The Lord and the Wayward Lady (18 page)

As she hoped, one of the baize-lined drawers held a number of handguns. Nell cautiously lifted the smallest out, not troubling to search for bullets. She had no idea how to load the thing and the thought of shooting anyone again—even the sinister Mr Salterton—turned her stomach. But he was not to know that.

With the weapon held under her heavy cloak, Nell walked boldly out of the front door, then took the path that led to the edge of the woods. It was only a few hundred
yards to the paling fence that acted as a barrier to the deer. Beyond it the woods were deep and seemingly endless, the grey trunks of the beeches rising straight, their roots tucked into a thick quilt of golden leaves.

Nell began to stroll along the boundary path, trying to look like a woman taking a walk, interested only in the vivid flash of a jay overhead, peering into the woods in the hope of seeing a deer.

After fifteen minutes of toe-numbing dawdling through the snow, Nell was convinced she was alone. A dog-fox trotted out of cover, saw her, froze, then slid back into the brambles. Behind her was the flutter of wings as the pigeons she had disturbed returned to their roosts. She was the only human to alarm the wildlife.

With a sigh, she turned her back on the woods and leaned against the fence.

‘Looking for me, Helena?’ a soft, lilting voice said, just behind her.

Nell closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer that she had some support; without the fence, she would have slid to the ground in shock.

‘Yes, Mr Salterton,’ she said, turning slowly to give herself time to compose her face.

And then it hit her: he had called her
Helena.
Not Nell, not Miss Latham, but Helena.
He knows who I am.

The lithe figure stood a few feet back from the fence, poised like the fox between cover and the open, and something in his alertness, the fluid lines of his body, reminded her of the animal.

He wore a loose coat with a blue shirt under it, a black-and-white spotted kerchief tied around his neck, breeches and boots. Good boots, she noticed.
But his collar was turned up and the brim of his slouch hat down, and all she could see of his face was dark eyes in the shadow and the curve of a sensuous, mocking smile.

‘A little rash of you, venturing out here alone,’ he remarked. Nell stared at him, intent on gathering every detail. Black hair, olive skin, the flash of gold from one ear lobe, ungloved hands with long fingers.

‘I think not,’ she said, producing the pistol and pointing it at him.

‘You can use that?’ He seemed amused, the flexible, musical voice sending an answering quiver through her, as though in response to a plucked string.

‘Of course. Lord Narborough insists all the ladies carry a pistol and we have been shown how to use them,’ she lied. ‘Why are you here? Why are you persecuting us?’

‘Persecuting?’ He was smiling, but his voice was suddenly colder than the air around her. ‘What do you know of persecution?’

‘A good deal,’ Nell retorted tartly. ‘Well? Have you a reason, or are you merely insane?’

‘Oh, yes, murderer’s daughter, I have a reason. I might even tell you about it. But not here, not with their lordships and that rake in uniform so close. You do not want them hurt, do you?’

‘No. No, I do not want anyone hurt. Where? When?’

‘You will know when. Come to the folly where your lover took you.’

Nell felt her face flame. ‘How do you know about that?’

‘I go where I like, I see what I like.’ There was a flash of white teeth as he smiled. ‘You have more passion than he deserves.’

‘You…Peeping Tom!’ Nell tried to recall how clear the glass had been in the window, feeling the blush flood from her toes to her hairline.

The dark man reached out and twitched the pistol from her lax grasp before she could react. ‘I do not need to watch others in order to get my pleasure,’ he observed calmly, checking the weapon and handing it back. ‘Is your lord’s weapon equally lacking in shot?’

Nell snatched it before their fingers could touch, wondering whether the snow was actually melting around her feet. ‘I will be at the folly.’

‘Of course you will,’ he said, with a flash of those very white teeth. ‘
Kay zhala i suv shay zhala wi o thav.’

‘What does that mean?’ Nell demanded. And what language had it been? But he had vanished back into the shadows, leaving only his footprints on the edge of the wood to show he had been there.

She walked back to the house, shivering a little with reaction and, she had to admit to herself, a little from the impact of Salterton’s personality at close quarters.

He was dangerous to life and limb, she knew that. He was also dangerous to women; she was in love with Marcus, and yet something sensual and primal in that amused, lilting voice and the movement of the fit, sensuous body called to her.

By the time she had returned the pistol and was peeling off scarves and gloves in the hall, her cheeks were pink with confusion, cold and guilt and her pulse was hammering.

‘Nell?’

‘Ah!’ She dropped her gloves and spun round. ‘
Marcus
. Oh, Marcus.’ And then she was in his arms in
the middle of the mercifully empty Great Hall, clinging as she might to a rescuer.

Oh, yes, this was who she wanted; this was the man she loved and desired. The dark man wove spells with his voice, but the magic vanished at the touch of reality. And Marcus was the reality and would be, she knew now, for the whole of her life.

