Promise Me Tomorrow (27 page)

“How nice that she has appointed you as her guard,” Justin retorted sarcastically.

Marianne chuckled and slid off the bed. “It won’t hurt you to wait,” she told him teasingly. Even though she, too, wanted badly to continue what they had been doing, there was a certain pleasure in seeing the frustration on his face and knowing how much he wanted her.

“That’s what you think.” He stood up reluctantly. “I suppose I had better wait until you’ve left with her.”

“Well, if you’re going to be here,” Marianne told him, “you might as well make yourself useful and be my maid.” She turned and presented her back to him, where a long row of tiny buttons marched down her dress.

“What are you trying to do, kill me?” he asked, but his hands went readily enough to the buttons and began undoing them.

It was pleasantly erotic to feel the whisper of his fingers on her back as he unfastened the buttons. Unconsciously Marianne smoothed down her dress, her hands sliding over her breasts and stomach. Justin bent and kissed the exposed nape of her neck, not pausing in what he was doing.

“May I come to your room tonight?” he murmured in her ear.

Marianne nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. Justin hooked his hands in the neck of her dress and pushed it slowly down over her body, letting it fall to the floor. Marianne leaned back against him, her eyes closing in sensual pleasure. He caressed her body, his hands sliding over her breasts and stomach, as he trailed long, velvety kisses down the line of her neck and across her shoulder. A deep quiver ran through her, and she thought that if he asked, she would slide down on the floor and make love with him right then and there.

But after a moment he stepped back from her and pulled a dinner gown from her wardrobe. Carefully he lowered it over her head and began to do up the myriad small buttons in the back, his fingertips brushing now and again against Marianne’s bare skin. When he reached the top buttons, he bent and kissed the skin that he would cover up before buttoning them. He looked up into the mirror, his eyes meeting Marianne’s there. His face was softened by desire, his mouth wide and sensual.

“I won’t be able to take my eyes off you this evening,” he told her.

“Justin…” Marianne turned to face him, her hands going up to his shoulders.

“No. Don’t make it any harder,” he said, with a tight smile, stepping back. “I shall enjoy looking at you…and thinking about tonight.” He nodded toward the door. “You had better go now.”

A
LL THROUGH SUPPER
, M
ARIANNE
was aware of Justin’s eyes on her, as he had said. She barely paid attention to the conversation of her companions, merely sat, nodding and sipping at her wine or picking at the food on her plate. Afterward, sitting in the drawing room with the other women, waiting for the men to return, was almost intolerable for her. All she could think about was Justin. She wondered how soon she could make her excuses and go up to her room without it looking odd.
How long would it be before Justin came to her bed?
He would have to wait, she knew, until everyone else had retired in order to be safe. But, then, he obviously had boldly walked into her room this afternoon when there had been the chance of servants or other guests happening down the hall and seeing him, so perhaps he would take the chance and come earlier.

She waited in a fever pitch of excitement, not daring to look at him for fear everything she was thinking would show on her face. As soon as Mrs. Minton rose to retire, Marianne jumped up also, declaring that she was rather tired, as well. She walked upstairs with the older woman and went into her room, ringing for a maid to help her undress. The girl seemed to take forever to come, and while Marianne waited for her, she took down her hair and began to brush it out.

The maid arrived after a time and helped Marianne out of her dress and into a nightdress. It was the sheerest and least plain of any of the nightshirts Marianne had brought with her, but Marianne, looking at her reflection in the mirror, wished that she had brought something a little more exciting with her. A simple scoop-necked white cotton gown that tied with a ribbon was hardly what she would term seductive.

She poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher that stood by her bed and took a few nervous sips from it as she paced. After a moment, she turned down the bed and sat down to wait. She yawned. What seemed like only moments later, she jerked awake, glancing around the room in a startled way.
Surely she had not fallen asleep!
Given the state of her nerves, it seemed preposterous. But somehow she could not keep her eyelids open. They fluttered and closed, and in a moment she was asleep.

