

“Aren’t you coming?” Janice turned at the door to the box to ask her sister.

“Perhaps in a few minutes,” Lady Marcia told her.

“Lord Chadwick? Shall we wait for you outside?” Lord Westdale asked.

“No, thank you,” Duncan told him. “I’ll keep your sister company.”

“Right,” said Lord Westdale with a grin. “I’m not keen myself on pushing my way through the hoards, only to spend a quarter of an hour not hearing a word anyone says.”

“Might as well stay with Marcia,” Lord Peter said on a yawn.

Lady Marcia sent her younger brother a basilisk stare.

Duncan chuckled. “I agree that the crescendo of the performance seems to come at the intermission, Lord Westdale.” Then he turned to Lord Peter. “But I’m far from resigned when I choose to stay behind with your sister.”

He saw her pretend to be distracted by something in her reticule, but that telltale pink still clung to her cheeks.

“Well, I, for one, am anxious to walk off the headache all this caterwauling on the stage has given me,” Lord Peter said with great frustration beneath his mop of hair.

“Here, here,” said Finn, and held out his arm to Lady Janice without showing any disappointment at the fact that Lady Marcia was staying behind.

Lady Janice accepted his escort gracefully, a shy, pleased light in her eye. “I won’t say a word on our promenade, Mr. Lattimore,” she said indulgently. “Not if you have the headache, too. Not unless you ask me to.”

Lord Peter was the last to exit the box. “She’ll never be able to keep
that
promise,” he whispered back to Lady Marcia and Duncan before he entered the throng of operagoers.

When they were alone, Duncan exchanged an amused glance with her. “Lord Peter is at that age at which he still says whatever is on his mind and teases his sisters in public. Don’t take it too hard. He’ll stop by next year, and you might find you rather miss it.”

“Will I?” She gave a theatrically weary sigh. “I failed to mark that transition with Gregory. I’ve seen him every summer, of course, but it happened while I was away at Oak Hall. One summer he was just like Peter, and the next”—he saw her expression grow tender—“he’d grown up.” She looked at him with her fathomless blue eyes. “When Peter grows up, I’ll still have Robert’s teasing to enjoy.”

Duncan laughed. “You’re lucky to have such a large, loving family.”

“I am, aren’t I? But you have your brother. And Joe.”

“I do,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m very sorry about what’s going to happen tomorrow with your maid.”

“I am, too.”

Her reticule slid from her lap, and all too soon, their brief, companionable interlude dissolved into a tense silence when they both bent to pick it up. Their fingers touched, and she pulled swiftly away, as if stung by a bee.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her face pale.

“It’s perfectly all right.” He craved another caress of her through that pale blue satin, and he wanted to tell her that she was beautiful. But he daren’t.

The bold Lady Marcia who’d teased him with her explorations in the dark had disappeared.

“My brother is obviously enjoying himself with your sister,” he said to get past the awkwardness.

“It’s difficult not to enjoy Finn’s company.” Her mouth tilted up a tad.

Would she ever smile at Duncan the way she smiled at everyone else?

“And your sister?” he asked her. “What’s she like?”

She pursed her lush lips and thought for a moment. “Janice is intelligent, creative, and rather complicated. She tends to feel awkward, occasionally. I think part of her is very shy.”

“Well, it must be difficult to have an older sister who’s so confident … and beautiful.”

“Thank you, my lord, for the compliment, but we’ve never been competitive. Janice and I understand each other.”

“I hope she understands that Finn isn’t the serious sort.”

“Oh, I think she knows.” Her tone was droll.

“Good. I wouldn’t want her to be”—how should he say it?—“starry-eyed about him.”

The way he knew
she’d
been about Finn. He was quoting from her speech she’d given him the night of the Livingstons’ ball.

“Janice is very sensible in her own way,” Marcia replied. “But you know what?” Her chin went up. “It’s a pity being starry-eyed is a liability. A woman should be able to fall in love. Deeply and unconditionally. Without fear.”

“I agree,” Duncan said. “But the reality is a woman has to be cautious. Some men are undeserving of that love. I count my brother among them, at least for now.”

“Why would you say that?” He sensed she was trying to keep a careless tone but there was an intensity about her, all the same.

“He still has some growing up to do. He thinks only of himself.”

Her pupils darkened, and her hands clenched in her lap. “Perhaps he would have grown up long ago,” she said in a trembling voice, “if you hadn’t intervened and set his course anew at the precise moment he was learning to love another.”

Duncan felt a stab of shock at the accusation, followed by a hurt he wouldn’t dare reveal. “What the devil do you mean?”

This.
This was the conversation Marcia had been waiting to have for four years!

