He's No Prince Charming (Ever After) (14 page)

Danni didn’t hesitate. She burst through the door.

Marcus sighed as he sank into the bath water. His tense muscles absorbed the heat, melting away the strain of his past. He tilted his head back, eyes drifting shut. The only thing missing, he thought, was a glass of brandy.

But there was nothing that would induce him to wade through that mass of humanity again in order to secure one. He’d resolved never to leave this room until the blasted festival was over. He already tired of hearing of it from the lads hauling hot water to the sitting bath. And he’d learned more than he wanted about one sot’s relationship with a buxom girl named Mary.

His thoughts slowed, his mind heavy with exhaustion. He had not rested well the previous night. He didn’t remember much, but he’d been aware of Danni tending to him, and his unquenchable desire for liquor to deaden his memories.

At the thought of Danni, her gentle touch and her heated kiss, he groaned. Everything he’d been trying to forget flooded back to him, tightening his body with need.
Damn.

He submerged beneath the steaming water and rubbed soap through his hair. Surfacing, he ran a hand through his curls, wiping the strands from his eyes and clearing away the excess water with the other. It did no good. He couldn’t clear the sounds of Danni’s soft sighs from his mind or forget the warmth of her body intimately against his. She was driving him to insanity. And he did not have that much further to go as it was.

With closed eyes, he let his mind wander to what could have been if she hadn’t rejected him and run away. If he hadn’t repulsed her.

In his mind’s eye, he imagined the weight of Danni’s breast resting in his hand, its soft fullness pressing against his calloused palm. He imagined kneading her beaded nipple, enticing a soft gasp from her sweet lips. He’d dip his head, plunder her mouth, taste roses and sweet honey. He imagined tracing each curve and dip of her smooth, creamy skin, savoring every touch.

And in response, she would clutch his curls, pulling his mouth closer, her body arching towards his. Marcus would tug her closer, impatient. His heart stuttered as he pictured gazing into her passion-drugged eyes. They would blaze gold with an emotion he’d never seen before. A soft smile would spread her lush lips and she would whisper, “I love you.”

Marcus leaned back in the tub. A short bark of black laughter escaped him. The very idea he
wanted
her love, the very idea she even could love him…it was absurd.

He stepped out of the tub, shaking the water from his body. He welcomed the cool air’s slap across his heated skin. The sound of pounding footsteps in the hall drew his attention. He shook his head at the locals’ antics. One would think the people below had never had a day of festivities in their lives. Without another thought, Marcus reached for the drying cloth folded neatly on the chair beside him.

Suddenly, the door to his room burst in on its hinges. Marcus froze, his mind racing to the past, when nights of terrible pain would start with so similar an action. For several seconds, he became the boy again—cowering in his bed as his father’s heavy steps collided with the door.

Heart pounding, he realized Danni stood riveted at the threshold, her eyes wide with astonishment. The cloth hung forgotten in his hand as he stared back, his entire body revealed to her. Neither uttered a word. The swift tingle of goose bumps rising on his skin spurred him to act. He had nary a stitch on and a young, unmarried woman, be her respectable or not, currently gawked at him.

Clearing his throat, he colored and dropped his eyes to the task of tucking the cloth tightly about his waist. He fought the urge to cover himself. Marcus wanted Danni to see him. Unreasonably, he felt the inexplicable need to make her understand exactly what she had rejected when she’d run from their kiss in the forest. He wanted her to understand everything about him, and in a way, frighten her away. He didn’t want ludicrous fantasies of her love.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Danni’s cheeks redden that wonderfully unattractive shade. Her gaze flitted across the room, clearly trying to avoid looking at him. Her uncertainty gave him the confidence to straighten and bare the full brunt of her scrutiny even as he braced himself for her embarrassed retreat or fainting scream. Few saw this, his deepest and most well-hidden secret.

Raising his scarred brow, he asked, “And what prompted you to interrupt my bath, Miss Green?”

The fading red returned in a rush. It was clear that if a hole had opened in the floor, she would have cheerily jumped in it. “I came here to warn you.”

“Warn me? And what is this warning?”

“It’s terrible, Marcus! We’ve…” her words faded as her eyes drifted down the length of his torso.

