Loving a Lost Lord (30 page)

Up in their rooms, Julia removed the handkerchief that had been tied around Mariah's neck and used a damp cloth to blot away dried blood. “The bleeding has stopped,” she said after her examination. “I'll put on some salve and a lighter bandage.”

“This is my opportunity to be very Parisian,” Mariah said with brittle humor as Julia helped her out of the ruined gold dress. “They say that during the Reign of Terror, fashionable French women would tie a red cord around their throats as a frivolous reference to guillotining.”

Julia shuddered. “I'm not ready for that much frivolity. Much better to wear scarves for the next few days.”

Not feeling very frivolous herself, Mariah agreed. After Julia put a fresh bandage around her neck, it was a relief to change into her oldest, most comfortable nightgown.

Before going downstairs, Julia said tentatively, “The fact that Adam isn't betrothed changes everything.”

Perhaps. Perhaps not. “I can't think beyond this moment,” Mariah said wearily, “or I will dissolve into strong hysterics.” Tomorrow, when she was less emotionally and physically drained, would be soon enough to discover if she and Adam had a future. “Everyone in that room knows that Shipley found me in bed with Adam. I can see the caricatures now if he married me: the Slut Duchess.”

Julia winced. “Most of the guests are related to one or the other of you, so they may well hold their tongues. If not—well, it's not uncommon for couples to anticipate their marriage vows.”

“The anticipation is not the problem. Having everyone in London know is.” She shuddered at the thought. “I do not want to face my father or mother or sister just now.” Or to find out if a duke would marry a woman with no reputation.

“Do you want me to stay?” Julia asked.

“Thank you,” Mariah bent to strip off her stockings. “For now, I want to be alone and sleep, and you're probably hungry. Go back to the party and enjoy yourself.”

Julia studied her face. “As you wish. Don't be afraid to send for me if you need company.”

When she was finally alone, Mariah slumped into a chair and buried her face in her hands, glad she no longer had to appear calm and in control. She would never forget the feel of that madman's grip, nor his knife against her throat. She had been sure she was going to die, and tremors of shock and fear still rippled through her.

Tomorrow she could manage to appear strong. Wearily she rose from the chair, climbed into her bed, and pulled the covers over her head.

For tonight, the world could go
hang.

 

The dinner party was a mixture of enjoyable and strange. Everyone was making an effort to be cheerful, and by the second course the effort had become reality. Adam wanted to go to Mariah, but she needed rest, and he needed to achieve some degree of normalcy.

The magistrate arrived just as the meal was ending, which was a relief. The man was thorough but sensible. With so many distinguished witnesses agreeing that a deranged servant had attempted to kill the most noble Duke of Ashton, then been killed himself as he threatened a young lady, there was no doubt about what had happened.

Families and friends left after being questioned in the small salon. Adam encouraged the magistrate to talk to the Townsends first so he could avoid Mariah's father. Charles did not look pleased to know that his worst suspicions of Adam had been confirmed.

When Lakshmi and her family left, she patted him on the cheek. “I will have no more of these attempts on your life. I, your mother, forbid it!”

He smiled wearily as he kissed her. “I hope that the universe hears that.”

Adam was the last to be questioned. When the magistrate dismissed him with assurances that the unpleasant matter could be resolved quietly, he found that Randall was still up, waiting in the study and cradling a glass of brandy in his hands.

“Congratulations on surviving hell's own dinner party.” Randall handed another brandy-filled glass to Adam. “If ever a man has earned a drink, it's you.”

“Thank you.” Adam folded into a chair as crushing fatigue descended on him. “I don't recall making a habit of getting blind drunk, but I may give it a try.”

“I don't advise it. The price is too high the next morning.” Randall sipped at his brandy. “Have you recovered the last of your memories?”

“I think so.” Adam tested his mind. “I don't remember anything about the explosion. I have a feeling that's gone forever. Otherwise, the gaps have been filled.”

“I'm glad your marksmanship proved to be as good as ever.”

“So am I.” Adam took a gulp of his brandy. His hands were shaking. “I keep thinking of how easily I could have killed Mariah.”

“But you didn't. It was a calculated risk. If you hadn't made the attempt, she probably would have died at Shipley's hands. He looked ripe to kill.”

“That's what I thought.” He swallowed more brandy, trying not to remember what it looked like when a pistol ball smashed into Shipley's skull.

“You've never killed a man before tonight,” Randall said softly.

“A record I wish I'd maintained.” Adam's fingers clenched around his glass. “I'd do it again without hesitation. But I'm a coward. I'd rather not have shot him.”

“That doesn't make you a coward. It means you have a soul.”

Adam's tension started to unwind. “Painful things, souls. But better than the lack, I suppose.”

