The Ruin Of A Rogue (19 page)

A
nne waited, dizzy with longing as she had been all evening. When he explained his shocking moral code she heard and understood the words, but her body seemed divorced from her brain and was crying out for Marcus. Dismissing his past and any thought of the future, she summoned her courage and demanded what she wanted.

He sat with his feet planted to the floor, folded his arms, and frowned. “Not a good idea, Anne. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“You told me before, if I wanted a kiss I should ask for one. I’m asking.” She dared to reach for him, caressing his cheek with a trembling hand, his chin a little rough beneath her palm.

“Why do you have to remember every little thing I said?” he bit out. “I say some damn stupid things.”

She snatched back her hand. “You don’t want to kiss me.”

“Hell and damnation, Anne! You stand over me in my clothes showing off the longest, loveliest legs ever owned by a woman. Your breasts peep out of my shirt and I can’t take my eyes off them because I want to see them and touch them when you’re not freezing to death. As for your hair, I want to wind it round my naked chest and discover if it’s as soft and silken as it looks. And yes, I want to kiss you. Do you think I’m made of stone?” Her mouth fell open. Never had she heard anything so alarming or so wonderful. “So, my dear, unless you’re ready to risk getting a lot more than a simple kiss, you’d better sit down. Better still, get out of the room.”

She wavered, poised for flight, then stiffened her resolve. Marcus wasn’t lying. This might be her only chance in her whole life to discover what it was like to kiss a man who found her truly desirable.

Her breeches made her brave. “I want to kiss you, Marcus, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Giving him no chance to object, she grasped his shoulders and swooped in. She’d only once felt his lips on hers but the sensation was instantly familiar. Heart pounding, she reveled in an experience unlike any other. She closed her eyes and sank into the touch of warm flesh beneath hers, until she realized something was wrong. The awkwardness of pressing her attentions on a man who remained utterly still sapped her confidence. Still she persevered, yearning for shared pleasure, encouraged by an acceleration in his breath. In bold desperation she parted her lips and ventured to dart her tongue out to trace the seam of his mouth.

His response almost made her lose her balance. But he caught her, pulled her down onto his lap. Muttering a profanity, he took possession. The kiss became hot and wet as his breath filled her mouth. The stroke of his tongue induced a blissful humming in the tender flesh within, eliciting a gasp from her, a momentary retreat on his part.

“You asked for it,” he muttered, his soft growl tickling her lips. “Last chance to stop.”

Refusing the offer of escape, Anne took his head in her hands and pulled him back to her. After that there was no more quarter requested or given on either side.

She wondered hazily how people willingly gave this up once they’d discovered it. She could become addicted to sharing space and air with a man. She’d thought a kiss was a finite thing but this one had no end. It continued without cessation, growing only deeper and hotter. Accustomed as she was to the cool politesse of her well-guarded life, the raw intimacy threatened to explode her brain. Carnal. The word floated through her mind. An experience of the body, the flesh.

Her thin shirt was no barrier to the heat of his hands caressing her back, her shoulders, the tender privacy of her ribs and belly. Her breasts ached for attention too, and he seemed to know it. An incoherent groan of protest arose from her throat when he traced them through soft linen, just for a moment. Then melted into a purr of happiness as he slipped through the opening at the neck of her shirt and cupped them, skin to skin. She arched into him, wanting more and receiving it.

Still they kissed, his particular taste flooding her senses in accompaniment to the magic of his touch. Then he stopped.

“Don’t stop!”

“Hush. You’ll like this.”

He slipped the leather braces from her shoulders and pulled the loose shirt down, exposing her halfway to the waist. Dazed, she peered down. Surely her nipples weren’t usually so pink or so pointed.

“Do you remember me telling you about wild strawberries?”

He was talking about
food
?
Now?

He drew her backward in the cradle of his arm and took one of the stiff peaks into his mouth, licking and sucking and sending a line of sensation straight down her torso and into the secret area beneath her breeches. As her pelvis gave a little buck he laughed softly. “In a while.”

She had lost the power of mobility and the will to reclaim it. She let him do what he would and yearned only for what he’d do next, where he’d take her, wherever that might be. His clever hands seemed to find every sensitive spot of skin: the nape, the shoulder blades, the curve of her waist. Who knew that her navel longed to be touched? He did.

He could do anything to her, anything at all, and she would welcome it. She yearned for it and surrendered joyfully to thralldom.

His mouth took hers again and the kissing was too good to protest, even as her swollen breasts regretted its loss. As his taste flooded her senses and their tongues tangled, a fever arose in her, a desperate, aching heat. His hand slid lower, crept beneath the loose waist of her breeches.