He held his breath, her impending reaction bringing a bad taste to his mouth. Her eyes predictably widened with shock. He shifted his attention to a point over her shoulder, wishing to avoid any participation in the incident. He winced in anticipation of the gasp of disgust. Instead, his muscles jumped under the warm stroke of her hand as she stepped closer, tracing over a particularly brutal scar across his stomach. He flinched back instinctively. Danni stepped away, her eyes still wide. She cradled the hand that touched him as if it burned.

He grimaced and moved around the tub, putting it between them. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. No one had ever touched him. Touched
them
. They were his private marks of pain. He felt raw, exposed in a way he never thought possible. Her eyes were glassy as she continued to examine him. He followed her gaze, knowing which particular scar she looked at by the way her eyes changed in size.

When she finally spoke her words came out unbearably soft. “What happened to you?”

He turned away, giving her the smoothest side of his face. Taking even, deep breaths, he cleared his mind. “It is not open for discussion.”

Danni stepped close, forcing herself into the path of his vision, her face full of sympathy. He stepped away, determined to keep his distance. Instinctively, the beast in him knew she would only cause him more pain in the end.

He sent her a sharp look of warning. He didn’t want her pity or her concern. He wanted to forget. He wanted to be treated as a regular human being. He turned his equally abused back to her, ignoring her sharp intake of breath. Pulling a freshly laundered shirt over his head, he effectively hid away the image he had deliberately presented to her. His voice was gruff, thick with emotion, when he spoke. “Some do not have the privilege of a happy life, Miss Green.”

There was silence as he looped the buttons near his neck closed.
Good. She’s gone.
His shoulders relaxed.

“Well, I came to tell you we may have been discovered.”

Marcus stiffened again. Why hadn’t she left? She should have fled when given the chance. Should have bolted as if chased by the demons of hell. How had his plan backfired?

Standing in his shirt and drying cloth, he faced her. “Discovered?”

“You remember the horseman who almost ran me down?”

His fist clenched as he nodded. He would enjoy killing him for what he’d almost done. “He’s a scout for the admiral. And he’s downstairs!”

He struggled to remain calm, his mind reeling more from her lack of reaction than from her news. “A scout means nothing. He’s simply searching for a sign of her. Since we don’t have Ginny with us, we’ll be safe.”

She shook her head. “No. Marcus, we must have been seen that night.”

His stomach sank. Couldn’t any of his plans go right? “By whom?”

“I do not know, I…Perhaps one of the sisters? Or even…” Her fists clenched, her eyes narrowing with distaste. “Phillip?”

He scowled. He would not put betrayal above the man. They’d even left him on the side of the road for the admiral to pick up.

“That’s why they have a description of us!”

“But how would they even know to head north? Wouldn’t they have thoroughly searched London first?”

Danni scowled. “One of the girls
must
have seen us, and reported us immediately. It’s the only reason they would have been able to catch up so quickly. And if they located Phillip, he would only confirm they are on the right track.”

“Phillip would have told them that we no longer have her.”

“Ursula said the scout’s looking for a man and two women, one with red hair.”

“Then he is a forward scout. He probably hasn’t heard about the escapade with the Green Bandit yet.”

She ignored his logic. “The admiral and Phillip cannot be far behind. What should we do?”

Sinking to the bed, he rested his head in his hands, his mind turning. With drinks flowing freely, he doubted any of the inn’s occupants would report them, a supposed brother and sister, as potential fugitives. Marcus was not inclined to flee the inn unless danger was imminent. They were in desperate need of food and rest. Most likely they would already have been arrested if the scout suspected them at all.

What he truly could not fathom was Danni’s presence here in his room. She should have run. Should have fainted, or at the very least shrieked. Instead, she stood before him, speaking to him as if nothing were amiss. As if he were any normal human. Not a beast. Merely a man. He didn’t understand.

“Marcus? I don’t know what we should do,” she repeated.

Swallowing against the rising torrent of emotions, he asked, “Is the scout still here?”

“He’s seated at the bar having a meal. From the looks of it, he means to stay the night.”

“Was he drinking?”

Danni pulled her lower lip between her teeth. The action sent a stab of desire through him. “Absolutely. He downed two mugs of ale in just the few moments I was present.”