Randall studied his face closely. Apparently deciding that Adam would do, he finished his brandy and got to his feet. “Get some rest, Ash. Tomorrow the world will seem a better place.”

“Thank you for being here,” Adam said quietly.

Randall gave a rare smile. “As you've always been for me? I'm glad for the chance to return the favor.” He touched Adam's shoulder on the way out of the room. “Don't let the bastards win, Ash.”

After the door closed behind Randall, Adam closed his eyes and sought the still, quiet center of his soul. True meditation was beyond him at the moment, but as his spirit calmed, he finally and fully recognized the great blessing born of the traumatic evening: he was free to marry Mariah. Nothing stood between them.

Except, perhaps, the lady herself. She might be having second thoughts about marrying a man who might get her killed merely by standing beside her.

But all his doubts were gone. He emptied his glass and left the study to head upstairs. It was midnight on a shattering day, and he craved Mariah as he craved breath. They'd been through so much together in a short time. Too much perhaps. They'd had deception and forgiveness and passion. Oh, yes, they had passion.

He let himself quietly into her room. No lamp was lit, but open curtains admitted enough moonlight to reveal a small huddled form in the middle of her bed. She was covered completely, rejecting the world.

He pulled off his shoes and coat and lay down on the bed, careful not to wake her when he draped an arm over her waist. For now it was enough to be near.

Despite his care, she sighed and pulled the covers from her head. Her tumbling hair was flaxen in the moonlight, her delicate features more fairy than real. She gave him a tired smile of welcome. “Is the day over? I really, really want this day to be over.”

“Midnight has passed, so it is now officially tomorrow. I'm too exhausted to do anything but sleep, but I wanted to do that with you.” Tenderly he brushed back her hair, thinking it felt like moonbeams. “Will you marry me, Mariah? The sooner, the better.”

His heart sank when she frowned. “The fact that you weren't betrothed to Janey doesn't mean you're obligated to marry me now.” Her voice turned brittle. “I have been revealed as a wanton. If that becomes public, it will be a great scandal.”

“Even if the betrothal had been real, I had already decided to break it.” He found her hand under the coverlet and pulled it out so he could kiss her fingertips. “When I came so close to losing you, I decided scandal be damned. I'm relieved that Janey isn't heartbroken, but I would have married you anyhow.”

She gazed at him searchingly. “So much has happened. Perhaps we should wait a few months. Normalcy might change…everything.”

He laced his fingers through hers. “It won't change the fact that I love you.”

She bit her lip. “Are you sure? Perhaps it's just that I was at hand while you struggled through a difficult time. You might feel differently when you have time to relax and look around.”

Her uncertainty hurt until he reminded himself that Mariah's evening had been at least as shattering as his. She'd also had a lifetime living on the fringes of society. Now she needed reassurance and persuasion. “I spent years looking around London society and never found a woman I wanted to marry. You are the right one for me, Mariah. A love of a thousand lifetimes. I hope you feel the same way about me.”

Her hand tightened around his. “Of course I do. How could I not? I…I just don't want you to ever have regrets.”

Joy began to bubble through him, washing away the tension and grief of the evening. “Nonsense. I am a duke—fierce, powerful, selfish, and decisive. If I see something I want, I take it. And I want you.” He leaned forward and kissed her. Her mouth was sweeter than honey, more addictive than opium. “Prepare to be overpowered, woman. You are mine, now and forever.”

“In that case, my dearest love, I will most certainly marry you.” She laughed with a joy that matched his. “Are you going to ravish me, my fierce duke?”

“Absolutely. Instantly. Over and over again. Unless you wish to ravish me. I'll happily cooperate in that.” He brushed another kiss on her ear. “I will purchase a special license. Sarah will stand up with you. You will be my duchess before you can come up with any more foolish reasons to refuse me.”

“You are far too powerful to resist. I resign myself to becoming a duchess.” Her smile radiant, she laid her hand on his cheek. “I love you, Adam Darshan Lawford. You are my gift from the sea. I can't believe how lucky I am!”

“The luck is mutual. I owe my treacherous aunt thanks. I never would have met you if not for her.” He slid his hand under the blanket and rested it on her warm breast, as perfect when covered in worn cotton as it had been in luxurious silk.

She caught her breath and slid her fingers into his hair, drawing him down for a kiss. He felt as if he had come home for the first time in his life. “I suspect that I have loved you before,” he murmured. “Hindus believe in reincarnation, you know. That could mean we've loved before and will again.”

“I like the idea that we are bound together through time. World without end, amen.” Her smile mischievous, she unfastened his crumpled cravat, then slid her hand inside the shirt to rest on his chest. “How tired did you say you were?”

Not as tired as he'd thought.

In fact, not tired at all…