Oh Lord oh Lord oh Lord!
He was going to touch her there. He wouldn’t, surely, but please God let him. She wanted it.
Needed
it. A small, sane voice in her head told her she was on the road to ruin and a louder shriek said she didn’t care. She closed her eyes tight to exclude the murmurings of discretion and envisioned Marcus’s long finger penetrating the forbidden place. As wish turned to fact she shrieked, thrust furiously, and tumbled off his lap.

“Ow!”

“Sorry.” He sounded strained. “One of the perils of attempting seduction on a plain chair. Given the dilapidated state of this house and its furnishings, we should count ourselves lucky it didn’t break.”

On hands and knees she looked around the room, eager to continue. “Where would be best?”

“A more capacious chair, bed, a sofa, or a soft carpet on the floor,” he said, reaching down and caressing her head through her wild cloud of hair. She nuzzled into his touch.

“The sofa here is quite comfortable,” she offered.

Abruptly he withdrew his hand. “No. It’s just as well I dropped you before things went any further. Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt. You want to stop?” she asked incredulously.

“I have to stop.
We
have to stop. I apologize for getting carried away.”

She prepared to argue but as the sensual spell faded, she reluctantly admitted he was right.

She shifted to a sitting position on the floor, hugging her bended knees. She wanted him, liked him, was perhaps even in love with him. If she gave herself to him fully she’d have to marry him. An alluring idea, but contrary to inculcated notions of duty to her position and her own common sense. Once she’d considered wedding Marcus, when she only suspected him of being a rogue. Now she knew he was, and she feared he was irredeemable.

Not wholly irredeemable, surely. He could have had her tonight, probably still could. If he set his mind to it, she doubted she’d resist. Yet he refused to take advantage. She glanced up to find him still seated, gazing down at her, his fine cheekbones flushed, green eyes troubled. Then she noticed something else, visual evidence of the hardness she’d scarcely noticed under her bottom when her senses had been otherwise occupied.

“I think I understand now what Milton meant when he wrote of ‘carnal desire inflaming,’ ” she said.

“I never read him.”

“Are you all right?”

“Anne. Please go to bed.”

“Where?”

“Take my room. And no, I will not be joining you. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.”

She stood up, sad the evening had come to an end. It was the most enjoyable she’d ever spent and one she’d remember when she returned to her proper Brotherton life. “Thank you, Marcus.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.”

“Yes,” she said. “I do. For many things.”

“What—” He cut off his question and shook his head. “Good night, Anne.”

Chapter 19

T
hey ate breakfast together in the kitchen while Travis labored away at the never-ending laundry.

“Why are you still wearing breeches?” Marcus asked. “Your gown is dry.”

Anne swallowed a mouthful of ham and put down her knife and fork. “I like these clothes. They’re much easier to move in. I have the rest of my life to wear long skirts. Or perhaps I’ll become an eccentric and ride around Camber astride, shocking the neighbors.”

She seemed remarkably cheerful this morning. Apparently she hadn’t spent the night tossing with thwarted lust. Of course she’d had the bed, while he had reason to know that the comfort of the drawing room sofa was overrated. He finally managed to drift off to sleep, only to be woken by the frigid atmosphere and a strange silence. The fire had died to embers and the rain turned to snow.

“What are we going to do today?”

“You stay here and keep warm while I check on my tenants and look into the prospects for getting the bridge repaired.”

“Is there no other way out of the estate?”

“Two or three miles downstream there’s another bridge, which may not have survived the dam burst. There’s also a path over the downs, but since Jasper has the gig it’ll be a long slog to get back to Hinton that way. We have enough food for a few days so I’m not inclined to try it unless things get desperate.”

“That’s right. Mr. Bentley came that way. Can I come with you to see your people?”

His people. He’d never had people, but now he supposed he did and he was responsible for them.

“Better not. While we can’t hide the fact that you are stranded in my house, let’s keep the gossip to a minimum by not having you jaunt around in my company dressed like that. I intend to put it around that you are prostrate with shock from the storm, and from the appalling fact of being forced to remain in my disreputable company.”

She grinned. “Tell everyone I’m suffering a prolonged attack of the vapors.” She took a healthy bite of toast. “What shall I do while you’re gone?”

Marcus played his cards close to his chest, literally and figuratively. Reserve was a necessity of his profession that he carried over to the rest of his life. Contrary to every instinct, he trusted Anne.

“There is something. I’ve been searching the house.”

“I noticed. What for?”

“I don’t know. For something that may not even exist.”

Anne listened intently as he described his father’s letter. “What was in the trunk we found in the attic?”

“Nothing of importance,” he said. “I’d dismiss the whole affair as nonsense, except that someone searched the house before I arrived here.”