Marianne drifted in darkness.
She was a child again, and her father was carrying her up to bed. She smelled the scent of his tobacco and the wool of his coat. She smiled faintly and snuggled closer to him. Dear Papa! Now he was rocking her in the white rocker in the nursery, and she was swaying, swaying, and there was the rhythmic slap, slap, of the rockers hitting the floor. She wanted to open her eyes, but she could not.

Then, shockingly, she was cold and falling.

Marianne’s eyes flew open as the cold water hit her face and she went down into the darkness, unable to breathe, and the water closed over her head.

I
NSTINCTIVELY
M
ARIANNE BEGAN TO STRUGGLE
even as she sank beneath the water. Her mind was not really quite conscious as she scissored her feet and dragged her arms down, shooting her head up above the surface of the water. She flailed around clumsily, gulping in air, her mind groggy. Slowly she turned in a circle, blinking the water from her eyes. She saw a small boat, a dark figure hunched over in it, rowing rapidly away from her. She drew a breath to scream at him to stop, but at the last moment something stopped her, and she made no sound.

Nothing made sense—she did not even know where she was—and it was a great effort to think. Her body took over, making the movements to keep her afloat, movements that she had always seemed to know. She had been one of the few children at the orphanage who had known how to swim. She had not known when or how she had learned; she had simply enjoyed the few hours she could steal in the summer when she could go down to the river and swim. Somehow it had always made her feel better. It had been years now since she had done it, but the knowledge came back easily, without even thinking.

She started to swim after the boat, arms and legs moving a little jerkily, but then, with animal cunning, she stopped swimming, drew a deep breath and stretched out into a float, her face in the water. She held her breath as long as she could, then rolled to the side, gulped in another deep breath, and returned to her motionless float. She continued the process for three more breaths before she lowered her feet and began to tread water as she looked in the direction of the boat. Pale moonlight spilled over the water, faintly illuminating the small dock in the distance and the rowboat beside it. She could see no person anywhere about.

Marianne rolled onto her back, floating, looking dazedly up at the stars and the almost full circle of the moon. Her brain still felt fuzzy and slow. But at least she now realized where she was. She was in the middle of the large pond at Buckminster. If she turned around to face in the other direction, she could see, almost equidistant from her, the small white summerhouse where Justin had taken her. Both the dock and the summerhouse were a long swim away, and she was terribly weary. She wanted only to sleep, and her water-soaked nightgown was heavy, pulling her down.

She turned onto her stomach and began to swim toward the dock. She made slow progress, and her mind kept drifting toward sleep. She came to each time she sank into the water, and she fought her way to the surface, spluttering and splashing. The nightgown was weighing her down, she knew, so she began to struggle out of it, treading water until finally she managed to pull it off over her head. She released it, feeling lighter now, and began to swim again, heading toward a lower part of the yard that was closer than the dock. Her mind was somewhat clearer, and she swam with more coordination, but the water was chilly, and the cold seemed to penetrate her bones. Her teeth began to chatter. She wanted warmth; she wanted to sleep. Her arms and legs ached, and she began to fear that she would not make it to the shore.

She thought about Rosalind and what she would do without her, and it gave her renewed strength. She continued kicking, her arms cutting through the water, fighting off the demon of sleep. The shore gradually grew closer. Her movements slowed, her eyes began to close, her legs began to fall beneath her—and her shins scraped dirt. The water had gotten shallow this close to the edge of the lawn. Clumsily she staggered to her feet and lurched the remaining few feet to shore. The slope rose, and then she was on a stretch of mud, out of the pond. She managed a few more steps, then fell heavily onto her knees in the grass. Shivering and naked in the cool night air, she pitched forward and sank into unconsciousness.

“M
ARIANNE
! M
ARIANNE
!” J
USTIN’S
voice pulled her from her sleep. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“Justin,” she breathed. He was beside her on his knees, and had pulled her up into his arms, her head on his chest. Marianne leaned weakly against him and began to cry, unable to do anything but say his name.

