The Impossible Ward (25 page)

Eagerly she accepted Justin’s assistance in descending from the chaise, relieved to have her feet planted more or less firmly on the ground once more, though after hours of swaying, she was equally grateful to have the support of her son’s arm as they climbed the short flight of steps to the front entrance.

As footsteps sounded within the house it suddenly occurred to Justin that he had forgotten to warn his mother about Clara. He glanced quickly at her smiling but pale countenance and his lips parted, but it was too late. The door was opened by the stolid Clara who betrayed neither surprise nor pleasure at the unexpected appearance of two peers of the realm. She flicked one impassive glance at Lady Lunswick before addressing herself to the marquess.

“So it’s you again.”

He waited for an instant, but the grunted comment evidently constituted the servant’s entire greeting.

“Good afternoon, Clara, how charming to see you again,” he said suavely, not daring to look at his parent. “My mother and I have come to see Lady Marianne. Is she at home?”

“Miss be down at t’barn.”

“I see, and Mr. O’Doyle?”

“T’master’s asleep in his study.”

“And of course you have your instructions not to waken him.” Ignoring his mother’s astonished glance, Justin prudently inserted his foot in the door to prevent a complete repetition of the events of his first visit. Already a sense of unreality was beginning to creep over him.

“If my mother might come in to await Lady Marianne?” he suggested. “The journey has left her somewhat fatigued.”

After a swift but searching look at the silent marchioness, Clara stepped back readily.

“Ah’ll fetch ’un some tea.”

Lady Lunswick smiled tremulously. “Thank you, Clara, that sounds wonderful.”

To the unqualified amazement of the marquess, the dour servant actually stretched her lips in a grimace intended as a smile and led the way into the cozy parlor he remembered, where she left them abruptly, presumably to get the aforementioned tea. There was a small fire in the fireplace which his mother approached with a thankful cry. After a moment or two of relishing the fire’s warmth on her ungloved fingers, she stepped back slightly and raised understanding eyes to her son’s rigid features.

“Do not just prowl about this room like a caged tiger, dearest. Go out and find the girl! I shall be quite content to sit by this lovely fire and drink as much tea as that fierce old woman cares to provide.”

He grinned boyishly in a sudden release of tension and swooped down to plant a teasing kiss on her nose. “You are honored indeed, Mama. Clara has taken to you. Someday I’ll tell you about
my
initial reception at her hands.”

His mother smiled complacently. “Yes, you shall, dearest, and also about your initial reception at
Marianne’s
hands. That is my price for enduring one of the more wretched experiences of my life on your behalf, and in company with Norris for additional punishment. Now, go!”

The walk past the hen house and dairy to the barn was much the same as before, contributing to his feeling of unreality, though he noted there was no lantern light flickering over the door this time. Either the days were growing longer or he had arrived at an earlier hour. However, there was the black clad figure just as he remembered her. He watched her quietly while she finished the milking, and remained in the doorway when she lifted the brimming pails and prepared to leave. The light was behind him so she could not have identified the shadowy figure blocking the doorway, but she gasped and jerked to a halt, unmindful of the stream of spilled milk this movement caused.

“Oh no!” she almost moaned, terrified that a month of seeing images of Justin in her mind, and being tortured by regrets that she had not accepted what he could offer instead of demanding the impossible, had culminated in delusions of his presence.

“You don’t seem overjoyed to see me.”

His harsh words shattered the spell of terror conjured up by her imagination. She strove for outward control.

“Justin! It really is you. Why have you come?”

“To resume our final conversation.” He took a step closer and Marianne steeled herself to stand her ground, though her glance hovered no higher than his chin.

“There is nothing more to be said on that subject.” She heard her own words with dismay, knowing there was nothing she wished more than to reopen that conversation, and wondered if she had taken leave of her senses.

“I beg to differ with you. It is because my mother has shed some additional light on the matter that we have come to Yorkshire, so that I might reopen the subject. Surely you will agree that such measures—”

“Lady Lunswick is with you?” interrupted Marianne breathlessly. “Oh, I must instantly go and welcome her. We can talk later.” She moved forward impetuously, but came up against six feet of immovable masculine object.

“We’ll talk now,” he grated, removing both pails from her grasp.

