The Marker (17 page)

Nonetheless, she had prepared herself to be seduced. She had taken a bath, broken out the best of her two gowns, and, underneath her corset, instead of her linen chemise, she had put on the silk nightgown Nicholas had given her. Primped and perfumed, she made her way downstairs to set up tea.

She thought she’d done a fine job, all things considered. Tea, small sandwiches, everything she thought would comprise a proper English tea. In truth, she had no idea what an English tea would be like. She’d never been outside of Sacramento, barely been outside of her own neighborhood. She had skipped rocks on the river, she had walked the dusty, rickety streets of downtown, but she had never traveled, never gone anywhere. She wasn’t cosmopolitan and cultured like Nicholas’s woman should be. She was a poor girl from the wrong side of town, well-read, but still dreadfully provincial. She wondered if Nicholas would see it the same way.

But he didn’t seem to when he strolled into his parlor at three o’clock. Leaning his walking stick in the corner and taking off his top hat, he said, “Good afternoon, Miss Markland. You look lovely.”

She nodded her thanks, pleased he had noticed. She expected him to take a seat as she poured the tea, but instead, he came around behind her and pulled out a chair for her, motioning for her to sit.

“Thank you, Mr. Wetherby.”

“Please, call me Nicholas.”

She cleared her throat and sat down, and once she did, he moved around and took a seat opposite her. He regarded her for long moments, waiting for her to speak, while she just sat there, at an appalling lack for words, staring mutely at her hands. Nicholas sighed, but his eyes sparkled with humor.

“I suppose I will have to start our conversation. Very well. Would you like to hear about my business trip?”

From behind her delicate porcelain cup, she muttered, “Not particularly.” She took a sip of her tea and made a face. She’d let the tea steep far too long, and it was dreadfully bitter.

He laughed. “Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. I’m to leave the day after tomorrow for San Francisco.”

Lexie blanched, putting her cup down far harder than she intended to, and it clanked loudly against the table, tea sloshing onto the saucer and spilling onto the tablecloth. She flinched, grabbed several squares of linen, and tried to mop up the liquid. The way things were going, she’d be lucky if she didn’t set something on fire. Worried she’d fractured his delicate porcelain cup, she picked it up and examined it. At least this gave her something to look at other than Nicholas’s face.

“So soon?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Indeed.”

“When will you be back?”

He shrugged. “Depends. A month. Maybe two.”

“So long?”

His lips curved into a self-satisfied smile. “I guess I should be flattered you sound so disappointed.” Her heart sank as Nicholas picked up his cup and took a sip. He blinked once, then again, set the cup down, and poured in some milk and put in several lumps of sugar.

“I’m not disappointed,” Lexie said, blushing furiously not only at her clumsiness and their conversation, but also at the fact that she had managed to ruin
tea
, of all things. Who ruined tea, anyway? “I just...It’s just...”

He cocked his head to the side and studied her. “Just what?” he asked, picking up his cup and setting it back down without taking a single sip. She didn’t blame him. When she remained silent, he prompted, “Just what?”

She sighed, warring with herself over whether to keep her heart safe and maintain her dignity or tell him how she felt and go ahead with her plan. In truth, when she had decided to seduce Nicholas, she had thought he would make it easy on her, that he would take the lead and do the work for her. All she would have to do was acquiesce. Now, instead of the rake she knew him to be, he was being a perfect gentleman, and she would either have to tell him about her change of heart or let him go. Neither option appealed to her.

But she was no weak-willed ninny. She had always been a strong woman with a strong mind, though, she thought ruefully, one wouldn’t know it from her present predicament. She was better than this. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she said, “Well, it seems I would miss you if you left.”

“It
seems
you would miss me?” he asked with a laugh. “Is this your way of saying you actually
would
miss me, Miss Markland?”

Oh, he was making this hard for her, and enjoying it, too, judging from the look in his eyes. He moved his chair closer to hers, the familiar roguish gleam back in his eyes. Try as he might, the scoundrel in him wouldn’t be suppressed for too long, and she had to smile at it. “It seems I am,” she replied, keeping her gaze steady as she ignored the pounding of her heart and the heat rising to her face.

“Well, Miss Markland, when you have a change of heart, you really have a change of heart, don’t you?” he asked with a low, rumbling chuckle. He moved his chair closer to hers, so close the sturdy cloth of his day jacket brushed against the skin of her arm. She swallowed against the dryness of her throat. To combat it, she reached for her teacup and saw her hands were shaking. She dropped them back into her lap.

Taking one of her hands in his, he gently stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. It felt intimate somehow, as if he cared for her, and she let herself get swept into the fantasy of this beautiful, remarkable man falling madly in love with her. Swallowing hard, she said, “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Wetherby.”

“Nicholas,” he corrected, his thumb continuing its exploration of her palm, tracing lazy circles. “Now you’re being coy, Lexie. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not being coy,” she protested, taking a deep breath to calm her raging heart. “I just can’t think when you’re doing that.”

“Doing what?” he asked, his face a mask of innocence.

She gave a snort of laughter—hardly ladylike, she had to admit to herself. “Now who’s being coy?”

He laughed. “Not I,” he responded, running his fingertips up her arm to her sleeve.

