A Marquess for Christmas (7 page)

Chapter Four

Four Days Later

The
cannon fire between his ears made him want to weep. He held both sides of his
head, trying to ease the pressure there. What had happened? Had an anvil been
dropped over his head?

He
could hear the distant clatter of what sounded like silverware. The clanging
only made the pounding in his head worse. If he’d had a gun, he’d shoot himself,
merely to be free of it.

He
closed his eyes and willed the noises to subside. Where was Jeffries?
“Jeffries! Jeffries! Stop that incessant noise!” His valet would see to his
peace and quiet.

“Pardon,
sir. You called?” A young blonde girl came into the room and curtseyed. She
carried a tray that included hot tea and scones.

He
did not recognize her. She must be new. “Where is Jeffries?”

The
girl gave him a blank look. “Let me fetch my lady for you.” She set down the
tray. The clanging continued as the cup jostled against the saucer and the
teapot rattled. He grimaced and rubbed his head.

No,
no, no. He didn’t want his sister. He wanted Jeffries. But before he could
correct her, the girl was gone.

A
few minutes later, an exquisite woman with hazel eyes and full lips entered the
room. That was not his sister.

When
she spoke, the sound echoed through his skin, sending tingles all over his
body. Who was she?

The
dream. He’d dreamed her before. Leaning over him, bathing him, singing to him.
Was he merely dreaming again?

“You
are awake! I’m glad to see you alert again.” The woman smiled broadly. Her
teeth were white and even, her skin clear and smooth. Surely she’d dropped from
the heavens.

“Hello,
angel,” he said. The gravel in his voice surprised him. His throat was parched
and his fingers felt stiff when he moved them.

She
came and sat on the bed. Yes, she must be a dream. What fine lady would come
into his room and sit on his bed in so familiar a fashion?

He
leaned forward to touch her hand. A hammer pounded through his head, but he
ignored it. He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. “Is this a good
dream?”

Her
pupils widened and he could hear the catch in her breath. When she spoke, it
was a breathy caress. “It is no dream, sir. Do you remember anything?”

She
lifted her arm, but then dropped it. When she bit her lip, his gaze was drawn
to her lips again. Full, sensual, and perfect. He could bite and kiss them for
hours. To have them on his skin would be a treasure. On his cock, would be
heavenly.

She
blinked and turned her head from him. But the redness in her cheeks gave it
away. She knew what he wanted. And if she did not want it, she would walk away.

He
took hold of her wrists and pulled her toward him. He wanted her. And this was
a dream, so he saw no reason to proceed with caution or whisper honeyed words
to flatter her into seduction.

He
reached for the fichu tucked into her bodice, wanting to be rid of the fine
sheer cloth that hid her décolletage from view.

“What
are you doing?” she whispered in a tone so soft it made him instantly hard.

“I
am unveiling your treasures.” He tore off the thin scarf and feasted his eyes
on the enticing fruit of her body. “These are far too lovely to hide away,” he
said, sliding his hands under them.

“You
should be resting.”

He
kissed her neck. She smelled of honeysuckle and her warm skin tasted sweet and
salty, like baked bread.

“You
should not overexert yourself,” she said, even as she angled her neck to give
him access. “It’s been four days since the incident. I think you need a bit
more time to recover from your wounds.”

That
stopped him.

“Wounds?”

She
touched his head. The heat of her hand touching his body made him want to kiss
her again. But something was wrong. He put his hands over hers and realized
that his head was wrapped in a bandage.

Earlier,
he’d been too pained by the loud sounds to notice that it wasn’t a sleeping cap
on his head.

“You
were assaulted by criminals.” She bent her head down. “You came to assist me
when I was attacked on the road.”

He
could remember seeing glimpses of her face. Remember her touching him. But he
could not remember any criminals or being on the road with her.

“I-I
have no recollection of that.”

