Promise Me Tomorrow (21 page)

He turned away, his mind racing. Jealousy was an emotion for love-struck fools, not for men such as himself—worldly wise and logical, in control of themselves.

“Justin?” Marianne asked uncertainly.
Was he angry with her again?
She had had to express her dislike of the assumptions that he had made about her, but she realized that she did not want him to turn against her once more. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, turning back to her. “I am simply, well, astounded. It is a lot to assimilate.” He smiled crookedly. “I had thought you scheming, but obviously I had no idea how complex your schemes were. I mean, deceiving me into thinking you were after Bucky, and all the while deceiving him into believing that you were not the woman he wanted.”

“I know. Thank goodness you are both men and therefore easier to deceive.” She grinned impishly. “You will notice that I told Nicola and Penelope the truth.”

He snorted. “Because you needed their help. Honestly, don’t any of you have any compunction about manipulating poor Bucky like that?”

“Poor Bucky! You think he has cause for complaint—being turned in the direction of a woman who adores him?”

“But turned away from a woman whose beauty and wit surpass those of any woman here,” he countered, his smile slow and sensual.

His words left Marianne breathless. “You have a pretty way with words.”

“It is far more than pretty words.” He moved closer. “You are unlike any woman I have ever met.”

“You must have lived a sheltered life.”

“Perhaps I have.” His voice was low and husky, his body so close to hers that she could feel its heat. “Everything I have done with you has turned out wrong; I haven’t felt so clumsy and inept in years.”

“Surely that is not my fault.” Marianne could not keep the unsteadiness from her voice. Her lungs felt as if the air were being crushed from her.

“Ah, but it is.” He smiled faintly. “It is easy to be practiced and assured when it does not matter if you fail. It is far more difficult when the outcome is so important.”

Marianne could not have said anything if she had tried. She simply gazed up at him.

“I have tried the past day to stay away from you, but it has been damnably difficult. I told myself that you were wicked, that I was better off without you. But the fact is that I have thought of you every minute. I haven’t ceased wanting you.”

He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. Silently he kissed each of her fingertips. “Will you forgive me for the things I said to you? The things I thought?”

“Then you have decided that I am not a thief?” Marianne struggled to keep her voice light despite the weakness his feathery kisses was causing all through her body.

He chuckled. “I realize that you are not the sort to try to trap Bucky, that you are, in fact, a good friend and a woman with a kind heart. I was wrong to assume you were an adventuress. As for thievery…” He shrugged. “I am finding more and more that I simply do not care.”

He tilted up her chin, gazing seriously into her eyes. “Say you will give me another chance. Tell me I have not burned all my bridges with you.”

“No, you have not,” Marianne admitted softly. “I—perhaps you are a trifle hard to forget, as well.”

He grinned. “What lovely words, Mrs. Cotterwood.” He bent and kissed her lips lightly.

Marianne pulled away from him. “But I—I feel I must be honest with you, as you have been honest with me. You were right…about what I did. What Piers and Harrison have done. For the past ten years that is how I have lived.” She raised her chin defiantly. “It was wrong, perhaps, but I do not regret it. I took only from people who would scarcely miss what I stole. And it was the only way I could find to support Rosalind and myself in any kind of decent life. I couldn’t bear to let her grow up hungry and poor—not when I could give her the things she deserved. There was no other way I knew to do that except to sell my body, and I refused to do that. I owed Harrison and Della a great debt. They had saved my life, and Rosalind’s. How could I not do everything I could to repay them?”

“You do not need to justify yourself to me. Heaven only knows, I am no saint.” He paused, then said, “But it is a dangerous life to lead. What if you were caught? What would happen to your daughter then?”

“I know. And I—I am not certain that I can do it anymore. These past few days, everything has been so different. I have come to care—I mean, I do not think I could do something that would hurt Lady Buckminster. She has been quite kind to me.” She grinned. “Even though I am a poor rider.”