“Hold on, love,” he said and laid her gently back on the ground. He pulled off his dressing gown and lifted her again, wrapping the heavy robe around her. Justin sank down on the grass beside her, holding her to him, his chest heaving. Marianne could hear the rapid pounding of his heart beneath her ear. The warmth of his dressing gown and his arms enveloping her was delightful, reviving her a little.

“Thank God,” he murmured over and over, raining kisses over her hair and face. “I thought you were dead. When I found that note—I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“I don’t—” Marianne struggled to organize her thoughts enough to speak. “I can’t think—I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Don’t worry. Nothing else will happen to you. I swear.”

He picked her up in his arms and carried her across the lawn and through the garden. He whisked her into the kitchen and up the servants’ staircase to her room. Once there, he set her down long enough to turn the key in the lock behind them. Then he pulled off the dressing gown and wrapped a blanket around her. After putting her into her bed, he climbed in beside her and held her, pulling the cover up over them both.

“Why…am I…so cold?”

“Shock, I think. And the water’s cool at night, even though it’s summer. Don’t worry. It will pass.”

He was right. The heat was gradually penetrating her bones, and her mind was becoming somewhat clearer. “But what happened? Why was I in the lake?”

“Someone put you there,” Justin replied grimly. “And I intend to find out who it was and stop him.”

“But how—why—”

“Shh. Don’t worry about it now. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Justin kissed her hair, smoothing it back from her face. “Damn! I should have had Penelope or Nicola sleep with you. It was my selfish lust that left you open to this. If your door hadn’t been unlocked so that I could get in, this would never have happened.” He released a few more heartfelt oaths.

“’S all right,” Marianne reassured him sleepily, her eyelids drifting closed despite her best efforts to stay awake. “I love you,” she murmured, then turned over and fell immediately asleep, leaving Justin awake and gazing into the dark, slightly stunned.

I
T WAS STILL DARK WHEN
J
USTIN
shook Marianne awake. “I have to leave now,” he whispered into her ear. “The maids will be up soon, and I can’t let one of them see me leave. Can you lock the door behind me?”

Marianne nodded and crawled out of bed, following him to the door. She locked it behind him, then returned to her bed and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She continued to sleep until long after the sun was up and sneaking in around the curtains. When she did finally awake, she sat up gingerly, realizing that there was very little about her that did not ache. Her eyes felt swollen, and the light hurt them. Her head was pounding. And every muscle in her body seemed sore. She sat for a moment, head hanging, trying to recall exactly what had happened. The effort was too much, and with a groan she sank back into the cushions.

It took an hour—and the help of the maid, who brought her a pot of tea and stayed to help her dress and comb the tangles from her hair—before she was able to leave the room and go downstairs in search of some answers. The only thing she was certain of was that she had almost drowned in the Buckminster pond last night.

She had barely reached the bottom of the stairs and started her search for him when she saw Justin striding purposefully down the hallway toward her. She raised her brows in faint surprise.

“There you are. I was just coming to look for you,” she said.

“I paid the maid to come tell me when you left your room,” Justin explained. “I could hardly lurk around outside your door without arousing comment, but neither was I going to allow you to roam around by yourself.”

“Tell me what happened. I know nothing from the time I lay down on the bed until I was in the water, drowning.”

“Let us go for a walk,” Justin suggested. “I have no desire to talk in here, where someone might overhear.”

So Marianne got her hat, and they went outside, taking a leisurely stroll down the long driveway, which was lined only with a series of tall trees spaced evenly apart, affording little opportunity for anyone to hide and eavesdrop.

“You were drugged,” Justin said, scowling, as soon as they left the house. “That is the only explanation. Otherwise he could not have hauled you out to the pond without your awakening.”

“Of course. That would explain my grogginess and how difficult it was to swim, too. I guess the shock of the cold water woke me up.”