She
stroked his cheek. “That is common after an injury such as yours. I’ve seen it in
the soldiers we tended after battle. You need rest.” She pushed him gently,
urging him to lie down again. “In time, it will all come back to you. It was
only yesterday that your fever broke.”

“Who
are you?” he asked.

“Mrs.
Violet Laurens of
Welbury
Park.”

Mrs.
? He’d nearly made love to another
man’s wife? Perhaps he
had
been
thrashed in the head.

“You
are
married
?” He accused, crossing
his arms.

Violet’s
eyes narrowed and she met his stare with one of her own. “Widowed.”

“Ah.”
No harm done. The lady was free. He loosened his arms and placed them at his
side.

“Now,
may I ask for your name?”

His
name. What was his name? A moment ago, he remembered his valet, his sister.
“Kit—” The words fell off. He could not remember. He rubbed his temples,
searching for the name that was at the edge of his mind.

He
tried to think. Kit.
Kittleson
?
Kittridge
?
Kitson
? Christopher? He couldn’t be sure.

“It
is alright. Do not strain yourself, Kit. You are safe for now.”

“Why
can I remember the name of my valet, but I cannot for the life of me recall my
own?”

“Perhaps
you are oft used to yelling it across the house? Like as not, you say his name
far more than your own.” She winked.

It
was as plausible an explanation as any. He looked up to see her smile and then
he forgot everything but the desire to touch her.

“I
take it we do not know one another?”

“No.”

“Seeing
that I am here in your home, I think we should take steps to remedy that
situation.” He grinned slowly and looked at her through his lashes.

“You
are persistent.”

“I
can say with confidence that I am.” He may have forgotten some things, but he
had not forgotten how to charm a lady. “Now tell me something about you.”

 
“I do not know what to say.”

“How
long have you been widowed?”

“Three
years.”

Though
he’d not wished to discomfit her, he needed to know if she was freshly
grieving. That would damper any attempt at seduction.

“I
have never been married,” he said.

She
looked incredulous. “How can you know that? You don’t remember your own name.”

Yet
he knew that it was true. “Was I wearing a wedding band when you brought me
here?”

“No.”

“I
am not married,” he repeated. The last thing he wanted was for her to hesitate
to get to know him because of some foolish notion that he had a wife. He loved
women, but there was no one who meant
that
much to him.

“You
seem so certain.”

“I
just know that is not the sort of thing I would forget.”

“What
do you remember?”

He
decided to try a different tack. “I remember you,” he said. “I remember you
sitting close to me, touching me, as you did a moment ago.”

“As
I said, you have been here for a few days.”

He
memorized the lines of her soft lips. “You sang to me.”

When
her skin turned a lovely shade of rose, he found her even more beautiful.

“Yes.”

Holding
her hands in his, he whispered, “You bathed me.” He paused, looking from their
joined hands to her bosom, rising and falling with each breath, up to her
almond shaped eyes. “Everywhere.”

She
swallowed and closed her eyes a moment before meeting his gaze. “You needed
care. My maids are too innocent for such a thing and Avery and I have done it
so many times before.” Her words sped out of her mouth like a coach racing down
the lane.

“You’ve
taken other men into your bed and bathed them?”

If
it was possible, her skin became even redder. “Uh, no. In the war. And, with my
husband. I-I helped soldiers in the infirmary.”

She
avoided looking directly at him.

“Then
you really are an angel,” he said softly. He’d seen the horrors of war. The one
year he’d spent in the Iberian Peninsula had horrified him. The senseless
brutality, the raping of innocent girls, villages being burned down to root out
the enemy. The worst was watching soldiers in his regiment at the edge of
sanity, firing on their own kind. If he never set foot on Spanish soil again,
it would be too soon.

He’d
sold his commission and never looked back.

Wait.
He
remembered
that. “I remember,” he
whispered. He rubbed his thumbs over the back of her hands. “I remember!”

“What?
What do you remember?”

“Spain.
I served in Spain for a year.” He grimaced. “The worst year of my life.”

