Tempting the Marquess (12 page)

Despite Charles’s entreaty, once she was in her bed Livvy found sleep elusive. How confused she was. Life was becoming as complicated as one of her novels, but she had no guarantee things would come right in the end. The hero of her story wanted to be written out entirely, which could not be allowed, no matter how he provoked her. She knew he had hero material in his hidden depths, but those depths were proving surprisingly deep and quite well hidden.

Her supporting cast consisted of her aunt, a couple of young children, a few masterful servants, and a pair of enormous dogs. And tonight she had learned the villain of her piece was not a villain at all, but a poor, troubled soul in need of forgiveness.

St. Stephen’s Day/Gwyl San Steffan

Perhaps it was for the best he had slept through dinner, Jason thought as he dressed the following morning. He would have been poor company. He’d felt black doggish since that moment in the church when he’d found himself desiring Miss Weston.

Just how much, he wondered, did a man have to go through before he learned his lesson? The past had haunted him every day for years. Why should those painful memories choose to desert him now, when he needed them most?

He wished he could remain alone in his room. Avoidance seemed a perfectly good solution. If he could not remove the temptation at hand, he would remove himself. But he could not. Today was St. Stephen’s Day, and he would be expected to assist Katherine in the distribution of the Christmas boxes.

Besides, he was starving and he had no doubt that Katherine would forbid the servants to bring him food if he kept to his chamber longer than she deemed acceptable. He also had no doubt they would obey her commands, no matter that he was their master. Bloody ingrates.

He vented his spleen in this manner all the way to the breakfast room, where a cold spread was laid out, as the servants had the day off. Dimpsey had offered to watch Edward and Charlotte, declaring he could imagine no better way to spend the day. On hearing this, Jason decided the man was totally insane, a candidate for sainthood, or utterly devoid of imagination.

“Good morning,” his stepmother greeted him. “I trust you slept well.”

Jason grunted in response, filling a plate for himself before taking his place at the table.

“I do believe you are the last person up,” Katherine continued. “Shall I have Dimpsey take the children out to collect more holly branches?”

“Why ever for?” Miss Weston questioned.

“Holming is the traditional punishment in Wales for the last person out of bed on St. Stephen’s Day,” Charles answered.

“And what is ‘holming’?”

Jason’s stepmother explained. “Holly-beating. It’s customary in most parts hereabouts for men to slash the arms and legs of their female servants until they bleed. They believe it brings good luck. In more civilized households, only the last one to get up suffers the holming, and then he has to spend the day following the commands of his family.”

Miss Weston looked appalled. “But that’s barbaric,” she protested.

“That is your opinion,” Jason countered. “For many, it is simply the custom. As children they watched their parents take part, and now they do so as well. It’s all in good sport.”

“All in good sport? How can you say that? Do you wish your son to follow your example? To grow into a man who condones this abominable practice of inflicting pain on helpless women?”

“Whilst you reside under my roof, Miss Weston, you will keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“That would pose no problem, my lord, if you would but run a household worthy of civility.”

“Olivia, dearest, I am afraid you don’t understand,” Katherine began, but Jason cut her off.

“I have never been tempted to join the day’s festivities, as I have always found them distasteful. But if all the women in my life were like you, I believe I could be persuaded. You, Miss Weston, are capable of inciting a man to violence.”

“Isn’t that just like a man?” she muttered furiously. “Violence is the solution to every problem.”

“So you admit that women are, in essence, a problem? And yet however much you plague us, we poor men cannot do without you. Whatever your flaws, women are needed for the continuation of the race . . . among other things.”

Her face turned quite red. He knew she was untouched, but was her mind innocent as well? Or had she turned to thoughts of other things? Her chest rose and fell quickly in her agitation, and the movement made her breasts bounce in a most delightful manner. Desire pooled low in his stomach.

“W-whatever our flaws?” she sputtered.

“You cannot mean to deny the multitude of ways females are inherently inferior to men.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. “You can’t always have been like this,” she said finally.

What the devil was that supposed to mean? Jason wondered. Like what? Like a man? Intelligent? Logical? And yet he did not think her assessment was meant to be flattering.

Then, all of a sudden, her demeanor changed. Her face lit into a smile as she wagged a reproving finger at him. “You are being deliberately provoking, and it is too bad of you, my lord. You don’t really believe the horrid things you say, but you hope they instill in me such a thorough dislike of your person that I will go out of my way to avoid you for the duration of my stay. It will not work.”

“Miss Weston, I have long since ceased to follow this stream of babble. You are a woman, so it is only natural you should wish to defend your sex, but—”

“Say what you like, my lord. Now I am wise to your tricks, I shan’t take it to heart. You had me thoroughly fooled for a time, though. I must confess I would have been disappointed to learn you were the sort of man to be threatened by a woman with opinions.”