“The ghost,” Anne said at once, clever lady.

“I suspected Jasper of playing the ghost to scare away the other servants but I don’t see him searching the house so thoroughly. It’s more likely that someone else knew what my father left here.”

“Who would he have told?”

“I don’t know. My father was not given to confidences. Every word he spoke was intended to deceive.”

“You’re not at all like him.”

Marcus searched for sarcasm in the offhand statement and detected sincerity. He decided not to argue with the deluded girl.

Anne fell silent. “He entrusted this thing to Mr. Hooke, you say,” she said after prolonged thought.

“Without telling him what it was.”

“So it’s either disguised, or it has a significance that a stranger wouldn’t recognize.”

“Which gets us nowhere.”

“So let’s think of it from Mr. Hooke’s point of view. Where would he hide an apparently worthless treasure? Remember the hidden cupboard in the drawing room? Perhaps there are others like that.”

“If you would like to devote some time today looking for them, I’d be eternally in your debt.”

“It’ll give me something to do.”

“I’ll tell you where I’ve already looked.”

“No, don’t. A fresh pair of eyes may see something you missed.”

Marcus left the house whistling. Maybe there was something to the notion that a problem shared was a problem halved. He returned in a dark mood. Only the news that she’d stumbled over a cache of pure gold could relieve the gloom induced by the state of his property.

He’d scarcely had time to discard his topcoat and pour himself a reviving midday beer when Anne joined him in the kitchen. “I’ve been in the attic bedrooms. Goodness, your uncle kept a lot of rubbish.” She broke off, tilting her head. “What is it? Bad news?”

“Half the fields on the estate are flooded, and repairing the dam is a major undertaking. Some of the tenants have lost livestock too.”

“I’m sorry, Marcus. Perhaps it won’t be so bad once the weather improves.”

“If it ever does. This is England.” He hadn’t yearned for Italian sunshine for weeks, but he might as well since it looked like his only option was to sell Hinton for a pittance and leave the country. With his luck and the activities of the French army he’d end up in Russia.

“Are your tenants safe?”

“No one was hurt, but the Burts’ roof couldn’t handle the torrent and the chimney leaked badly. Even if we repair it, all their coal was soaked, along with much of what they own.”

“You should have brought them to the manor.”

“I offered, but they have animals to care for and prefer to be at home, doing their best to arrange things before it rains again. Or snows hard. I came home to collect food and coal for them, then I’ll go back and help with the roof.” He slumped into a chair and ran his hands through his hair. “Oh Lord, Anne. You should have seen them. Trying so hard to keep up their spirits in an uninhabitable house. The other cottages are at least dry, but not otherwise much better.”

“They sound like good people, prepared to wait and make the best of things until you can make improvements.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s a joke that I should even think of running an estate. I’m only used to looking out for myself.”

“You took care of me.”

He shook off the comfort of her hand on his shoulder. He was being whiny and self-indulgent but somehow, now he’d started to confide in her, he couldn’t stop. He had to tell her what was on his mind. “You don’t understand. I don’t have the means and no prospect of gaining them. Quarter day is coming and I don’t see how I can collect even a fraction of the rents with the land unusable. My accounts will be empty.”

“I wish I could help. I’ve never found it so frustrating that I have no control over my own fortune.”

“That’s not what I asked. I shouldn’t burden you with my troubles.”

“I know you didn’t ask and it’s no burden to listen to a friend. Do you remember, once you offered me friendship?”

“I didn’t mean it. I was trying to make you fall in love with me.”

Only the low hiss of the kettle disturbed an atmosphere that had, in a single second, turned thick and charged with uncertainty. Whatever lay between them wasn’t friendship. Or it was, but something more as well. Once again, marriage tantalized him. The arguments against it hadn’t altered, but rather grown stronger. For his newly awakened conscience—if that was the source of his bizarre scruples—told him he had nothing to offer. He couldn’t even consider wooing her unless he had something to bring to the table.

“Mean it now.” She wore her determined look, the one that boded ill for fortune hunters and recalcitrant lumps of antiquity-laden earth. “Be my friend and I shall be yours. And the first thing I’m going to do is come with you to help your people. I found extra blankets and some of your uncle’s clothes.”

“I thought we’d agreed you should stay here.”

“You can’t carry everything by yourself, and no, I’m not wearing my gown. Your uncle’s topcoat will cover me to the ankles.”