“Then I don’t see why we shouldn’t stay here for the night. He’ll sleep well past dawn. We will leave at first light.” He paused, thinking things through. “Tomorrow we can go into the village and try to get more information on these bandits’ whereabouts.”

She spoke as she walked to the open door. “I overheard that they have a camp in the forest near the village fairgrounds. I’ll see if I can quietly arrange for mounts. It will certainly be quicker and easier searching for Ginny.”

At the threshold, she paused, looking back at him. The murderous fire suddenly blazing in her eyes stunned him. “And Marcus, I would cheerily hang beside you should you decide to kill the man who gave you those scars.”

Her hand reached back to grab the door and pulled it closed.

With the click of the latch, Marcus fell in love.

M
arcus hesitated outside the Modern Modiste, breathing deeply of the crisp dawn air. He had no idea what the bloody hell he was doing here so early in the morning. He just knew he’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, his mind determined to do something nice for Danni—the irritating woman he’d insanely and quite irrationally fallen in love with. Although he knew he could never have her, he wanted her to be happy and as comfortable as possible. To that end, he hoped she would accept the only gift he could think of—a proper dress. So he’d awoken before the roosters and made the trek to the small village down the road from the inn on foot.

Palms sweaty, he took another breath and pushed open the door. A bell tinkered above him. Immediately, his senses were filled with an array of colored fabrics and the soft, slightly musty smell of linens, lace, velvets, and brocade. Scanning the store’s contents, he felt his heart quicken. Display upon display of fabric samples and ready-made garments on feminine forms filled the tiny space. Each gown was unique and designed upon the current fashions populating a London ballroom—or so he had to assume, since Marcus had finally realized the biggest flaw in his plan.

He knew next to nothing of fashion, and even less about women’s. He could not remember the last time he had entered a ballroom. He hated the crowds, the stares, the gossip. He cared no more for society than it for him. So why he thought he could purchase a dress for Danni boggled his mind.

He was a bleeding idiot.

As he spun his heel to make a quick escape, a warm, gentle voice caused him to freeze in place.

“Hello. How can I help you this morning, my lord?”

Again facing the inside of the store, Marcus found himself inches from a tall, middle-aged woman. A blinding and completely unexpected smile made him blink. She was certainly a beauty in her day. Graying blond tresses swept up in an elegant motif of fresh white daisies. A perfectly tailored, high-collared russet dress covered her from neck to toe. Wise brown eyes glittered from a dainty, aristocratic face. She gazed at him with quiet acceptance, neither repulsed nor frightened by his appearance. Even the most skillful at covering their reaction to his scars had a momentary lapse, and quickly recovered their politeness. This woman emitted a soothing, motherly air, something he’d only ever experienced from his own mother—a woman he barely remembered.

“My lord?” she inquired, a polite expression of curiosity sweeping across her features. “May I help you with something?”

Anxiety swept over him again. He clenched his heated palms and swallowed against the lump in his throat. He felt more like a callow youth now than he had when he actually was one. “I-I am looking for a dress.”

A kind smile brightened her features. “As you can see, we have several of those. Perhaps you can be more specific?”

“It’s for a woman.”

“I should hope so.” She chuckled.

Heat crept into his face. He felt ridiculous.

“Could you tell me what type of woman she is?”

Marcus opened his mouth and then shut it again. What type of woman was Danni? His eyes narrowed as he remembered their trip. He growled, saying in a rush, “Absolutely infuriating, stubborn, self-righteous, manipulative…determined.” Adopting a softer tone, he whispered, “Strong, bright, funny, caring to a fault, and—” Feeling suddenly embarrassed, he coughed into his hand and looked away.

“And?” the woman prompted, a secret smile on her face.

Marcus cleared his throat again, feeling the color come back to his face. He mumbled, “And the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

“Ah.” The seamstress whispered with a knowing look. “She’s
that
woman.”

He blinked, surprised he had actually spoken the words. “What do you mean by ‘that woman’?”

“Your true love.”

Marcus shifted on his feet, focusing on a point above her head. He may have admitted as much to himself, but he was definitely not ready to say it aloud, to anyone, not Danni, and especially not this stranger. He still couldn’t believe he was even behaving like such a besotted fool.