“Your opinions do not threaten me,” he growled. “They aggravate me. I begin to believe you communicate so well with children because their naive understanding of the world so closely matches your own.”

“Ooooh!”

Jason fought not to laugh. So much for Miss Weston not taking what he said to heart. Her color was high and her eyes were flashing blue daggers at him.

All that fiery passion only made her more bloody desirable. He had no doubt she would be a wildcat in bed. It would be a lucky man who got to tame her, to make her purr. . . .

“That is quite enough, both of you,” his stepmother admonished. “As it’s a custom you yourself banned here at Arlyss, Jason, I cannot see why you and my niece are arguing about it.”

“If I could suggest—” Charles started to say.

“Stubble it, Chas,” Jason said tightly.

Bloody hell, he couldn’t ever remember wanting a woman this badly. Not even in the early days of courting Laura. . . . The memory of his wife gave Jason the strength to rein in his emotions and cool his blood until his icy reserve was back in place.

“You’re right, Katherine. I beg your forgiveness, Miss Weston.”

“She is? You do?” she spluttered, baffled by his sudden capitulation.

“Coward,” muttered Charles.

Katherine was having none of it. “There’s no cowardice in admitting defeat when one is in the wrong. Besides, as of this moment I will not tolerate any quarreling during Christmas. You may resume your disagreement after Twelfth Night if you wish, but I’ll not have the holidays spoiled with your bickering. Now if you are finished, Jason, there are tenants to be visited.”

As he’d lost his appetite, Jason rose and followed her from the room. That was another grievance he could lay at Miss Weston’s door. She had stolen his desire for food and replaced it with another hunger.

An
impossible
hunger, damn her, because it was one he could not sate. He would not be appeased by a visit to a bawdy house or a night with one of the barmaids in the village tavern. No, he wanted Miss Weston, and only Miss Weston. He wanted to kiss that pert nose, dip his tongue into that cheeky dimple, whisper naughty words that would make her blood rush to her cheeks. . . . He wanted to taste every last spicy, salty, saucy inch of her luscious little body and take her in every possible way he could think of. And he could think of quite a few ways to take her, having spent too many sleepless nights contemplating just that.

But it was forbidden without the bonds of matrimony and, having had firsthand experience of the “ ’til death do us part” aspect of marriage, Jason knew without a moment’s hesitation that he would rather die of unrequited lust than ever again chance the death of love’s bond.

How odd it was to think she would be leaving Arlyss in less than a fortnight. She remembered Charles telling her how fond Laura had been of this place, and she understood the feeling well. The castle had all of the modern comforts one could want while retaining its rich history. There was a sort of magic in knowing that families had lived in this same space, walked on this same ground, and breathed this same air for over six hundred years. The castle had stood strong against both human strife and the ravages of time, and it would remain as a safe haven for many generations to come.

Something at Arlyss—and some
one
, she admitted to herself—called to her. Livvy had always supposed she could never love a place so well as she loved Weston Manor, but she had been wrong. Or perhaps she had been away from Weston Manor for so many months—the longest time she had spent away from there in her life—she was learning to think of “home” in other terms.

Was home truly where the heart was, adjustable to wherever a person’s loved ones might be? Could a person have more than one home in which he or she truly belonged? Or was a person meant to have just one home, but that home changed over time just as people changed over time? She posed these questions to Charles as he sat with her in the library one day.

“Does it really matter, so long as you have a roof over your head and a comfortable place to sleep?” he asked her.

“Obviously not to you,” she retorted, then sighed and set down the book she was looking through. “I beg your pardon. I am a bit out of sorts today.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Fretting over Jason?”

Olivia swallowed hard. “What makes you say that?” “My dear girl, I’m not blind. The attraction is plain to see. When the two of you are in a room together, sparks practically fly.”

“I am sure you are mistaken. We are constantly at odds,” Livvy protested.

“You know why that is. You said it yourself the other day. Jason picks quarrels to keep you at a distance. He’s frightened of you.”

“Of me?” Olivia was incredulous. “Why should he be frightened of me? Aunt Kate is much scarier.”

Charles laughed. “True, but he isn’t attracted to her.”

“He’s not attracted to me, either,” she mumbled.

“If you don’t mind, I believe I will take his word over yours.”

Livvy nearly pounced on him. She shoved the book back on the shelf and hurried over to sit beside him. “Do you mean he actually said so? When?”

“The day I arrived. He took me straight to his study and warned me to stay away from you. He was worried you would be unable to resist my charms.”

She gave him a pointed look.

Charles grinned. “He may not have used those exact words, but that was the sentiment.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“It is past time for him to be happy again.”

Olivia pondered this for a moment. “And you think I am the one to make him happy? He could have his pick of women. Don’t you suppose he would prefer someone . . .”

“Someone?” he prompted.

“You know what I mean.” She waved a hand at herself.

“Someone taller?”

Fine. She would say it. “Someone
prettier
.”

