Promise Me Tomorrow (26 page)

Cecilia’s eyes widened in shock, and she stared at him, speechless.

“You seem to be suffering from the delusion that I have offered for you. But I have not, and I never will. You are a shrew, and I would as lief shackle myself to a lunatic as to you.”

“But…but…” Cecilia sputtered. “We have always known. It was assumed—”

“By you, perhaps. By your parents. Probably even by mine. But none of you have the decision to make. It is mine. And it is my decision that we should not suit.” He whipped back around and started up the steps.

“You can’t!” Cecilia shrieked. “You cannot do this! Everyone knows—”

“If everyone thinks that we are to marry, then I assume that it is because you have been spreading that tale around, and you have no one but yourself to blame for that error. You know as well as I that we have never even spoken of marriage.”

“We did not need to speak of it!”

“If it was something we intended to do, I think that, yes, we did. Oh, there were moments in my life, when I was feeling particularly low or cynical, when I would say that someday I would probably fall into marriage with you, simply for want of any viable opportunity. But having seen you the last few days, particularly this evening, I have realized that anything, even growing old alone and dying heirless, is preferable to being married to you!”

Justin turned and stalked up the stairs, leaving Cecilia staring, dumbfounded, after him.

H
E STRODE DOWN THE HALLWAY
to his room. What he wanted to do was to go to Marianne’s room and see if she was all right. Truth be known, he would have liked to stretch out beside her in bed and fall asleep, cradling her in his arms all night long. But that was out of the question, of course, with Cecilia there watching him balefully.

It was all too likely that someone else might see him slip into Marianne’s room, even if it was not Cecilia. There were still too many people up and around. For all he knew, given Marianne’s frightening experience, Penelope might even decide to spend the night with her.

He was thoroughly disgruntled when he entered his bedroom, and he sent his valet away as soon as the man had helped him off with his boots, saying, “For God’s sake, man, stop fussing. I am quite capable of undressing myself, and these clothes won’t be any worse for lying on the floor for a night.”

His valet turned quite green at the thought, but he left, his head resolutely turned away from the sight of Justin un-knotting and ripping off his own cravat. Justin stripped quickly, dumping the filthy clothes in a pile on the floor and kicking it aside, then settled down in the tub that the valet had prepared for him. But even leaning back in the steaming water, he could not quite relax. His thoughts kept tumbling furiously.
Damn Cecilia for her insinuations!
It galled him to hear her speak about Marianne that way; he had wanted to take the witch by the shoulders and shake her ‘til her teeth rattled. The fact that she had been right about his intentions toward Marianne did nothing to alleviate his anger.

No one should think about Marianne that way!
He frowned, thinking how everyone had been quick to assume that her reputation was damaged. He had squelched it for the moment, but he knew that the doubts still lingered in everyone’s minds. Even Bucky had assumed that he and Marianne had had an assignation and had simply gotten caught by the cave-in. He wondered if he had made the wrong decision in withholding the information about the man who had arranged the cave-in. He did not want to let the villain know that they were on to him—however much the fellow might worry and suspect it, he could not know for sure that they were looking for him among the guests. On the other hand, it made his blood boil to think of everyone here looking down on Marianne and assuming that she was a loose woman.

It occurred to him that if he set her up as his mistress, everyone would think of Marianne exactly that way. The thought of women like Cecilia snubbing her and gossiping about her, labeling her, infuriated him.

Of course, once she was set up as his mistress, she would not move in these circles; she would not have to see the stares or hear the gossip. She would not be attending the same soirees or balls as these women; they would have no chance to snub her.

But even as he thought the words, he realized, with a heaviness in his chest, that he did not want Marianne to be ostracized from such places. He wanted to be able to dance with her at balls, to drive her in his phaeton through Hyde Park, to squire her to afternoon calls and the opera. More than that, he suspected that Marianne herself would be miserable in such a situation. She had become accustomed to the social round; he thought she would miss it very much—just as she would miss her friends, Penelope and Nicola.

It occurred to him for the first time how unfair it was that he could keep a mistress without being spurned by Society, yet that same mistress would be cut dead. It would seem, then, that the only way to handle it was to see her in secret, to let her continue her life as it was and to sneak meetings together whenever they could.

He grimaced, sliding down in the tub to wet his hair, and began to lather and scrub with such vigor that his skin was soon quite red. The idea of carrying on a secretive affair did not appeal to him. He wanted to buy Marianne a pretty little house for her daughter and herself. He wanted to take her out of the dangerous criminal life and give her a life of ease. He wanted to see her whenever he liked, unbound by social conventions. He wanted, in short, to have her for his own.

Worst of all, how was he to protect her from this unknown enemy who threatened her?
He had no right to do so as things stood now; his only obligation was that of the heart. And he was well versed enough in the rules of Society to know that if he appeared to take over such rights, that, too, would expose Marianne to gossip. Such gestures, assuming the rights of a husband, would indicate to the world that he intended to marry her. Then, when he did not, she would be shamed.

For just the briefest of moments, the thought of marriage skittered across his mind. He pushed it away and surged to his feet, grabbing a towel and beginning to vigorously dry off. He was a fool, he told himself, thinking with his loins. The Marquess of Lambeth, the future Duke of Storbridge, did not marry because he desired a woman. Marriage was a duty one performed for the sake of the family. One must produce heirs and assure that the legacy of the family would go on, and one’s bride was chosen on the appropriateness of family, position and wealth. Bloodlines were important, but passion did not enter into it, not for people like him. Love was never even spoken of.

Justin shook his head, angry with himself. He was acting like a moonstruck fool—worse than Bucky, even, for he knew exactly what the situation was with Marianne. The future Duchess of Storbridge could not be a thief, a woman who did not even know who her parents were.