“Thank heavens you are a good swimmer. And perhaps you did not ingest all of the drug.”

“How could anyone have drugged me?”

“It would not have been hard,” Justin said. “They could have slipped something into your food or drink at the dinner table last night. Who sat beside you?”

“Well, Mr. Westerton was on one side and Mr. Fuquay on the other.” She thought back, trying to remember. “I believe Mr. Minton was seated across from me, his wife on one side and…oh, Mrs. Thurston on the other. Do you think it was one of them?”

“Not necessarily,” Justin replied in a disgruntled tone. “Someone could have entered the dining room a trifle early, I imagine, and put something into your glass. A few drops of liquid or a little powder in the bottom of your glass probably wouldn’t have been noticed by the servants. The place card would have shown where you were going to sit. And if they made a mistake…well, no harm done other than giving someone else a good night’s sleep. Or the drug could have been in something else. Did you drink or eat anything later in the evening?”

“No. Oh, wait, I did have a glass of water before I went to bed.”

“In your room?”

Marianne nodded. “Yes. From the pitcher there.”

Justin looked grim. “It would have been absurdly easy to go into your room at any time during the evening and dose your water. The odds are you would take a drink sometime during the evening. And since the servants always put a fresh pitcher in the rooms late in the evening, he would have known when to do it. There’s no way of telling when he did it, and anyone could have slipped away from the rest of us for the few minutes it would take to do that.”

“How did you know where to find me last night?” Marianne asked. “How did you know he was trying to kill me?”

“It was pure luck.” He shook his head. “I went to your room—I could not make myself wait as late as I should have. And I saw, of course, that you were not there. There was a note on your bed.”

“A note! This man seems to specialize in that.”

Justin nodded. “I suppose it would have passed for your note under normal circumstances. It looked like a woman’s hand, and none of us would have known your handwriting well enough to say it wasn’t authentic. But I knew, of course, that you had not written it. You don’t make an assignation with someone for a romantic meeting, then run off and kill yourself. “

“Kill myself! But of course. That would be a handy way to get rid of me without casting suspicion on him. But why?”

“In the note, you apologized to Lady Buckminster and begged her pardon for putting this burden on her. But, you said, you could not live any longer with the stain upon your reputation, the cloud of scandal for having been trapped alone with me in the mine for so long. Since I refused to marry you, you were going to put a period to your existence. Fortunately, the note made an allusion to Ophelia, so I guessed that he meant to drown you. I ran to the pond…and the rest you know.”

“What am I to do?” Marianne asked, anxiety welling up in her. “Perhaps I should go back to London.”

“No.” Justin shook his head firmly. He looked at her and smiled, his lips curving up in a way that made her heart beat faster. “I say that not just because I don’t want to be without you the rest of the week. I think you would be in even more danger in London. Oh, perhaps not this week, for he could not leave without making it obvious who he is. But next week, in London, he would have much more opportunity to harm you than he does here. Any time you went out on the street, he could seize you, and you could not hide in your house forever. Whereas here, I can make certain you are protected. Penelope can sleep in your room at night—and you can lock the door. You were exposed to danger last night only because of me. If you hadn’t left the door unlocked for me…”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“I can and do. But it won’t happen again. Bucky or I will make certain that we are with you every minute of the day—or at least that Nicola or Penelope is. He wants it to appear an accident, so I don’t think he will do anything when anyone else is present. He will wait ‘til you are alone, or he’ll try to lure you away—which you will not allow to happen.” He gave her a stern look.

“No, I won’t,” Marianne agreed fervently.

“Good girl. It will be easier to catch him here, too.”

“I don’t see how,” Marianne said, a little hopelessly. “We haven’t a clue who he is. At least, I don’t. I didn’t learn anything yesterday—except a lot of useless gossip about people I hardly know. And it seemed as if the harder I studied people, the less I could tell about how they regarded me.”