Charles looked at her in confusion. “I don’t know what looking glass you’ve been checking lately, but I suggest you have it replaced.”

“There is nothing wrong with my looking glass. I see the same reflection no matter which mirror I find myself in front of. If you could see me standing beside my sister, the difference would become clear. Isabella is a Great Beauty. I imagine your sister was as well.” A wistful sigh escaped her.

“Laura was lovely, a true English rose, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. In any case, Jason would never be content with merely a pretty face. A featherbrained woman would be unable to hold his interest. He needs the sort of challenge you present.”

“Someone to argue with, you mean? I doubt such a relationship would make
me
happy. What if
I
don’t want
him
?”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

“All right, I want him,” she admitted. “In my defense, you would be hard-pressed to find a woman who wouldn’t want him. The man is positively sinful. But I don’t want to have my heart broken.”

“Why do you think he would break your heart? You must know from reading her diary that he didn’t break Laura’s.”

“No,” Olivia said sadly. “She broke his. For all I know, he’ll never be able to truly love again.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do. I’m not asking you to marry the man tomorrow. I only want you to give him a chance. He is going to fight his feelings every step of the way, but you cannot give up on him. As long as you think there is a possibility you belong together, you have to fight, too.”

“I don’t know if I want to,” she said truthfully. “What if I fight him—fight for him—and lose?”

He thought on that for a long moment. Finally he said, “Can you tell me, in all honesty, that your feelings are not already engaged to some extent?”

She knew she could not. If she did not care at all, she would not be so afraid to lose. She gave a single, jerky shake of her head.

“Then you will wind up hurt either way, so you may as well try. He would be a fool to let you go, and Jason is not a stupid man.” Charles put a reassuring arm around her shoulders. “Chin up, love. I’m sure you—”

He broke off as the marquess burst into the library, already talking as he entered.

“Miss Weston, your aunt—” He broke off, scowling as he took in the scene.

Charles had snatched his arm back to his side as soon as the door had opened, but apparently he had not been quick enough. Still, however suspicious the scene might appear, they had done nothing wrong, Olivia reminded herself. She fixed a level gaze on Lord Sheldon.

“Sir Charles has been so kind as to keep me company while I look through countless dull volumes in search of some remedy that might help
your son
.”

She emphasized the last two words in an effort to try to restore the balance of power to herself. It seemed to work, for the marquess halted his tirade and just stood silently, glaring at her. She refused to be cowed.

Let the battle begin.

“You mentioned my aunt?”

“Katherine asked me to fetch you to dress for dinner. She mentioned you tend to lose track of time in a library.”

Olivia glanced out the window and saw how dark it had grown. “Thank you, my lord. I confess I did not realize the lateness of the hour.”

He took a few steps toward them and held out an arm. “Come, Miss Weston. As we have the same destination, we may as well walk together. We will see you shortly, Charles.”

The marquess said nothing as they walked through the castle. Though the window in the haunted tower room had been fixed, Livvy had remained in the Marchioness’s Chambers. There had been no suggestion of moving her, for which she had been glad. She liked knowing that she was near in case Edward was sick in the night again.

She also liked knowing that, while she was lost in dreams, the marquess slumbered so close by. Her feelings were quite unmistakably engaged. She sighed.

“Is something the matter, Miss Weston?” Lord Sheldon inquired.

Yes,
Livvy wanted to shout at him.
I wanted to help you move past your grief without getting involved. I don’t want to care. Not about your home, not about your son, and certainly not about you. But now it’s too late, and I fear my heart will not escape this unscathed.

She could say none of that, and thinking about it had brought a lump to her throat, so she shook her head in response.

Her answer failed to satisfy the marquess.

“Miss Weston, I should tell you—That is, I hope—”

He fumbled for the right words, more ill at ease than Livvy had ever seen him. Her heart skipped a beat. Had he somehow read her mind? Was it possible he was about to admit—?

“It is only natural, while you are under my roof, that I feel a certain . . . a certain responsibility for you. To that end, I feel I must warn you not to pay too much heed to my brother-in-law’s attentions. Flirtation is naught but a game to him, a means of alleviating boredom, and you would be unwise to hope for anything more.”

This was his grand confession? Warning her away from Charles? Disappointment made her voice sharp. “I appreciate your concern, my lord, but it is as unnecessary as it is unfounded. Sir Charles has behaved like the gentleman he is, and what feelings I have for him are those of dearest friendship.”

He arched one eyebrow in obvious disbelief, which made him look quite supercilious. Olivia mentally added that ability to the list she was keeping of the marquess’s annoying traits.

“Men and women are rarely capable of lasting friendship, Miss Weston. Someone always wants something more than the other can give.”

Was he speaking from past experience, Livvy wondered, or cautioning her about the future? Unfortunately they had reached their rooms, so she had no time to question him.

“Knock when you are ready,” he told her, “and I will escort you downstairs.”