Proper Scoundrel (7 page)

“Thank you. I think Peacehaven will be good for him.”

“I think so too.” Marcus ruined another neck-cloth.

“She just left,” Ivy said, getting back to his original tease. “Wait until you see her.”

“I’m that transparent, am I?”

“Only to me.”

“What made you suspect Jade would rattle my foundations?”

Ivy shrugged. “Same instinct that told me you’d rattle hers.”

Marcus forgot his purpose. “She’s not half as rattled as I am. Is she? Say yes.”

Ivy laughed. “Give me that neck-cloth.”

Marcus couldn’t stand to play one more round of cards, because he couldn’t bear another minute away from Jade. He didn’t give a damn if he was playing Whist or Piquet, a fact brought to his attention by his annoyed Whist partner when he unwisely led with trumps.

The conversation he instigated told Marcus that the people of Lewes, Newhaven, and the surrounding areas were split in regards to the arrival of the railroad. The shipbuilders and brewers were for it, for obvious reasons—increased profits because of the ability the railroad would give them to ship and receive more goods more quickly.

Some villagers thought the railroad could make the small port of Newhaven important enough to set it up as a link to France. Many wanted the rails because they would bring tourists whose money could turn the dreary seaside village into a prime watering hole, which would increase revenue in the surrounding villages as well. Others did not want it because it would bring tourists, who brought riff-raff, who would destroy their lovely seaside village and its surrounds.

Nothing new in that.

His card-partner prompted him to take his turn, so Marcus made his move.

There appeared no apparent or dramatic reason why anyone might sabotage construction. Oh, one man said he’d blow the dirty heaving monster up if it came any closer, but people who made such blowhard statements liked the sounds of their own voices and never acted on their lofty—

The game ended suddenly, and by his partner’s black looks, Marcus realized he must have done something to hasten its speedy demise. Just as well. “I’m done for, gentlemen,” he said. “Thank you for your company.” Marcus downed the rest of his whiskey and rose.

He needed to see Jade. Talk with her. Touch her. Dance with her. He’d sent a generous tip with a request to the orchestra for a supper waltz. Confirmation that his petition would be granted had arrived shortly thereafter.

He exited the card room via the upper floor terrace, so he could enter the ballroom with a full view of the assemblage. When he arrived, he did not need to look hard.

Jade shone like the sun beaming down upon a garden of fading flowers.

As he approached, his heart quickened its beat. Yellow silk perfectly complimented Jade’s colouring, the effect enhanced by the peach silk rosebuds in her hair, between her breasts, and marching down an inverted “V” from waist to hem. Unlike the women about her, Jade wore a slim skirt, rather than a flared, a mode she favoured. He was no more surprised that his scandal chose style over fashion than he’d been that she’d decided—at her grandmother’s request—not to observe mourning. In both cases, to do otherwise would be too much like following the rules.

Like a stately goddess, she watched him approach, while his pulse raced for knowing he would soon hold her in his arms.

He bowed before her with decorous formality when he wished nothing more than to sweep her into a kiss and feast on the delicious confection she resembled.

She curtseyed like an ice queen.

“I adore you,” he whispered, to start her melt, and touched his lips to her inner wrist when she presented her hand.

She fluttered her fan to conceal her reaction, but her eyes above the flare hinted at a scandal’s smile.

Her girls, Marcus realized, stood beside her, and even he knew that they should be dancing. Were the men in Newhaven blind?

“I’ll start them off,” he whispered to Jade.

He bowed in turn before each, repeating the ritual of hand kissing and pleasantries. Then he partnered each wallflower— Molly’s mother, Lilly, first. Then Sofia, Millie, and Lacey last, country dances all.

Marcus paid that grand price to waltz with Jade, consoled by the fact that she would offer her undying gratitude and he would accept.

Speaking with Lilly, Sofia and Millie had not been intellectually stimulating, but the three were lovely, sweet, and suitably behaved for the social situation, which said much for Lacey’s lessons. Their conversations followed a similar tone, however. Jade was their saviour. They’d be left in the cold, or worse, if not for her.

His discourse with Lacey turned more personal and thought-provoking. Though she remained quiet, calm, and always the lady, he judged she’d been deeply hurt in her life, perhaps at the point when she’d been sent to Peacehaven by her family.

During the course of their dance, he apologized for his error the day they met.

“Being mistaken for someone’s mother was unexpected,” Lacey said, “and a blow, though unintentional, I realize, because I lost a daughter.”

She mentioned neither a husband nor a lost love, and Marcus offered sympathy and thanked her for trusting him with her story.

“If there is a man you love, who isn’t claiming you—” Marcus spoke for her ears, alone, as he kissed her hand after their dance. “He’s a fool.”

Lacey’s eyes filled as she whispered her thanks.

Once he showed Jade’s fledglings off, suitors crowded round.

Assuring the men’s faultless deportment, Marcus stood beside Jade, a hand at her elbow to mark his possession and discourage any and all comers inclined in her direction. One dandy who made to approach her received Marcus’s darkest scowl and changed course on the instant.

The supper waltz finally began and Marcus exulted as he swept onto the floor with the scandal who stole his heart.

As they turned and dipped, his hand at her back sizzling for the contact, he drank in her elegance in greedy draughts—long lashes, dazzling eyes, high cheekbones, lush lips, inches away from his own. He wanted to kiss her there, and there, and there too.

