Further Than Passion (3 page)

"As you boorishly remind me, each and every occasion you stop by. If you detest me so, why don't you toss me out into the street and be done with it?"

"A marvelous notion. I'll take it under advisement."

"You are too cruel, Marcus. Too damned cruel." Her eyes flooded with tears, but in light of her thespian abilities, it was difficult to discern if the tears were genuine or faked. "Why persist with tormenting me?"

1
8

He shrugged. "It's so amusing."

"You trifle with me, you welcome me to your bed, but the next morn, you haven't a civil word to say."

"Don't blame
me
because you choose to act the harlot. If you're eager to spread your legs, I'll gladly crawl between them."

She glowered. "Ooh, I loathe you."

"Believe me, my dearest mama, the feeling is mutual."

"Don't refer to me as your mother!"

"Isn't that what you are?"

"Why not have the carriage brought round, and deliver us to the poorhouse right now? Put me out of my misery!"

She regularly harped on how soon he had to wed. His father had encumbered the estate, the dispersals tied to Marcus's marriage by age thirty-one, which was four months away, but Marcus could not care less.

He had stashed some cash, enough to sail off to India or Jamaica. He would start over, would abide as an ordinary man, without the burdens of the abhorred Stamford title dragging along behind. His father's decades of berating and disparagement, of duplicity and deception, had ground out any pride or fondness.

His distant cousin, Albert, could have it all, with Marcus's blessing, but then Pamela would be broke, too, a factor about which she never ceased to harangue. Marcus's father had bequeathed her no money of her ow
n
—
a
sign of their matrimonial bliss, no doubt!—
s
o she was dependent on Marcus for everything.

If he didn't secure his assets, her fate was dire, and she suffered from a compulsion to speed his nuptials, which he didn't share. She was pushing every desperate, barely suitable girl in the kingdom at him, frantic

19

for one of them to capture his fancy, but the harder she worked to finagle an engagement, the less inclined he was to consider any of them.

It occurred to him that he was lucky she'd declined to wed him all those years ago. With her whining and demands, she'd have driven him to an early grave.

"I'm not ready to abandon you just yet. It's much more fun to have you squirming."

"You impossible wretch!" She marched toward the stairs. "I'm weary of you. Let's go meet the Lewises. I want the ordeal concluded, so I can avoid you the rest of the evening."

"Until you need your midnight tumble."

"I'd rather eat hot coals than sleep with you again."

She was at the top step before she realized he hadn't followed. "Are you coming or aren't you?"

"
What if
I don't?"

Apparently, he'd goaded her beyond her limits, and she trembled with fury. "I swear to God, Marcus, if you don't accompany me, I shall walk into the ballroom and announce to all and sundry that you've decided to snub the Lewises, despite their being my special guests."

"Why would I mind if you make a scene?"

"Exactly. Why would you?" She waved at the throng below. "Do you suppose bridal candidates grow on trees? There are so few parents who've been willing to entertain a proposal from you. Of those who've been tempted, you've managed to insult and offend every one. Regina Lewis isn't aware of how despicable you are. Her daughter, Melanie, is our last hope. Now, what shall it be?"

Ladies Regina and Melanie could go hang, and he was unconcerned over what the assembled horde thought of his behavior. He'd contemplated not attending the

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gathering at all, but he was anxious to determin
e
if his mysterious Peeping Tom was on the premises. She had to be an associate of the Lewises
.

"Lead on, my beloved stepmother."

"Shut up."

Halfway down, she spun around. "I just remembered: There is a redhead with them. She's a chaperone or a maid or some such. Tell me the truth. Are you worried she's a thief? Should
I
lock up the silver?"

"No need. If anything else turns up missing, I'll search her room. Then, I'll search yours."

"Oooh, you ... you ..." Fuming, she stomped off, but as they reached the foyer, she reasserted her aplomb. When they were out in public, she pretended they were on amicable terms.

She latched on to his arm and escorted him into the ballroom. As expected, his appearance stirred a ripple, ensuring that speculation about Melanie Lewis would run rampant.

Pamela steered him to the back wall, where the Lewises were listening to the music and obviously impatient for his arrival. They were a dismal crew, attired in out-of-fashion clothes, an indicator of a lack of sophistication and preparedness for their London endeavor. A waltz was in progress, and they gawked as though they'd never viewed dancing before. They were so out of place that he almost felt sorry for them.

"Couldn't you have found a modiste for the girl," he whispered to Pamela, "before you set her loose among the vipers of High Society?"

"There wasn't time," Pamela hissed, her polite smile not slipping. "Besides, I'm not her mother. I'm not responsible for dressing her."

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Obese, dour Regina was positioned in the middle. She exuded gloom, arrogance, and he shuddered from imagining her as his mother-in-law.

Melanie was awfully young, pretty and plump, with blond ringlets, big blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. Except for her permanent scowl, she looked like a porcelain doll.

Christopher was handsome and charming, and even though his suit was dated, he carried himself well and wasn't glaringly abnormal, as were his female relatives. He was tall, lanky, blond and blue-eyed like Melanie, but he had a twinkle and a friendly air about him that had to have been inherited from his father's side of the family.

Standing adjacent and slightly behind was Marcus's red-haired fantasy. Her fabulous auburn hair, the likes of which he'd never witnessed prior, was tucked under a silly cap, as if she was afraid to have anyone discover how striking it was.