“No doubt she hopes to reform you.” Lambeth reached out and took her hand again. “Will you overlook my past mistakes? May we start again?”

“I—I am not sure what you mean,” Marianne hedged. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
Was he offering again to make her his mistress?
She had sworn she would never settle for such a position. It was far better to be her own woman—and she refused to make her daughter live under such a cloud. Yet she knew that there was no possibility of marriage with a man destined one day to be a duke.

He grinned. “A chance, that’s all. Right now I ask only that you save a waltz for me at Lady Buckminster’s ball Friday.”

“That is a promise easily enough given. But what about after that?”

He shrugged. “Then we shall see. Right now, that is enough.” He lifted his eyebrows quizzically. “Well? What do you say?”

“I will save you a waltz,” she agreed, hoping she was not making a terrible mistake.

M
ARIANNE DID NOT SLEEP WELL THAT NIGHT
.
Her thoughts were too full of Justin. After their talk in the rose arbor, he had not tried to kiss her again. He had been lightly flirtatious the rest of the day, and although he did not make an obvious point of it, he had managed to spend a good deal of the evening by her side. He was subtly courting her, she knew, but she also knew that his courtship could lead nowhere except to a life she had promised herself she would never lead.

She lay awake for a long time, thinking about what had happened that afternoon in the rose arbor, going over in her mind every word, every gesture, every shade of meaning.
Would he come to her tonight?
Her nerves were on edge, waiting for a tap at her door.

She did not want Justin to visit, she told herself. An affair with him would mean nothing but pain. Still, she could not stop thinking about what would happen if he did come to her room. She tossed and turned, remembering the scene that afternoon, and when she finally slept, she woke up two or three times to find herself twisted in her sheets, damp with sweat and thrumming from heated dreams that she could not quite recall.

When she awoke the next morning, she was heavy-eyed from lack of sleep. Stretching, she climbed out of bed, aware of a certain sense of piqué that Justin had not come to her room. Her eyes fell on a square white envelope lying on the rug just inside the closed door. Her heart picked up its beat. She hurried over and picked it up. Her name was on the front. She opened it quickly.

The note read:

As if she would reveal to anyone that she was having an assignation with a man, she thought. But it was somehow endearing to see this bit of nervousness in a man otherwise so sophisticated. She smiled to herself. Obviously the place had some special significance to him because they had seen it together and talked about it on their ride. And just as obviously, his not coming to her room last night had had to do with discretion, not lack of desire.

It would be foolish to go, she knew. He could want to meet her at such an isolated spot for one reason only, and she was fully aware of the dangers of having an affair with Lord Lambeth. Yet she found herself pulling out her riding habit from the wardrobe. It might mean emotional disaster for her, but she realized in that moment that she did not care. She wanted only to lose herself in Justin’s arms.

She dressed quickly, not waiting for the maid to help her. A quick twist and pinning of her hair would hold it under her hat, and she needed no more than that. Within minutes, she was ready, and she left her room.

Hoping to avoid meeting anyone, she ran lightly down the servants’ staircase. Only Lady Buckminster and her friend Mrs. Minton were up this early and seated at the breakfast table, and Lady Buckminster said only, “Ah, going riding, I see. Good idea. Be sure to take a groom with you.”

“I will,” Marianne replied mendaciously and tucked into her breakfast.

Lady Buckminster and her friend carried on their conversation regarding the ancestry of a particular horse that Mrs. Minton was considering buying and that Bucky’s mother considered a bad bargain. Marianne could understand only about a third of what they said, but that was fine with her, for she had no interest in trying to carry on a conversation this morning.

As soon as she had stuffed down enough toast and tea to satisfy her stomach, she excused herself and slipped away to the stables. It was some distance to the mine entrance, as she remembered, over an hour at least, and she did not want to be late.

She had a groom saddle a horse, then set out at a smarter pace than she had the day they had ridden to White Lady Falls. She drew a deep breath, admiring the landscape around her. The looming moor seemed beautiful today, no mist hanging over it, the sky blue against its bulk. Even the gray upthrusts of broken granite, called tors, added a certain stark appeal to the scene.

