The Hired Wife (31 page)

“And you’d have
hung for it if you didn’t flee to the continent. How would that
have helped?”

“Three other
people would be alive.”

“It wouldn’t
have saved Alyce from herself. If she hadn’t married Morley I dare
say she’d have married someone like him.”

“I told her
Morley was bad. I told her to stay away from him…”

“I know.”

The darkness
was turning to milky shadows when Marshall shuddered into silence
with a deep sigh. Feeling his full weight slump against her, she
relaxed assuming the regular breathing meant he’d fallen asleep.
With her hands tucked into his hair, she was half asleep when a
long deep groan rumbled through her breastbone. “Perfect Woman,
what have you done?”

She jerked
awake. “What?”

“What have you
done?”

“Donne? What
have I done?”

“You reeled me
in like a dumb fish; I couldn’t see the hook for the worm.”

“I did no such
thing.”

“You did! I
swallowed the bait and got a hook in my lip and now I’m
waiting…praying you won’t throw me back.”

Mary forgot she
was sleepy as her heart started dancing. Her husband suddenly
lifted himself off her and shifted his heavy warmth until his lips
were warming her right ear. Was he going to kiss her? Was he going
to tell her that he loved her? “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said you
walked into that office…” The man fell silent as he warmed his nose
in her hair. “You walked into that office and cast a spell. You
parted the clouds. You called down the sunlight. You created
poetry.”

“I don’t
remember doing anything but praying you’d hire me.”

“Ah, you looked
at me and longed to be a part of my life.”

“I longed to
sit at your table and eat your food.”

“Wicked
Mermaid, you swam up to my boat and taunted me with your magic
hair.”

“Magic hair?
Why is my hair magic?”

Her heart
threatened to go up in flames as he sighed into her ear. “I can’t
tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it
would prejudice your answer in two months time.”

“I don’t see
how it could.”

“I can. I want
an honest answer. You’ll have to wait.”

“I think it
would be better if you told me now.”

“I think you
should close your eyes and go to sleep because I’m not going to
tell you for two whole months.”

“Don’t be
silly; just tell me why my hair is magic.”

“I need
sleep.”

“Marshall, I
can’t wait two months! I might forget to ask again. You might lose
a chance to influence my heart. You might regret not telling
me.”

“Not likely…”
The smug words were muffled against her shoulder.”

“You’re
taunting me! Couldn’t you give me a hint?”

“Merry
mine…”

“Is that a
hint?” With a soft grunt he pulled his hand from underneath her
waist. Folding it up against his chest he rested it between her
breasts. “Marshall…?”

“Mine.”

“About my
hair…” Another deep sigh and the masculine lips against her ear
went slack with sleep. Lying still, Mary relished the pleasure
caused by the warmth and weight of the man holding her in his
sleep. It wasn’t difficult to imagine spending the rest of her life
as Mrs Marshal Godfrey, but did she love him? She lightly caressed
his hair causing her companion to sigh, ‘Merry mine’ in his sleep.
She smiled at the unconscious endearment as she wondered how anyone
knew if they were in love. Did she love her husband? She could
easily argue yes or no, but either answer would be prejudiced by
her situation. Her pride might blind her true feelings; it might
insist she couldn’t marry the man because she didn’t come from his
world. It might insist she couldn’t marry him just because she was
afraid of starving to death. On the other hand, she could persuade
herself she loved him because she enjoyed his kisses. She could
persuade herself she loved him out of fear of hunger or loneliness.
She wanted to love him, so how could she ever know her answer was
sincere?

She felt
confused and irritated with herself; other women had no difficulty
knowing their hearts. Did she love Marshall? The question appeared
impossible to answer. She felt panic as she wondered how she’d give
an honest answer in two months time. A strange thought flitted
through her mind, ‘ask yourself a different question’. Mary’s heart
burned with approval as new questions started popping into her
mind; could she ever be unmoved by his sapphire eyes? No. Could she
walk out of the sleeping man’s life and be at peace with her
decision? No. Could she be happy knowing some other woman was being
held in his arms and called his merry wife? No. Even if he repaid
her services with a large fortune that ensured she could live like
a Queen, would she be happy to leave him? No. What was the point of
jewels and silks without smiling sapphire eyes? Did she want to
remain his wife? Yes. Did she love him? There was only one
answer.