Jade watched Marcus, for all the world as if he were nibbling her here and there in his mind. Lord and didn’t she wish he’d nibble in truth?

When admonishment, bearing Gram’s voice, slipped into her mind for the weak thought over a man, Jade cast it aside. Nothing would stop her tonight. At her first ball, she’d dance in the arms of her favourite gallant and damn the consequences.

Her valiant suitor. Not a man in sight matched Marcus for male splendour. He wore black tailcoat and trousers with a gold waistcoat and a shirt of snow white. A topaz winked in his lapel. His neck-cloth conveyed elegance not fuss.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked.

Jade smiled to entice. “As you did this afternoon.”

“You wore the same slippers then as now,” he observed. “Would I find the rest the same as well, were I to ... unwrap ... the very splendid package before me.”

Jade lowered her lashes, as much to hide nervousness as to titillate. “I would never let you unwrap, I have to say, unless I could do the same.”

He pulled her closer, and her heart and body rejoiced. “It will happen,” he said, his voice low, his breath warming the air near her ear. “The moment is yours to name.” He pulled back to gaze deeply into her eyes. “Think carefully on it, however, my sweet. Mating fire with ice will alter us both.”

True fear of a man hit Jade then, for the first time, a fear greater than she’d learned at her grandmother’s knee. One that could neither be touched nor named.

The power Marcus Fitzalan held over her could alter her in crucial ways, she feared, and that’s what frightened her most. Except that he seemed so different from other men.

Pups adored him.

Fearful little girls followed in his wake.

He turned wallflowers into belles, melted ice, and fears from hearts.

Could Marcus be that rarest of creatures, a man to depend on? “I’ve never been so tempted,” she said, because he waited, because she wanted something—everything—he offered and couldn’t bear to think of saying no. Except that she feared saying yes, though she barely understood the question.

“How long have we known each other?” she asked realizing how fast this malady that passed for fascination had come upon her.

“Since eternity,” he said. “We’re meant to be.”

“I’m not certain I believe that.”

“I can wait until you do.” He never gave her the answer she expected, but one that touched her in unexpected ways.

“I’m not sure I can wait,” she admitted as the music ended and he offered his arm to take her in to supper.

When he placed a plate before her, she grasped his wrist and he leaned close.

“I know I can’t wait,” she whispered.

He dismissed his hired carriage and shared hers on the way home, sitting close of necessity, bringing her a warm satisfaction. And in the darkness, while Lacey touted their success and Molly laughed like a girl again, Marcus found Jade’s hand and held it under cover of her skirt, infusing her with contentment.

When they arrived at the Manor, they bid everyone goodnight, and Marcus asked her to walk with him outside for a bit to take the air.

He removed his coat, placed it on her shoulders, and made her slip it on, then amid owls’ calls and sea breezes they strolled across the lawn, her hand on his arm.

When they reached the cliff overlooking the Channel, a vast expanse of shimmering silver slashed by moonlight, he covered her hand with his and squeezed. “I have a favour to ask.” He faced her. “I’d like to bring my brother, Garrett, to stay here for a while—another fledgling for your nest. He’s in ... he’s been hurt. An accident; my fault, rot my soul in hell.”

“Oh, Marcus. Does he blame you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I suspect you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

He waved away her attempt at absolution, a certain indication he needed absolving too much to acknowledge her words. “May I invite him?” he asked. “Please.”

“Of course you may, but I don’t understand why you’d wish to.”

He started them walking again, absently stroking her hand on his arm. “For several reasons, really. So I can spend time with him, help him become the old Garr again. There’s so much healing going on here, Jade—emotional as well as physical. Garrett needs both. He may stay ... as he is ...” Marcus cleared his throat with impatience when his voice cracked, “for the rest of his life. Your ladies would be good for him. I think he might be good for them. What do you think?”

“I think I would like to be kissed, please.”

Marcus didn’t need a second invitation. He brought Jade hard against him, closing his mouth over hers—no gentleness, no patience. He wanted to bury the horror and guilt of Garrett’s accident in her silk and scent. In her.

Deep inside her.

He wanted her.

She wanted, too, judging by her trembling. She opened to his coaxing lips, slipped a soft hand beneath his waistcoat, and caressed the hair at his nape with the other. A woman’s hands in his hair always drove him wild, but never so much as now, with Jade.

He slid his seeking hands beneath her coat, his coat, lucky coat, wrapped around her the way he’d like to be, and he learned her with his palms, from her shoulders to the small of her back, to the bottom he’d known from the start would fit his hands just right.

She arched, meeting the evidence of his need and didn’t withdraw, but rocked against him as if she’d done it a hundred times, yet he knew by the kiss that this was a first.

Instinct. The need to mate.

He moved with her, hard and eager against soft and pliant. Theirs would be a perfect mating; he’d never been so certain of anything in his life. And he was ready, so ready, but a kiss was all she asked.

He stepped back, breathing hard. “I’m sorry. I was too rough. I ... don’t be afraid. I feel as if ... you seem to have some power over me, the power to turn me into a primitive chest-pounding male. But don’t worry, I won’t grab your hair and drag you to my cave, I promise. Not tonight, at any rate.”