‘Nell? What is wrong?’ His hand cupped her cheek, his eyes were dark as he looked down at her, and the warmth she saw in his expression was both sensual and gentle.

‘I missed you,’ she said without thinking, then realized it was the truth. ‘I went out for a walk alone, and I missed you.’

‘Why on earth did you go alone? It isn’t safe out there, Nell.’

With a sickening swoop in her stomach, she realized she was going to have to lie to him. She had been angry because he had not trusted her and now, when he gave that trust, she was going to betray it. But if she told him, they would set a trap and someone was going to get hurt—and it could be Marcus.

‘I needed to go out.’
Not a lie
, she consoled herself. ‘I was in sight of the house all the time.’ But her conscience could not be quiet.

‘The man has a rifle.’ Marcus pulled her tight to his body. ‘I dare not risk losing you, Nell.’

But you will, and I will lose you.
She clung without speaking, feeling the strength of him seep into her bones, sinking into the embrace. Safe and loved, all she had ever wanted, all she must give up.

‘Marcus,’ she said into the folds of his neckcloth, in
haling the scent of warm man and clean linen, a faint touch of cologne, a trace of wood smoke. ‘Marcus.’

‘Mmm?’ he murmured into her hair.

‘Will you come to my room tonight?’

‘Why?’

She tipped her head back so she could look up at him and managed to smile at the expression on his face. Desire, affection, love, purely masculine bafflement.

‘Because, just once, I want to know what it is to be loved by a man. I want to be with you. Just once.’

‘Nell.’ He set her back from him as though his touch would influence her. ‘I should say
no.
’ She held his gaze, her own steady until he smiled. ‘But I cannot. Are you sure?’

‘I have never been more sure of anything in my life,’ she said, feeling the calm certainty flood through her. ‘At midnight.’

A
s the clocks began to chime, Marcus stood outside Nell’s chamber door, his palms flat on the panels, trying to think with his head, not his heart.

He loved her. She did not love him and perhaps what had happened to her had convinced her that she never could love. Her belief in her parents’ happy marriage had been shaken by the discovery of her father’s infidelity. Her first experience of sex had been ugly, brutal and forced. And he had thrown his declaration at her in anger, mired in mistrust.

She desired him; that was a start, surely? But if she returned his love, what then? He could not ask her to become his mistress. One day he must marry; it was his duty. Could he abandon Nell then? Of course not—nor could he betray the wife he must take. Bad enough that he would come to her without love to offer.

Marriage. Marcus took a long, shuddering breath. Marriage and scandal, just when his sisters were making their come-outs. Scandal thrown in his father’s face
every time anyone recalled who his daughter-in-law was. And Nell would fight every step of the way.

The door opened so suddenly that he had to throw up his hands and grip the door frame to stop himself falling. Nell stood on the other side, looking up at him quizzically.

‘Are you going to stand there all night?’ Her hair was down, her feet were bare and she was dressed only in a long, white nightgown, innocent of so much as a scrap of lace.

Marcus found his voice from wherever it had fled to. ‘Possibly,’ he said warily. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I could feel you thinking,’ she said simply, as she turned and walked into the room. She stopped at the foot of the bed and faced him. ‘Have you changed your mind?’

‘I should,’ he confessed, holding on to the wooden uprights as though to a lifeline. ‘But I do not think I can.’

‘Good,’ she said and unfastened the three buttons at the neck of her nightgown.

‘Nell!’ Marcus almost threw himself through the doorway and shut the door behind him. ‘We should talk about this first.’

‘Why?’ She stooped and took hold of the hem, lifting it as she straightened.

Marcus tore his eyes away from the sight of her slim ankles, the curve of her calves, fought the memory of how her skin had felt under his hands. ‘Nell, I want you to marry me.’

She dropped the handful of cotton and gasped. ‘Impossible.’

‘Why is it?’

‘Leaving aside any other considerations, the scandal makes it impossible. You must see that.’

‘I see only a problem that I have not yet found the solution to,’ he said, suddenly certain that this was right. Impossibly difficult, but right.

‘You can make me love you?’ she questioned, the smile on her lips denied by the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

‘I can have a damn good try.’ Marcus heeled off his evening pumps and began to take off his coat. ‘And if I cannot do that, I will make you so dizzy with desire you will say
yes
anyway.’

Nell found she was smiling. There was something so recklessly confident about the way that Marcus spoke, something so far at odds with his usual thoughtful demeanour that she found herself believing him. It could be all right…somehow.

‘Before, in the folly, you stopped. What will be different now?’ she asked, watching in fascination as his waistcoat joined the coat on the floor and his neckcloth fell in a creased tangle on top.

‘Before, I was not determined to marry you. I thought I could make you my mistress and then I realized I could not, in all conscience.’