In the vast interior of the theatre, in a drafty box visible to hundreds of people, she felt a solitary figure—alone, exposed—as a fierce emotion she couldn’t name gripped her.

“You cut him off at the knees,” she said, and took in a shaky breath.

The earl’s face darkened. “Excuse me?”

“You sent him to America,” she explained impatiently. “Against his wishes. We were young, yes, but in love. Who knows what could have happened if he’d been able to stay on this side of the Atlantic with the love and support not only of his brother but from me? Perhaps he wouldn’t be the selfish man you know him to be today.”

“Damn him,” he said softly, staring at her. “Damn him to all hell. I should have known. I should have—dammit, I should have been paying attention.”

“What?”

He sat silently for a few seconds. She could sense the anger and shock—as well as the self-loathing—coming off him in waves.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

He looked steadily at her. “Finn begged me to go to America from Ireland.”

“Wh-what?”

“I wasn’t going to send him for another year. Even two.”

She had to look at the floor, absorb what he was saying. She couldn’t take it in. There was the noise from the corridor and the orchestra pit, the blank quiet of the stage … all pressing down on her. She peered over the box at the colorful crowds, slowly moved her gaze past the sweep of red velvet curtain on the stage, and then looked back at Lord Chadwick, who eyed her with grave concern.

“He—he lied to me?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he said softly.

She closed her eyes.

Finnian Lattimore had lied to her.

Lied
.

And she’d spent years mourning the collapse of their love affair.

She opened her eyes and sucked in a trembling breath. What a waste. What an awful waste.

Worse, she’d hated his brother for it.

“You must have despised me,” Duncan said, seeming to read her thoughts. “Is that why you were so brusque that day I found you in the dressmaker’s shop, and why you’ve appeared to barely tolerate me since? You thought I’d arranged to have him leave you?”

She nodded, unable to speak, still trying to digest what he’d said.

“I’m so sorry.” He put his hand over hers and squeezed. “So, so sorry.”

“No,” she whispered, and gulped. “
I’m
sorry.” She gazed blindly around her again and finally focused on her slippers.

“You didn’t know,” Duncan said. “You were a young girl. You trusted him.” He squeezed her hand once more and withdrew his gently.

But it was as if she were living that pain over again. Seeing Finn in a whole different way. She stood.

Duncan stood, too. “Where are you going?”

“To tell him how wicked he is.” He’d never wanted to be with her. He’d used her body, played with her emotions, lied and told her they’d run away and marry at Gretna Green—and then in a cowardly move, had tossed her aside.

“Don’t.” Duncan grabbed her wrist. “Not here. I know why you want to do this, but you’ll be the one who comes off looking the fool. Think of your reputation. Of your family. Please, Marcia. I don’t want you hurt again.”

She closed her eyes and tried to take in his words.

He was right. Of course.

She blinked and walked on unsteady legs to the front of the box—as far from the exit as she could get—and turned to him. “Why were you fighting over me the other night? Right before the Livingstons’ ball?”

He hesitated a fraction of a second. “Because I knew he wanted to renew your relationship. I didn’t trust his motives. He’s a flirt. With no future.”

Why had he paused?

“Is that all?” she asked.

“Isn’t that enough?” Lord Chadwick’s eyes bored into hers. “I wanted to protect you from him. I promise you that I won’t let this cruelty of his go unpunished.”

“No,” she flung back. She felt the rise and fall of her chest as she struggled with her indignation and her need to voice it. “This is
my
fight.”

“Very well, my lady,” he said quietly, his expression shuttered.

She strove for calm. “I’ll let your brother know what I think of him … at a more opportune moment.”

And then slowly, with her back ramrod straight, she brushed past the Earl of Chadwick and returned to her seat, trembling because she longed to barge through the crowd, to push Finn on his chest, to scream at him how horrible he was to have deceived her so.

But she couldn’t. She could only sit there and be aware that he was charming her little sister somewhere out in the corridor. And in a moment, he would return to the box, a ready smile on his face. And next week, he would come to dine, and her family would ooh and aah over his American adventures.

How droll life was sometimes. How unfair. And wrong.

Chapter Twenty

Marcia couldn’t tell anyone. That was the most difficult part of all. When she returned home from the opera, she could barely make it to her room without revealing her angst.

“Don’t ask,” she whispered to Kerry, then stuck her fist to her mouth to keep the sobs at bay. She managed to do so, but it took everything she had.

Pale-faced, Kerry undressed her in silence, pulled down Marcia’s counterpane, and helped her into bed.

“Shall you read, my lady?” the maid asked.

“No,” Marcia whispered. “Blow out the candle, please, and tell anyone who asks that I have the headache.”