He flung himself on the bed, scowling, and wrapped the cover around him. It was time he stopped thinking such foolishness and concentrated on the matter at hand—how to catch the man who had almost killed them both. Everything else would happen as it should. As it must.

J
USTIN WAS AT THE BREAKFAST
table the next morning, obviously dawdling over a finished plate of eggs and bacon, when Marianne came down, and he jumped to his feet when she entered. Their eyes met, and Marianne hastily dropped hers, feeling a flush creep up into her cheeks. Just the sight of him was enough to make her remember what they had done yesterday—and to make her want it to happen all over again. Hoping that the servants could not read her thoughts in her face, Marianne sat down, primly unfolding her napkin and laying it in her lap, smoothing and adjusting it until she felt she had her face sufficiently under control.

“How are you this morning?” Justin asked, his voice low. “Any ill effects?”

Marianne smiled at him, unable to tamp down the glow in her face. “No. None.”

His eyes darkened, and he leaned forward, about to speak, but just at that moment Mr. and Mrs. Thurston entered the room, and Justin sat back. He struck up a conversation with them, and Marianne soon realized that he was trying as delicately as he could to find out something about the man’s past. Marianne, for her part, tried to ignore her wayward thoughts and concentrate on reading Thurston’s face for any sign that might show that he was her enemy.

Breakfast set the pattern for the day, which they spent largely conversing with everyone they could, sometimes together, but more often separately. Marianne often felt Justin’s eyes on her from across the room, and she noticed that he rarely strayed far enough away from her that he could not see her. The few times he did so, she realized some time later, was when she was in Lord Buckminster’s company. She realized, with a feeling of warmth, that Justin was watching over her.

Though it pained her to do so, Marianne spent a large part of the day talking to Sophronia. Boring though she was, the woman was a veritable treasure trove of gossip. She was at first a trifle cool toward Marianne—whether for the scandal of Marianne’s long day in Lambeth’s company or for Lord Lambeth’s set-down of her later, Marianne was not sure. However, the availability of a ready ear was more than she could resist, and she was soon chattering away in her usual manner. It required some skill and persistence to keep her talk from veering off onto matters concerning herself, but Marianne managed to do so and was rewarded with a wealth of information about almost everyone there.

At the end of it, however, Marianne was not sure that any of it was useful. According to Sophronia, practically all the men present had sown far too many wild oats in their youth, her own husband apparently being the exception. A few probing questions elicited the fact that several of the men had sisters, but Sophronia related no scandal concerning any of them. The more she talked, the more Marianne began to wonder if such information was going to be of any help to her anyway. The idea that she was the illegitimate offspring of one of the men or of his dishonored sister was, after all, merely supposition on their parts. Moreover, if they were right, it hardly seemed likely that the matter had been the subject of scandalous rumors, or her attacker would not be trying so hard now to cover it up. So it was not likely that they would learn the truth by digging up old gossip.

Discouraged and wearied by an afternoon spent listening to Lady Merridale, she went upstairs to dress for dinner. She opened the door and stepped inside—and jumped, barely stifling a scream, when she saw the man sitting waiting for her.

“Justin!” she hissed and quickly shut the door behind her, turning the key in the lock. “What are you doing here? You nearly scared me to death!”

“I’m sorry.” He rose and went to her, pulling her into his arms. “But I thought I was going to go mad if I didn’t have you to myself for a few minutes.”

Marianne melted against him, more than mollified by his explanation, and raised her face to his. They kissed for a long, satisfying time.

“I wasn’t sure how you felt,” she murmured. “I was scarcely with you all day.”

“I couldn’t trust myself to be around you,” he replied huskily, bending to kiss the curve where her neck joined her shoulders. “It would hardly have been discreet to do this in front of everyone.”

He illustrated his point by sliding his hand sensuously down her back and over the curve of her hips. He kissed her again, pressing her pelvis into his, and she felt the sudden flare of heat in his body. Murmuring something unintelligible, he kissed his way across her face to her ear and nibbled at the lobe, sending sizzling darts shooting down through her, where they exploded into heat in her loins.

Marianne let out a moan, sagging in his arms, and his mouth left her earlobe and moved down her neck, coming to rest on the soft, quivering top of her breast. Wrapping his arms around her beneath her hips, he lifted her from the floor and walked her back to the bed. They tumbled down upon it, lost in the sudden inferno of their passion. Justin’s fingers went to the buttons at the back of her dress.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, punctuating his words with kisses across the tops of her breasts. “Not in the darkness.” He raised his head and gazed down at her, his eyes burning into hers. “I want to see your face when your reach your peak,” he said hoarsely.

Marianne felt her loins turn liquid at his words. He saw her response in her eyes, and he let out a soft groan and buried his mouth in hers.

A tapping at the door made them both start, and Justin raised his head, cursing softly. Marianne tried to speak and could not. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Yes? Who is it?”

“It is I, Penelope,” came the reply. “I was going down to dinner and I thought I would see if you wanted to walk down with me.”

“Oh. Ah, well, I would love to, but I haven’t finished changing yet,” Marianne replied, pushing herself up to a sitting position.

“All right. I’ll wait,” Penelope told her. “Nicola isn’t ready yet, either. I will be in my room whenever you’re ready.”

“Fine. See you in a moment.” Marianne glanced over at Justin and almost burst out laughing at the expression on his face. She leaned across the space that separated them and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I have to go,” she whispered. “She will think it extremely odd if I don’t. We have gone down to dinner together nearly every night. Penelope hates walking into a crowd of people by herself.”