Another chuckle came from the woman. He realized her willowy frame stopped just below his chin, of a similar height to Caroline. The thought of his sister made his stomach turn. He knew he was being foolish. He had to manipulate Ginny into marrying him for her money. And Danni was destined to marry a man she could stand beside proudly, and whom her father approved of. She deserved that kind of happiness—a happiness that would be nonexistent with a man like him—who hid from staring crowds and jumped at loud noises.

And even this image of the future could be mere fantasy if they were caught. He knew he’d spend the rest of his life rotting in a prison cell, or, if he was lucky, be spared by the hangman’s noose. Such thoughts made him all that more determined to find her the perfect dress. Something she may someday remember him by with fondness.

“Shall we see if we can’t find what you are looking for?”

The modiste wandered deeper into the store. Marcus hesitated to follow. Should he really be doing this? He had no idea what kind of dress Danni would like. Or even if it would fit her. Perhaps he should have just brought her here later in the day.

“Marcus?”

His gaze shot towards the woman. Her serene gaze and reassuring smile beckoned him forward. As if under some sort of spell, he followed her to a small corner of the room filled with ready-made dresses.

She gestured to one mannequin featuring a yellow-gold dress with bows and fancy sashes. “Perhaps she would like this?”

Marcus tried to picture Danni in the monstrosity.

He rapidly shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“I see. Then perhaps this one?”

The seamstress pointed to another dress a bit farther back from the bunch. It was a creation of deep scarlet velvet with black lace trim. He didn’t think it was absolutely horrible, but it was definitely too dark for Danni.

Again, he shook his head.

“Hmm.” She paused, crossing her arms and elegantly tapping her chin with her index finger. Marcus shifted on his feet, feeling uncomfortable again. Perhaps she had nothing. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to find something Danni would like. Perhaps he’d have to go to a new store and do this all over again.

He paled at the thought.

“Aha!” she suddenly exclaimed. Startled, he felt his heart rate shift for a reason other than anxiety. Taking deep, calming breaths, he fought to focus on something in the present as the modiste disappeared behind the counter. Taking advantage of the private moment, he closed his eyes.

Calming thoughts, he told himself.

Unbidden, an image of Danni filled his mind. He focused on her warm, caramel gaze. The soft touch of her palm brushing his scarred chest. The subtle, addicting smell of roses that enveloped her. He felt his muscles unclench. His heart rate slowed and a peace like he’d never known before slipped over him.

“I believe this will be perfect, Marcus,” the seamstress whispered.

The gentle voice startled him. Opening his eyes, he found the woman right before him again. He frowned; something about her unsettled him. Before he could put his finger on it, a dress was presented directly in his face. He blinked to focus and then felt his stomach drop.

“This one,” he breathed, already imagining it draping Danni.

“I thought so,” the woman crowed with triumph. “Shall I include the under layers, and perhaps something more casual, as well?”

“Please,” he answered, still unable to remove his eyes from the dress.

“Wonderful.” And in a flash, she disappeared again, reappearing moments later with a carefully wrapped package.

“Will you apply the bill to…”

“No need. Think of it as a gift.”

“But—”

“I hope you finally find happiness, Marcus.”

He opened his mouth, confused at her wording, but she vanished behind the counter again. His mouth closed with a click. What an odd woman, he thought as he quietly exited the shop.

It wasn’t until he was halfway back to the inn when he realized something even stranger.

She’d called him Marcus, and yet he’d never given his name.

The early rays of morning streamed in the small window. The wooden room didn’t have much to recommend it in daylight. The walls were a simple whitewash on the top half, darkly stained on the bottom. The colors blended with the creaky floors below.

The beds were terrible as well, only straw with a spattering of feathers. If she had been anything like Annabel, she would have pitched a fit and refused to stay. She had always been the most pragmatic of the pair. Since they were young girls, she had been the anchor Annabel needed and Annabel had been her source of fun with her flare for dramatics and her nose for mischief. What she would not give to have her here now.