Her heart raced, her skin tingled beneath his fingers, her stomach somersaulted, her entire being singing with awareness of Nicholas’s touch. A simple touch, nothing that hadn’t happened to her before, but nothing she had ever experienced prepared her for it. When he touched her, she felt like the only woman in the world, some rare prize he couldn’t get enough of. He’d done this kind of thing before, and she wondered how often it worked, because, beneath his gaze and his touch, she felt positively treasured. For so long, she had been a commodity, to be bought and sold at a moment’s notice, and while Nicholas had surely paid for her, when she was with him, she never felt like another
acquisition. She felt like a woman, and she loved Nicholas for that.

Turning in her seat, she looked up at his handsome face, her eyes fixing on the sensual curves of his lips, wanting them on her skin again, admitting she wanted them on her breasts even now. Raising her eyes to his, she nervously licked her lips.

And was instantly aware when his gaze dropped to her mouth, his face tensing. When he lifted his gaze back to her eyes, she did it again. “Lexie, you do that again and I might think
you
are trying to seduce
me,
” he said with a laugh.

So she did it again.

“You are tormenting me,” he groaned, leaning down to kiss her.

She had been prepared for his kiss and for the rush of passion it always evoked. But even knowing this, her heart hammered in her chest, butterflies took to wing in her stomach, and her lower belly clenched. Her skin, where she touched him, tingled so intensely she burned. He cupped her face in his hands, encouraging her to open her mouth. As his tongue coupled with hers, desire sparked a fire in her blood that in seconds became a wildfire, burning out of control. His kiss was passion, and lust, and so damn intoxicating her head spun. He was so different from her: his skin was not like hers, it was tanned and roughened; his arms were strong and hard and roped with muscle. He approached the world in a manner completely different from the way she did. He’d never be caught in a situation like hers. She was astonished he would want someone like her.

When he broke the kiss, she opened her eyes to find him gazing at her intently. “I wonder, Miss Markland, what game you’re playing,” he said.

She leaned into him and kissed him, taking his lower lip between her teeth. Heart pounding in her chest, she said, “No games. I’m trying to seduce you, Mr. Wetherby.” She squared her shoulders, defiant and unashamed.

He gave a wry breath of laughter, as if he didn’t believe her. “Really.”

Looking him straight in the eye, she notched her chin and said evenly, “Yes.”

He gaped at her, and a crease formed between his brows. “You’re seducing
me
?”

“Well, trying to,” she stammered, her face flaming, and she wondered about the wisdom of attempting this. She was an idiot, a fool. Why she would entertain the idea that she could seduce a man like him was beyond her. She had no experience with such matters. Before she had come into Nicholas’s household, she had never even had occasion to flirt with a man, let alone tempt one. Sudden tears pricked her eyes and she moved her chair away from him.

The humor disappeared from his eyes, replaced by something blatantly more carnal. The corner of his lips lifted into a smile of pure male satisfaction. “Well, that
does
change things a bit, doesn’t it?”

Her heart fluttered so rapidly she thought she might faint, and she fought to catch her breath, but she could no more control that than she could stop blushing. Dropping her eyes to the tabletop, she said, “I suppose it does, Mr. Wetherby.” With shaking hands, she picked up her cup and took a sip, trying to hide her trembling lips. She didn’t even flinch at the bitterness. She wouldn’t let him see the havoc he wreaked on her emotions.

He took the cup from her clenched fist. “You don’t need to pretend it’s drinkable,” he said with a smile, placing the cup on the table.

“It really is quite awful isn’t it?” she asked, her mouth twisting into a disappointed frown. “I’ve made a muck of things today, haven’t I?”

He graced her with a gentle smile. “No, Lex, you haven’t,” he said softly, taking her hands in his. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“What? Where?”

The gentle stroke of his thumb against the delicate skin of her wrist distracted her, and the way he looked at her, his face serious, set her blood on fire. “Come with me to San Francisco.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart slamming against her ribs with such force she worried they might break. Since meeting him, her body had been out of her control. She had so little control over her response to him, over the way her breathing quickened whenever he touched her or the way lust uncoiled in her belly when he kissed her.

Breathless, she asked, “As what? Your servant?”

The desire in his eyes dissipated, and his gaze was cool as he regarded her. She had pricked his pride. “I had not intended to take my staff with me to San Francisco,” he responded. Then the chill melted and he said, “No, Lexie, come with me as my friend.”

Was she able to do that? Was she brave enough to pack her bags and go with him? She had been prepared to allow herself to be seduced, but was she so bold as to go away with him? Was she tough enough to not only allow herself be seduced, but to be an active participant in her own seduction?

Of course she was. Buchanan was here, in Sacramento. She’d leave her father and her fiancé behind and go with Nicholas and just be with him for however long they had. Once they returned to Sacramento, she would ask to be released from her contract with him and they would part ways. She knew he would release her, and would do so now if she asked.

But there was another complication: could she do this to her heart? Would it not be easier, in the long run, to part ways now?

“Nicholas...” she said weakly.

“Say yes, Lexie. Just say yes. No more of this staying in the servants’ quarters, no more games. Say yes and come with me.”

“I...” she faltered, stalling for time. Her heart leapt at the notion of running away with him, while her logical mind reasoned she should be running away
from
him. Her honor was not the only thing at stake. Her heart clenched as she thought of her father, a man she loved as much as she despised everything he had become. “Where would I be staying?”

He continued to stroke her hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her wrist, and she was unable to focus on anything else. “I’d been planning on staying in a hotel, but I’ll rent us a house.” His gaze intense, he said, “I would do nothing to jeopardize your reputation, and I won’t ask you for anything you aren’t prepared to give me. You’ll have your own room, your own space.”