She shook her head, afraid to believe it might be possible, that he really meant it.

Marcus stopped, his fingers halfway down the fastenings of his shirt. ‘You don’t believe me, do you? Well, let me be sensible, prosaic even. I will take care not to get you with child tonight and if, when, this is all over, you still will not have me, then you will have a respectable trade, a shop of your own. I will not be making a fallen woman out of you.’ He broke off as she laughed. ‘Now what have I said?’

‘Nothing,’ Nell said, stepping forward to help with the shirt buttons. ‘Nothing at all. But you started frowning again because you were being sensible and prudent and thinking so much. I do adore your frown.’ She reached up and rubbed the groove between his brows as he chuckled.

‘I cannot imagine any other man feeling his heart leap for joy when his beloved said she adored his frown,’ he mused, tossing aside his shirt. ‘It is a start, I suppose. Nell, what are you doing?’

‘Looking,’ she said from behind him, laying her hands on his narrow waist just above the band of his thin silk evening breeches and smiling when he caught his breath. She ran her palms up his back, her thumbs dipping into the hollow of his spine, admiring the way his broad shoulders tapered to his waist, feeling the shifting muscle beneath the warm silk of his skin.

There was a light dressing over the bullet wound. Nell laid her hand over it carefully. ‘Is that still painful?’

‘Sore, if it chafes, but it is almost healed.’ Marcus shifted but she dodged to keep behind him, laughing as he swore under his breath. Then he feinted with a swordsman’s grace and caught her in his arms. ‘Tease.’

‘I am still looking,’ Nell protested.

‘You have seen my chest already.’ He reached for her nightgown and Nell danced backwards.

‘Take off your breeches.’

‘Stockings first.’ Marcus sat down on the bed and began to drag them off. ‘There are few things more ludicrous than a naked man in stockings.’ He stood up. ‘Now your nightgown.’

Nell shook her head. ‘I know what will happen the moment I take it off, and I want to look at you.’

There was colour on his high cheekbones. ‘Why?’ Marcus demanded, his fingers on the fastenings of the breeches. The thin knitted silk left very little to the imagination. He was finding this highly arousing, she could see, her pulse quickening.

‘Because you are beautiful.’ Nell bit her underlip and saw he was watching her mouth. She ran her tongue over the fullness just as his breeches dropped and he kicked them aside. ‘Oh.’

Strongly muscled rider’s legs, narrow hips, and between his thighs the dark tangle of hair and the weight of his erection, already proof of his arousal. Marcus appeared unembarrassed by her frank stare, standing with his fists on his hips, waiting for her.

‘Hal is the beautiful one,’ he said.

‘He is too frivolous for beauty,’ Nell pronounced, finding her feet could move after all. ‘You have gravitas. Amongst other things.’ She came to stand just in front of him.

‘I don’t feel very grave now,’ Marcus said as he bent to catch the hem of her nightgown and pulled it up and over her head. There was a long silence while he looked at her.

Nell could feel herself blushing under the steady regard. Then she saw the physical effect it was having on him and her eyes widened.

‘You are very lovely, Nell. Do you doubt how much I desire you?’

‘Not at all,’ she said frankly. ‘I can well believe the evidence of my own eyes.’

‘Are you frightened?’ He reached for her, pulling her against his body so she could no longer see, only feel. She wriggled, loving the heat of him, loving the blatant
pressure against her belly and the liquid, heavy feeling that was beginning, low down.

‘No. Not at all,’ she said honestly, managing to slide a hand between their bodies and curl her fingers around him. ‘Impatient.’

‘
Impatient
is my word, you wicked woman, and if you don’t stop that I am going to be too impatient to do this occasion justice.’

Nell opened her fingers and let them sift through the coarse hair, teasing up over his flat belly. With a growl, Marcus swung her off her feet and laid her on the bed. ‘There are definite advantages of doing this in the warm,’ he remarked, looking down at her.

‘On such a soft bed as well.’ Nell wriggled into the downy covers, wondering what he was waiting for. ‘Oh!’ Marcus leaned over, grasped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the bed. ‘What are you doing?’

He did not answer, but went to his knees, parting her thighs as he did so. Nell gasped as the dark head bent, rearing up on her elbows in alarm. ‘No! You can’t, that’s indecent!’

He looked up, laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes. ‘Tell me to stop, then.’

‘Stop! Ah…no, don’t stop.’ Nell fell back, limp and gasping, unable to do anything but endure the delicious onslaught of tongue and lips as he worked his ruthless, wicked magic. Her body was burning, melting, twisting like metal in the forge and he was the alchemist, transforming her into liquid gold, into…
exploding starlight
.