The feeling of
elation made her want to laugh out loud as she pressed her lips
against the sleeping man’s cheek causing him to mutter in his
sleep. Smiling through tears of relief, seemingly random words
began to tumble into her mind; no determination, honour, eternal
cold, yourself’s decease, coming end. The words had a Shakespearian
flavour. She waited for the words to arrange themselves into a
familiar poem, but her tired brain wouldn’t give up the answer. It
was a puzzle that demanded completion. She was unaware of sleep
slipping a black hood over her head as the words followed her into
her dreams. Everywhere she looked there were words in strange
places; etched into a silver teapot, embroidered on cushions,
painted onto portraits of smiling children with sapphire blue
eyes.

Marshall opened
his sore eyes to see a feminine ear draped with stray strands of
honey. The memory of her comfort flooded his mind as he savoured
the sensation of being imprinted with the woman he loved. He’d
imagined countless times what it would be to like to wake and find
Mary in his arms, but finding her half underneath him… Pleasure
sluiced through his veins heating his insides with longing. Her
soft smile and even breath spoke of pleasant dreams. Was he causing
that smile? He hoped so. Marshall carefully rose up on an elbow and
watched her chest rise and fall before allowing his eyes to examine
her face. Could any Beauty have a more pleasing countenance? His
lips slid into a smile as he imagined waking his wife with a kiss
and convincing her to let him make her position permanent. The
smile slid from his lips as he hissed curses on his impatient
heart; the longer he remained in bed the harder it would be to
resist remaining. Giving in to temptation would only bring
rejection. Ignoring his head he leaned over and lightly kissed her
lips hoping she’d wake. Her lips flickered into a smile as if the
caress sweetened her dream. Marshall groaned in frustration as he
hissed more curses on his luck. He would fall in love with his
hired wife after telling her that he didn’t intend to consummate
the marriage. Could he have said anything more stupid? Sighing in
resignation Marshall carefully extracted himself from the bed
without waking his companion.

Standing near
the fire, he watched her turn on her side revealing her long honey
coloured braid. He smiled as he remembered her wanting to know why
her hair was magical. What part of her wasn’t magical? When she
stepped into a room time seemed to waver. When she smiled at him he
felt like the only man in the world. The sight of her hair flowing
free framing knowing eyes made his insides melt and his knees
buckle. He’d beggar himself; he’d give her everything he owned if
it would convince her to stay, but he knew she’d refuse it. She’d
turn the offer down and explain it was against one of her personal
rules. If he was really unlucky she’d use the same rule to walk
away from his kisses even though she wanted to stay. No, she
wouldn’t be so silly, she couldn’t. He had to believe that in two
months she’d look into his eyes and tell him that she loved
him.

He hoped he was
being quiet as he moved the large folding screen in front of the
fire and set about his morning ablutions. After shaving he peered
around the screen to see she was still sleeping. His pillow called
like a siren. Pulling on his trousers he firmly buttoned his front
flap over his voluminous shirtsleeves and pulled on his boots. A
wistful sigh escaped his lips as he watched her roll over in her
sleep; grabbing a coat from the wardrobe he reluctantly closed the
door behind him.

In the
breakfast room the three eldest Smirke brothers were trying to
cheer a melancholy Lady Morley whose spirits had been crushed by
the discovery she was a beautiful seventeen year old girl in an
ugly old woman’s body. Sitting down, Marshall helped himself to a
cup of tea and a pile of toast. Attempting to make polite
conversation he asked Cecil Smirke if their father was still abed.
The young man leaned over and said into his ear, “He’s rowed Robert
and Cosmo over to the Island to see the castle.”

“Have you seen
Buckingham?”

The three
Smirke brothers looked at each other and then back to Marshall.
“Bucky said he was taking Emily for a drive…”

There was
something about the way the three brothers looked at each other
which hinted that it wasn’t a drive around the lake. “Is he driving
her to Scotland?”