She had worried that she might not remember the way, but as it turned out, it was not difficult. The path was clearly marked, and she remembered without hesitation which way to turn when she reached the place where the path crossed with the one from Exmoor House. She rode on, the path climbing, until at last she saw the mine entrance in the distance. It was set into the slope, and beside it lay a tumble of huge rocks. She turned her horse—not an easy task, as it had its own mind about staying on the well-worn path—and started toward the rocks.

There was no sign of another person around, and Marianne realized she must have arrived early. She sighed. It would not do to appear too early, but she did not see how she could avoid it now. There was no room in which to loiter until the right time, not even a tree behind which to hide. She dismounted and, holding the reins in her hand, she walked up to the dark square of the mine entrance. Large timbers stood on either side and across the top of the rough doorway, which seemed to open into the side of the hill itself. A little timidly, she moved forward, peering into the gloom. The doorway was not tall. She had to duck her head to look inside.

The inside was as black as a pit to Marianne’s sun-dazzled eyes. She leaned in farther, one hand grasping the rough timber beside her, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Still, she could see nothing, and she was just about to withdraw when something hit her hard in the small of her back and she tumbled forward, hitting the ground with enough force to knock the air from her lungs. An instant later, something crashed into the back of her head and everything went black.

J
USTIN FINISHED HIS SHAVE AND
turned away, wiping the remains of the soapsuds from his chin. Whistling, he went to the window and looked down from it onto the yard below. His window lay on the side of the house, and from it he had a clear view of the stables. He considered the possibility of convincing Marianne to go for a ride with him today, and the thought made him smile.

Then he saw the object of his thoughts walking across the yard toward the stables, and he had to blink to convince himself that it was really she. It seemed bizarre that she would be up so early—or going to the stables, given the quality of her riding. But it presented a perfect opportunity. If he could catch up with her, they could go for that ride he had been contemplating. He grabbed a cravat from his drawer, wrapping it around his throat and tying it with a haste that would have made his valet blanch. Shrugging on his jacket, he hurried out the door and down to the side yard.

He was too late. In the distance, he could see the trim figure of a female rider on a horse taking the trail around the lake. Striding into the stables, he ordered one of the grooms to saddle his horse. He intended to catch up with her, but as he stood, waiting, he began to wonder more and more why she was heading out alone at this hour of the morning.

“Did Mrs. Cotterwood say where she was going?” he asked the groom as the man finished cinching the saddle on his horse and stepped back.

“To meet Miss Winborne, she said, my lord.”

Justin stared at him for a moment in blank surprise. It was ludicrous to think that Marianne would go riding with Cecilia. He frowned.
Unless Cecilia had some plot in mind…
But, no, he could not believe that Marianne would be so naive as to trust anything Cecilia said. Marianne must have lied to the groom. It was then that it occurred to him that she was sneaking out to meet one of her confederates.

His lips tightened at the thought.
Perhaps that Piers fellow had come into the village and was staying at the inn. Marianne could be slipping him some message so that he could more easily rob the house.
The idea made him frown. Marianne was engaging in activity that was far too dangerous. She was going to get herself into serious trouble if she did not exercise greater care.
And he did not like her spending time with that damned rascal Piers.

As soon as he mounted his horse, he set out after Marianne. He was careful not to overtake her, for he wanted to find out where she was going and who she was meeting. He followed the prints her horse’s hooves made. Now and then, when he topped a rise, he caught sight of her. But when she started the climb up toward the moor, he had to hang back for a long time, not wanting to expose his pursuit on that long stretch of treeless ground. He waited in a copse of trees until she was completely out of sight, then started forward. In the distance he heard a loud noise, something like thunder, but shorter, and his horse shied, pricking up its ears. He urged the steed to a faster pace, an undefined worry beginning to niggle at his brain.