“That’s
wonderful!” she said. Then she shook her head, her eyes wide. “I meant it is
good that you have not lost all of your memory. You know you were a soldier. If
you remember that, then surely you will regain the rest.”

Of
all the blasted things for him to remember,
that
was the thing still in his mind. If he could light a torch and burn it out of
his brain, he would.

“From
your mouth to God’s ears, madam. I should hate to be left with only the bitter
and no memory of the sweet.”

He
stroked her hands again. He needed to feel her warmth, to feel her pulse race
under his touch. The past could not be undone, but the future was a die that
had yet to be cast.

“Will
you sing to me again?”

“What?”
Her dark lashes lowered and he could hear a tremor in her voice.

“I
should like to hear you sing now that I am fully awake to enjoy it.”

“I
cannot think of the words at the moment.”

He
suspected it might be the fact that his hands had travelled up her wrists,
massaging the supple skin. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, even if it
was as chaste as this.

“What
if I start and you join me?” He continued stroking the soft skin, but slower
now.
“As I walked forth one summer’s day,
to view the meadows green and gay, a pleasant bower I espied…”

“Standing fast by the river side,”
she
sang with a clear voice, soft and airy,
 
“And
in’t
a maiden I heard cry, Alas, Alas, there’s none
e’er
loved as I.”
 

He
closed his eyes and let the world disappear apart from her voice.

“Then round the meadow did she walk,
catching each flower by the stalk.”

When
the words died, he looked back at her.

“You
were not singing,” she reproached.

“Forgive
me, madam.
Such
flow’rs
as in the meadow grow…
”

They
continued in harmony, their voices twining and merging together, hers lifting
them toward heaven and his gliding under hers. Until she faltered and blushed
in the last verse.

“The green things served her for…”

“—Her bed. The flowers were the
pillows for her head,”
he continued on, though he couldn’t help but smile.
The song was anything but bawdy, yet the lady could not say the word ‘bed’.

He
finished the rest of the sad song, never letting go of her hand.

“You
have a beautiful voice,” he said. “Almost as lovely as your face.”

“Thank
you. Though I suspect you are still recovering from the blow to your head. You
should hear Miriam sing.”

“The
only voice I wish to hear is yours.” He kissed her wrist and felt her tremble
under his mouth.

“Practicing
your charm?”

“I
do not need practice.”

“Perhaps
not.” She eased her arm away from him. “Maybe I am the one who has forgotten.”

He
leaned into her. “I would be happy to teach you.”

The
corner of her mouth formed a half-smile. “Oh, I am sure that you would, sir. No
doubt you have coached many a lady in the fine art of flirtation.”

That
did not sound like a compliment. “I am sure you would make my best pupil to
date.”

“And
what would be the fee for such an instruction?”

“A
kiss,” he said, throwing out caution and betting on instinct.

“A
steep bargain.”

It
wasn’t the first time he’d raised the stakes too high. Perhaps she’d be
amenable to a lower offer. “What would you care to spend?”

“You
assume, sir, that I need
you
to teach
me.” She stood up and smoothed out the blue muslin of her dress. “It has been a
while, but I think it will all come back to me.” She winked at him before going
to the bell pull.

When
Sally came a minute later, Violet instructed her to bring in a fresh pot of tea
and buttered crumpets.
 
Then she
whispered something in the girl’s ear that Kit could not make out.

“I’m
afraid this water is far too cold to be of use now.” She poured the water from
the silver tea service into a basin, presumably to use later for washing.

“Is
it time for a bath?”

Though
he could see the color on her cheeks, she spoke calmly. “Now that you are awake
and fully coherent, I think you will be seeing to your own needs.”

“What
if there are places that I cannot reach?” He used his best schoolboy voice.

“You
can call a footman. Or my butler, Avery, will see to it. He has assisted with
cleaning your wounds before.”

“He
has not your tender touch.”