Cecil coughed
on a mouthful of toast before looking up at Marshall with wary
eyes. “Bucky did mention something about Emily having a desire to
buy some tartan.”

Marshall
scowled at the young man. “She went out for a drive to buy
cloth?”

Cecil Smirke
looked at his brothers, but they stared back unhelpfully silent. “I
suspect Lady Emily will be visiting a helpful Smithy before
choosing the tartan. Was her mother Scottish?”

“No, did Aunt
Beatrice accompany them?”

“There wasn’t
room. I should think with all of Buckingham’s sisters in the coach
no one will think for a minute it’s an elopement. You don’t look
angry.”

“If that’s what
she wants, good riddance!”

Cecil visibly
relaxed. “We weren’t to tell you ‘till this evening in case you
thought to ride hell for leather after them. Lady Emily left this
for you.” Cecil took a folded letter out of his pocket and put it
next to Marshall’s plate. Marshall set down his tea cup and broke
open the sealed letter.

Bucky and I
are eloping. Please don’t try to stop us. I know we just buried
Alyce and I should wait a year for mourning, but I love Bucky and I
want to be his wife. Since Alyce is dead can I have her dowry? I’d
like Bucky to be able to say his wife brought him sixty-thousand
pounds. Love, Emily.

Cecil Smirke
leaned towards Marshall with curious eyes, “What does she say?”

“That you
should mind your own business.” Marshall folded the letter and
shoved it in his pocket as he stood.

“She said
that?”

“No I say
it.”

“I was just
curious. Do you need to be distracted from thoughts of Alyce? We
could play cards or charades…”

“I need to be
alone.” Marshall abruptly left the table and headed for the
library. Finding a comfortable chair he sat down and stared at the
distant scene out the window as he tried to order his feelings.

Marshall was
lost in thoughts of Mary when something yellow flickered in the
corner of his left eye. Turning his head he stared in dismay. His
wife was in her dressing gown, her long honey braid flicking like a
snake as she energetically searched the bookshelves. He blushed as
she bent over to peruse lower shelves revealing a good twelve
inches of bare calves. Had his wife taken leave of her senses? Even
if Morley was dead, one of the Smirke’s might have been sitting in
the library. He scowled at the thought of any other man seeing her
bare legs. As she bent over again to examine the bottom of another
shelf, poetic words sprang to mind echoing her movements making him
smile. Everything about her was poetic, even the way she tipped her
head.

Her search
ended as she pulled a small thin book off the shelf and stood there
carefully turning pages. Marshall’s eyes ached with pleasure as a
ray of light tunnelled through the dusky library, bounced off a
mirror over the mantel and showered his beloved in sunlight. The
constrained honey braid down her back glistened with every slight
movement of her head while the folds of her buff yellow silk
dressing gown shimmered in repose. He could almost believe the
Italian Renaissance artist, Caravaggio, had returned with angelic
palette and brushes to dab her into life. He sighed with longing
causing the honey to glisten as she raised her head and turned in
his direction. Her cautious polite expression melted into a beaming
smile that made him forget everything, but the restrained ache of
desire. He dumbly watched her dance over to his chair to smile down
at him as if to reassure him that it was for him alone. He mutely
tapped his thigh hoping she’d accept his invitation to come
closer.

Marshall
grunted in delight as buff yellow silk crunched into elaborate
angles as she folded herself into his arms still clutching her
book. “Good morning Marshall.”

“It wasn’t good
until you proved real…Pygmalion. I swear you’re a masterpiece
brought to life by Aphrodite.” She blushed with pleasure and
accepted his burning gaze with an expression that made his heart
beat an expectant drum roll in his chest. “If you weren’t mine, I’d
be sick with envy.”

His wife
blushed with pleasure and wiggled closer. “And if you keep looking
at me like that I’ll start believing you.”

“Believe it;
even Morley, that limb of Satan, envied me.”

“Let’s forget
he ever existed. I’d much rather you wooed me with a poem.
Something about the goddess of love would be appropriate.”