She wore a drab gray gown that was buttoned to neck and wrist, revealing no hint of the creamy skin concealed beneath. Although she was outfitted to blend in with the wallpaper, she was so rare, so unique, and she shone like the brightest star. On seeing her again, his heart literally skipped a beat.

Would she recollect what had happened? He was dying to know.

They drew nigh, and Pamela was at her most fawning, her most ingratiating. "There you are!" she gushed to Regina. "We've been hunting everywhere. May I present my late husband's son, Marcus Pelha
m
, Lord Stamford."

As Pamela babbled, his dream visitor glanced up, and when she espied him, she blanched with such

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shock and horror that he was surprised she didn't faint
.
He hoped she never gambled, for her expressions were far too revealing.

She was terrified, frantic to melt into the p
l
aster and vanish, and in a vain attempt to separat
e
hersel
f
, she sidled away from the Lewises. Regina had risen for the introductions, but Marcus snubbed her by walking past and advancing directly to the redhead.

He bowed. "Lady Melanie, you're much more beautiful than I had been led to believe. Thank you for coming. I'm so glad you're here."

It was outrageous conduct, but he couldn't help himself. He detested everything about the encounter, particularly Pamela's desire to have it transpire in such a public forum.

The redhead winced, wishing the floor would open and swallow her whole. Regina sputtered with affront
,
Christopher stifled a chuckle and winked at the redhead, and Melanie shrieked and fanned herself. The guests loitering nearby tittered with what they assumed was Marcus's delicious
faux
pas.

His gaze holding hers, he raised her hand to his lips, and had commenced to kiss it, when Pamela yanked him away. She was shooting visible daggers.

"Marcus," she scolded playfully, as if it were a joke they'd all enjoyed, "you're such a tease. This is Lady Melanie's chaperone. Miss ... Miss ... I apologize, but I can't recall your name. What is it?"

"Duncan," the redhead answered quietly. "Kat
e
Duncan."

"Any relation to th
e
Doncaster Duncans?" he inquired.

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"Absolutely not."

She was appalled, horrified to have him questioning whether she had a
connection to the previous earl.
Why would any link need to be a secret? Had she a scandalous history? How marvelous if she did! "Well, pardon me then, Miss Duncan. I could have sworn you were a titled lady."

As if she'd been burned, she lurched away, flashing him an angry, reproachful frown, and amazing him with her bold nature. For some reason, he hadn't anticipated it. She wasn't simpering or timid, and his intrigue spiraled.

"Now,
here
is Lady Melanie," Pamela was saying, dragging him away, "and her mother and brothe
r
..."

Pamela went off, filling the awkward moment with idiotic chatter. Melanie and Regina curtsied, but their combined fury was so blatant that he had to wonder if they'd avenge the rebuff, if Miss Duncan would be punished. It had never occurred to him to think before he'd proceeded. In social situations, he cared so little for others' opinions that he never fretted over how he should comport himself.

He endured the Lewises long enough to smooth ruffled feathers, schedule a riding date with Christopher, and allow Pamela to coerce him into a supper party the following evening.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could detect the indomitable Miss Duncan plotting her escape, and the instant everyone had forgotten her, she faded into the crowd and sneaked out the closest exit, which led onto the verandah.

The second he could slip away, he did so, but he

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couldn't rush after her. Too many people had witnessed his prank, so he had to stroll the ballroom before he could finagle himself outside.

He caught sight of her immediately, hiding under a tree by the rear fence. In a dither, she was pacing and assessing the house, waiting for the path to clear so she could creep in the servants' entrance without bumping into anyone.

She hadn't seen him leave the mansion, and presuming herself alone in the yard, she made a bee
l
ine for the door. He skulked in the shadows, watching her approach, and as she reached for the knob, he laid his hand atop hers. She jumped and bit down on a squeal of fright.

"Hello, Miss Duncan." He smiled like the cat that had eaten the canary. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You!" She reeled away.

"Is that any way to greet an earl?"

"I'd afford you the deference due an ear
l
... if you acted like one."

"You wound me," he mocked.

"You contemptible oaf! Have you any notion of the trouble you've caused?"

"No. Why don't you tell me all about it?"

"You have the manners of a goat."

He chuckled. "This is not the first occasion where I've been so informed."

"I'm not surprised. You're a horse's ass, a certifiable maniac."

"As I've also been frequently apprised."

"You knew I wasn't Lady Melanie. What was the point of embarrassing her and her mother? And me?"

"Because I felt like it?"

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"How old are you? Eight? Nine? You're naught but a child
,
and I'm certain a sound spanking could cure much of what ails you."

"I'm not a child, as you're well aware from your nocturnal adventure." He started backing her toward the balustrade. With each forward step, she retreated, until her legs were crushed against it. "I'm a man full grown."

"You're jabbering like a fool, and others may be required to tolerate your boorish behavior, but I'm not. Good-bye."

She tried to skirt around him, but he wasn't ready to let her go. He leaned into her, his body making contact, and he was jolted by sensation. Sparks ignited wherever they touched, and it was so thrilling to be near her. They shared a physical affinity, the type only the luckiest of lovers ever achieved. They were compatible, attuned, and should he be reckless enough to take her as a paramour, they would have fabulous, incredible sex.

Could she perceive it, too? Or was she an innocent? With her being so vibrant, so alluring, it was difficult to guess. She had to be twenty-five or so. How could she have lived so many years without some man claiming her?