There was no sign of Marianne in the distance, and that increased his uneasy feeling. Given the fact that he had roused his horse to a trot and that Marianne’s mount was unfailingly slow, it seemed to him that he should be able to see her in the distance.
Could she have turned off somewhere?
At that moment he noticed that a horse had turned from this path and struck out through the bracken and gorse toward the mine. Suspicion sizzled through him. The mine would make an excellent secluded spot for a secret meeting. He started forward, then came to a dead halt as his brain registered what his eyes were seeing.

The dark doorway of the mine was no longer there. Where it had stood, empty, was now a jumbled pile of timber, rocks and dirt. The mine entrance had collapsed.

L
AMBETH DUG HIS HEELS IN, AND HIS
horse bounded forward. Close to the entrance, he flung himself off the animal, dropping its reins, and ran to the collapsed entrance, shouting, “Marianne! Marianne! Can you hear me?”

Frantically, he began to dig at the rocks and dirt that lay on top of the fallen timbers. Behind them was a hole, where two timbers had fallen at angles to each other and crossed, leaving an empty space above them. He climbed up, the smaller rocks and dirt sliding from beneath his feet, and threw one leg over the fallen timbers. He eased his way onto the crossed logs, and there was an ominous creaking, but nothing gave way, and he slid through.

Once past the barrier, he could stand almost upright, though the timbers above his head sagged, and one had snapped almost clean through. He looked around. There was enough light coming in through the hole he had created that he could see the few feet around him. Farther on, everything dissolved into darkness.

But Marianne lay only a few feet away from him, clearly visible. With a soft cry, he went down on his knees beside her. She lay on her stomach, her arms flung above her head.

“Marianne?” Panic seized his chest at her stillness, and he bent close to her face. His heart was pounding so hard in his ears that he could hear nothing else, so he held his hand beneath her nose. A warm breath brushed his finger, and he relaxed. “Thank God!”

He sat down, his muscles suddenly trembling so that he could not maintain his position. He pulled up his knees, bracing his arms on them, and dropped his head, drawing in steadying breaths. He could not remember when he had felt such an avalanche of fear pour through him. For an instant he had been certain she was dead.

Wiping his hands down his trouser legs, he blew out a breath and turned to examine Marianne. This was no time to give way to emotions. Another creak from the timbers above him reminded him that quick action was necessary. With gentle hands, he made his way along her arms, then down her neck and back, ending by pressing his fingers into her legs all the way down to her feet. Nothing seemed to be broken; nor was her neck at an odd angle. The only injury he could find was a lump on the back of her head. He thought it would be all right to move her.

He turned her over. Her face was streaked with dirt, but there was no blood, nor did any stain the front of her riding habit. Justin slid his arm beneath her shoulders and raised her to an almost sitting position, braced against his chest. “Marianne. Can you hear me? You need to wake up.”

He glanced at the hole he had made in the rubble. It would be difficult to push her limp body through the opening. It would be much easier if she were conscious and able to help. He chafed her wrists and continued to say her name, wishing that he had brought some water to put on her face. There was an eerie groan above his head, startling him, and suddenly a shower of dirt poured down on a spot two feet away from him.

“Marianne! Wake up! We’ve got to get out of here.”

He could not straighten up enough to carry her well, so he hooked his arms underneath hers and pulled her the short distance to the opening. He coughed, the dust that lingered in the air clogging his throat.

He said her name again, and finally her eyelids fluttered. After a moment, they opened, and her eyes wavered around before focusing on his face.

“Justin? Oh, thank God!” She went into his arms, her face pressed into his jacket and her arms wrapped around him. “I didn’t know—I couldn’t see you. Were you in here? Who pushed me?”

“What?” He stared at her. She was obviously very befuddled. “No. I wasn’t in here. I just got here, and I dug a hole in the rubble to get in. I—I feared you might be inside when I saw that the entrance had caved in. And what do you mean, who pushed you?”