Without warning the rigid control, imposed it seemed for an eternity, fell from him and his tensile fingers gripped her soft arms with numbing strength. Marianne was absolutely still in her surprise, staring at his suddenly pale countenance, enlivened only by a flame deep in the amber eyes. There was a white line around his compressed lips and a muscle twitched in his cheek.

“God, Marianne!” he groaned hoarsely. “If you had the slightest conception of how long and how desperately I’ve wanted you, you would not, could not...” He clamped his teeth on whatever he had started to say, bent his head, and fastened his mouth to hers, ruthlessly ignoring her startled protests. Then all awareness of time and place, even daylight, was blotted out by the surcharge of intense sensation that union of lips created. If any other man of her acquaintance had kissed her with such consuming passion, the action would have induced a state of panic in such a green girl that would have sparked a mad struggle for escape. But this was Justin whose lips were draining all the resistance from her body, Justin, whom her heart had recognized in that instant of meeting, and for whom it had beat ever since, disregarding all contrary advice from her intelligence. Thoughts of flight never entered her head. She was drowning in a painful ecstasy and it was not cognition, but pure instinct that caused her to melt within those steel bands, allowing them to enfold her in an even closer embrace.

When at last he raised his head a few inches to stare down into her bemused face, she was intensely grateful that he had released only her mouth because her trembling limbs would not have borne her weight unaided. His eyes alight with tender triumph, he said softly, “After that response, never try to deny that you love me, for you would only brand yourself a liar, my darling. I don’t believe I can call to mind any action of my entire life that was so singularly satisfying. Do you not think it demands repetition?”

Her color had risen while her eyes fell before the ardent light in his, but at this she unselfconsciously raised her face, no thought of coy denials in her head.

He kissed her thankfully, tenderly, then as her hands slowly crept up and fastened behind his neck, exuberantly, before sobering suddenly. He kept his arms close about her but raised his head and studied her face, a shadow of remembered agony still darkening his eyes.

“Marianne,
why
did you refuse me?”

Now her eyes briefly reflected the memory of pain. “Because I overheard you agree with Andrew that it might be a good idea to marry me to save yourself the trouble of turning away fortune hunters.”

“What nonsense is this? When did you hear such a thing?”

“The day before I left Lunswick Hall. You had just refused Aubrey’s request to pay his addresses to me. You and Andrew were in your study, joking about suitors beating a path to your door when I made my come out.”

“Now I remember. But, my darling, if you heard so much you must also have heard us agree that I had thought of nothing but marrying you almost from the moment we met.”

“No! I was so upset to hear you speak so casually about wedding me that I simply ran away.”

“If you had stayed a little longer we’d both have avoided a lot of misery.” His eyes searched her face intently and he questioned softly, “Has this past month been as terrible for you as it has for me?” Tears misted her vision and she could only nod silently.

“Marianne, there is nothing at all casual about the way I care for you. You must believe me! I love you completely. Will you marry me?”

Again she merely nodded, but those magnificent violet eyes glowed with happiness. His eyes devoured her face, exulting in the knowledge that he was responsible for the radiance therein. He was shaken by such incredible beauty, and filled with a gnawing impatience to possess her entirely, mind, body, and spirit.

“Don’t make me wait, my darling. Say you’ll marry me soon. I do not think I can survive another month like this last one.”

An infinitely tender smile curved her lips. “There will never be another month like the last one, my dearest, because we are sure of each other now, though it is going to take a little time for me to get used to the idea that you really do love me the way I love you.” She bit her lip and confessed, “I did not want to love you, Justin. I tried not to because I was so afraid you did not want a real marriage.”

“Little coward,” he taunted lovingly, giving her a gentle shake. “You do not yet know your own power. I can see you will take a deal of convincing over the next fifty years or so, and as far as I am concerned, the sooner I am allowed to begin the task, the better.” He gathered her closer and murmured, “You might begin to convince me of your sincerity also, my love, before we tell your grandfather and my anxious mama our good news.”

Blushing rosily, but shyly eager to oblige, Marianne caressed his cheeks with light fingertips and invited his lips with hers. After a mutually convincing and satisfying interval, the arrogant marquess and his impossible ward wandered with arms entwined back along the path toward the house, leaving behind two nearly full, but totally forgotten, pails of fresh milk.