Nell came to herself to find her head on the pillow and her body pressed into the bed by the hard weight of Marcus. Tiny aftershocks still quivered through her
body and she arched up, instinct pressing her against him so the quivering became a new, demanding ache as he shifted, poised to take her.

His face was stark as he looked down, predatory even, but she saw the tenderness in his eyes and smiled, curving her arms up around his neck to pull his head lower for a kiss.

‘Are you certain, Nell?’ Marcus asked, and she felt the strain in his muscles as he held himself back, knew that if she shook her head he would leave her despite his need for her.

‘Love me, Marc,’ she whispered.

‘Always.’ His lips brushed hers then he lifted his head again, their eyes locked as he surged slowly into her. Deep in the back of her mind, she had feared her body would resist him, that the terror of the past would sweep back and take over, but those ghosts had gone, exorcised by his tenderness, and she opened to him, revelling in the knowledge that he was filling her, completing her. They were one and, whatever happened after this night, they always would be.

‘Marc?’ he queried, his voice almost harsh with the effort he was using to keep himself still now he was within her.

‘Yes,
Marc
,’ she murmured, a little dazed, lifting her head to kiss the corner of his mouth. ‘My Marc.’

‘Ah, Nell.’ His eyes were almost black as they watched her, holding her as he began to move and she found the rhythm and went with him, drove him and was driven, gasped and clung and was lifted higher and higher until it all unravelled and she was crying out against his mouth and she felt him shudder and
pull away, leaving her, and she was lost in the darkness with just his voice to cling to. ‘Nell, oh my God, Nell…’

Nell woke to find herself wrapped around something hot and large. She blinked for a moment, confused, trying to wake up from the dream of ecstasy and Marc.
Marc
. She had let go, allowed herself to think of him like that, dreamt of him taking her, loving her.

The pillow against her cheek moved and she blinked again, trying to focus.

‘That tickles. You have indecently long eyelashes, Nell.’

‘Marc?’

‘Who else did you expect, might I ask?’ He sounded more amused than affronted, his voice rumbling in his chest under her ear.

‘I thought you were a dream.’ She pushed herself up on one elbow and looked down at him. The lamps were still burning and in their light she could see he was lying on his back, as relaxed as a big cat, his hair tousled on the pillow, one arm flung out above his head, the sheet clinging, like a sculptor’s attempt at decency, to his hip bones.

‘I am solid reality,’ he protested, laughing at her.

‘I recall parts being extremely solid,’ she said naughtily, sliding her hand under the sheet, revelling in his gasp as her questing fingers found him, already more than half aroused.

‘Nell, that is disgraceful behaviour. Can you not see I am quite exhausted?’ Marc’s attempt at severity was deeply unconvincing. Her fingers tightened at the root and began to pull upwards. ‘Even if that is not!’

‘Oh, dear. I am wide awake,’ she said with a pout that made him gasp with laughter. ‘Whatever is to be done?’

‘Why, you will have to do all the work.’ He shifted across the bed a little and lay back watching her from under heavily lidded eyes. ‘Ride me, Nell.’

It seemed outrageous. She pulled away the sheet and straddled his narrow hips, tightening her thighs along his flanks then lowered herself, inch by inch as he groaned, his eyes closing. The feeling of power was overwhelming. Nell inched lower, her hands splayed on his chest, his nipples hard under her fingertips as she teased them out of pure instinct. Then she was lodged securely, the whole hard silken length of him tight within her.

There were muscles she did not know she had that she could tighten, she discovered by accident as she hung, breathless above him, tiny movements that wrenched a groan from his throat. ‘Nell, this it
torture
.’ His voice belied the word. This is
bliss,
it said.

But she could not resist any longer. Nell began to move, slow at first, then faster, driving them both up, up, while his fingers tightened on her hips and his body bucked under hers and then as the whirlwind caught her again he spun her over, so he was on top for two hard thrusts before he pulled free and her cry was lost in his shout of triumph and the world spun out of control again.

The next time she woke, she knew where she was and who she was with and every glorious thing that had happened since she had opened the door to find Marc there, his hands gripping the door frame. Those hands were drifting across her body now, tracing the swell of her
belly, tickling up her ribs, playing with her nipples, which tightened into hard knots of exquisite—

‘Marc! Are you in there?’ The shout was accompanied by a thud on the door from a clenched fist.

Nell opened her eyes with a small shriek. Beside her, Marcus threw back the sheet and vaulted out of bed, stark naked, strode across the floor and unlocked the door.

‘What the devil?’

Nell’s second shriek was muffled as she slid down under the covers at the sight of Hal, snow melting on his coat as he shouldered into the room past Marcus. ‘We’ve got him, as near as damn it. One of the keepers saw him at the back of the stables and he took off towards the Aylesbury Road—not the woods. His tracks are plain if we can get on them before they are filled with drifting snow again. Get dressed—you can’t go chasing after him stark boll—’