M
arcus pushed a wheelbarrow over a track whose ruts contained a lethal mixture of water, ice, and slush, while Anne carried the basket of food. The state of the Burts’ cottage appalled her. It didn’t need much knowledge to see that the structure had been in poor condition before the deluge. Now it had been degraded to a hovel. The principal room, serving as kitchen, dining room, and sitting room, was strewn with the family’s meager possessions. Holes in the wooden floor exposed the dirt beneath; a scratched dresser displayed a pathetic collection of battered pots and cracked crockery; such furnishings that could be seen through clothes and blankets spread out to dry were ancient and comfortless. Barely warmer inside than out, the house smelled damp. A rhythmic plop of water leaking from the roof into a bucket completed the depressing picture. Mr. and Mrs. Burt appeared on the edge of desperation.

“This is Miss Brotherton,” Marcus announced. “She was trapped by the flood and is staying at the manor.”

They looked at her without much interest, too absorbed by their own problems to sniff out a potential scandal. The youngsters, two boys and a girl with dirty faces, shivered in their shabby garments.

“I’m sorry for your troubles,” Anne said. “His Lordship has brought food and coal.”

“Much obliged, my lord.” Mr. Burt tipped his cap and his wife showed signs of animation.

“Let’s bring in the things from the barrow,” Marcus said, “then we’ll take a look at the roof and chimney. Do you think it’s safe to light a fire?”

“I reckon it is,” Burt replied. “At the top of the ladder I could reach where the flashing had come loose and fixed it back in place. It should hold till I can get up there with cement. The roof’s another matter. There’s an ice blockage needs to be cleared before we can find the leak.”

“We’d better get up there, then.” The steep slate roof had glistened with ice as they approached. Climbing on it seemed perilous.

Anne hovered near the door, anxious not to get in the way. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked Mrs. Burt as the men and the eldest boy went out.

“Thank you, miss,” the woman replied with precarious dignity, “but there’s not much to be done till we get the fire going and start getting things dried out. I’m sorry to receive you with the house like this. I can’t even offer you a cup of tea.” She appeared on the verge of tears.

Wishing she hadn’t come, Anne cast about for something to say. Meaningless remarks about the weather were hardly appropriate for this woman beset by the elements. She felt overwhelmed in the face of such distress and genuine need. At Camber the land steward would see to everything. But at Camber things would not have been allowed to decline so. Her tenants would have ridden out the storm, warm and dry. “Thank you, but I don’t need anything,” she said. “Where shall I put this?” Her hostess’s patent inability to make a decision amid the chaos dissolved Anne’s hesitation. She placed the heavy basket in a safe corner.

“What’s in there?” asked the smallest child, a boy of perhaps five or six years old.

“Hush, Johnny,” said his mother. “Don’t bother the lady.”

“It’s no bother. All sorts of good things to eat. Why don’t you wait and find out when your mother unpacks it. It’ll be a surprise. Perhaps she’ll let you help.”

“I helped clean the wet coals out of the fireplace,” he said.

“That’s excellent. What a good boy.”

“And I spread the blankets out to dry,” boasted his sister.

“Fancy that. What’s your name?”

“Anne.”

“Good gracious! That’s mine too. What a coincidence!”

“Mam!” young Anne called. “Dad!” she added as the male party came in with the coal. “This lady’s called Anne too. She says it’s a con-si-dence.”

“I’m not surprised. All the prettiest girls are named Anne,” Marcus said.

Her new young friend would never be a beauty by any standards. The girl raised her eyes warily, both pleased and skeptical. Anne knew exactly how she felt. The Lithgow charm was in full working condition. A tiny shy smile stretched to a huge grin, revealing crooked teeth in her long, sallow face. Marcus turned to Anne and gave her a little wink that disordered her insides.

Full working condition indeed.

“You’ve done wonders since I called this morning, Mrs. Burt,” he said. “We’ll have the roof sound in no time.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Don’t thank me. Burt’s the expert. I’ll just hold the hammer and hand him nails.”

“We’re glad to get help from the manor, Your Lordship.”

“Why don’t you see to that fire?” Marcus said gently. “He’ll be ready for something hot when he’s finished.”

Simple words, but they dispersed Mrs. Burt’s paralysis. “Things are going to be better in the future,” she said.

“That’s the spirit.”

The atmosphere in the room grew warmer, less desperate. Marcus had the ability to set people at ease. Knowing how much he feared for the future of the estate, he couldn’t be as cheerful as he sounded, but in this case deception was a virtue. The concern and reassurance on his handsome face made the Burts feel better. In Anne it provoked a warmer reaction. Gazing at Marcus made her dwell on kissing again, not suitable thoughts when calling on a family in distress. She dragged away her gaze and imitated his bracing tone. “You must be proud to have such helpful children, Mrs. Burt,” she said.

“They’re good little ones. Having them in the house for two days of rain has been hard, and I can’t send them out to play because they’ll catch their deaths in damp clothes. They’re used to running around all day and they’re getting fidgety.”