Danni waited impatiently, seated on the edge of the equally creaky bed, drawing her legs to her chest. She was clad in a cleaned and pressed dress. Her aged boots were polished and on her feet. Her hair had been combed and braided nearly an hour ago. Her breakfast tray in the corner lay emptied. Ready to leave, but not wishing to go.

Sleep had not come easy, nor had it been restful. Every time her eyes drifted closed, the sight of Marcus’s naked body appeared in her mind, the pink-white scars slashed deeply across his skin. Standing proudly, he dared her to be something other than a simpering London miss, to accept him as he was, without pity or scorn.

Color stained her cheeks as she thought about the incident in his room. She’d been so worried about the scout, it had never occurred to her to knock. She’d seen…well, everything. She wasn’t completely clueless when it came to the male body. Her mother had told her more than most and Annabel answered any questions she had.

She’d thought Marcus a large man, but seeing his nude body overwhelmed her. He towered above her, the essence of masculinity, nothing more than sinew and muscle. She’d been fascinated by the way his body rippled and flexed as he’d moved. Inundated with the full force of him, she didn’t at first notice the latticework of scars covering his flesh.

He’d known the instant she’d seen them. He’d straightened, his face turned cold and militant, daring her to turn away or squirm with disgust. She could understand why he expected such a reaction. She had no problem imagining others of her social class doing exactly that, but it hurt he thought so little of her. And it angered her. She’d known him for only a short period of time, but Danni knew there was much more to him than his appearance. Didn’t he know by now she would not be repulsed by him?

He wasn’t evil or unkind. Despite the fact that they were engaging in crimes that required a cold heart, she knew he did not have one. His angry and defensive exterior was a hard shell, but brittle and easily cracked. She knew under it lay crushing pain and distrust. Now she knew why.

Simply rushing to rescue Ginny was an indicator of his true character. If he really only cared about her fortune, he would have turned back to London and picked a new girl to steal from her bed. He never raised a hand to Ginny, even after she kicked and punched him mercilessly.

And then there had been his kiss. He’d been gentle as he’d claimed her, passion slowly simmering to the surface with his brief contact. No one who could make her feel so cherished could be that horrible. She prided herself on being a good judge of character. It was part of her business to determine whether those she helped elope truly cared for each other.

She deeply believed he was a gentle giant with a compelling reason for his actions. One she was going to discover today at all costs. Danni would not take another step further until she understood what the bloody hell was going on.

Her head fell to the tops of her knees as she sighed. What kind of person could inflict those kinds of wounds on another? The scars were old, faded, and white. They had been inflicted on him many, many years ago. As a child?

That Marcus had been hurt so grievously made her furious. Her eyes burned as she thought of the pain he must have endured. He must have lived in terror of another impending beating for most of his life. How could anyone’s soul be untouched by such horrors?

She remembered the trembling fear in his hands. And the way he startled violently at unexpected noises. She’d noticed how his mind could be with her and then suddenly drift away, shadowed by invisible memories. It all made sense now.

Marcus must constantly revisit the past memories of when he received those scars. The terror he experienced, and still must battle, would be overwhelming. And then to be saddled with a physical reminder each time he looked upon himself… whenever he undressed, looked in mirrors, or saw fear and disgust in the eyes of people around him…

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her father had told her stories of men who returned from war, so shaken by their experiences there that they were forever haunted. He worked in Parliament to pass legislation to provide aid to those men’s families. Many of those men ended up in Bedlam, their minds too unstable for the civilized world.

Danni glanced at the door. How had Marcus managed? She could barely contemplate his life without feeling hopeless despair.

A soft tap echoed against her door. Sighing, she buried her thoughts and pulled the door ajar. Marcus, fully dressed, stood on the other side, his face full of challenge. “That is how you properly request entry into a room, Miss Green.”

She flushed, grimacing. She’d resolved during her endless hours of wakefulness to apologize to him. But looking at his wary features, she did not know what to say. She knew offering her condolences would be wrong. He was proud and would not welcome her pity. Did she just continue on as if nothing had happened? As if she didn’t care about him? Because Danni could no longer pretend she didn’t.

He took the choice away from her by thrusting a package into her hands. The brown paper crinkled in her grasp. She fingered the thin, white twine holding it together. “What is this?”