The Spinster Bride (26 page)

“I'm not a saint,” he said again, then moved down, kissing her stomach, the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, the delicate and sensitive skin of first her left thigh, then her right. And then, oh, then the middle, a kiss with tongue and mouth and sucking and she wanted it to go on forever. Her hands moved restlessly, finally resting on the top of his head, exerting a bit of pressure to silently tell him he was doing something very, very right.

Sensations she remembered from that first time flooded her and she was lost. Her hips began moving as the pressure built, and finally she reached her climax, jerking beneath him and trying not to scream out in pleasure.

Slowly, slowly, she came back to earth, her body feeling languid and sated. But she was aware that as limp and satisfied as she was, Charles was still tense and hard.

Poor man.

He moved up, and with a bit of manly triumph, kissed her.

“That was quite nice,” she teased. “What can I do for you?”

“A Victoria Cross would be fitting.”

“Or a knighthood?”

As they talked, Marjorie's fingers played with the hair on his chest. It made her feel somehow more womanly to be lying next to such a man. She slowly drew her hand in circles, moving lower and lower, until her knuckles grazed his still straining erection. “I could touch you,” she said, and moved one finger from the base to the tip, delighting when he closed his eyes and his face grew taut. She wrapped her hand around him and caressed him, much as before, watching his reactions to everything she did.

“You could kiss me.”

She stopped, then stared at her hand, wondering if she understood what he was saying. “You mean the way you kissed me?”

“Yes, please.”

A giggle erupted from her throat. “I hardly think it would be the same.” She thought about it, about the things that happened with a man that didn't happen with a woman, and became quite unsure what to do. She could hardly ask. But perhaps just a little kiss would suffice.

With grim determination, she moved down and kissed the tip, feeling him grow even harder beneath her hand. It was really amazing, she thought, wondering what she should do next. Charles, looking down at her with such incredible heat, supplied the answer.

“If you wouldn't terribly mind, you could put me in your mouth.”

“Like a whistle?”

He laughed, sounding pained. “A bit like that, yes.”

And so she did, laving her tongue over him, experimenting, gauging how much pleasure she gave by the low sounds he made and the tightening of his body. Then, in a frantic movement, he hauled her up, his hips bucking beneath her, and kissed her, releasing a long, rumbling groan.

Marjorie lay on top of him, feeling him slowly relax. “Good God,” he finally uttered. “I can't wait till our wedding night.”

She smiled against his neck, breathing in his scent. “I'm sleepy,” she murmured.

“Oh, no, do not fall asleep. When we are discovered, we shall both be clothed. Or nearly so. I have no desire for your mother to find us nude.”

Marjorie pouted and moved off him, wrinkling her nose when she saw a sticky bit of thick liquid on her stomach. Charles simply grinned and grabbed a handkerchief to wipe it off. “You'll get used to all this business,” he said, gazing at his handiwork.

For some reason, that simple statement made Marjorie so happy. She would get used to it, through a long, wonderful life with this man. “I do love you.”

He looked up, as if her words surprised him. Then his eyes became suspiciously misty and he looked away, swallowing heavily. “I've waited so long to hear those words. I shall never get used to hearing them.” Then he shook his head as if shaking off all that uncomfortable emotion, and with efficient movements, got dressed. Marjorie picked up her gown, smiling at the naughtiness of such an act, and slipped it on, then froze. Someone had tapped softly at the door.

“Don't answer it,” he said.

“But isn't that what we want? To get caught?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I want to hold you a bit longer.”

Another tap.

She gave him a look of exasperation, then grinned. “Go in the wardrobe then. It's probably just one of the servants with a question.” She shoved him gently and waited until he was well hidden before putting on her wrap and heading toward the door.

“Hello, my lady.” It was George's valet, Mr. Billings. “I'm so sorry to bother you this late in the evening.”

“It's fine, Mr. Billings. Tell me, what's wrong?” For clearly something was wrong. George's valet, always pleasant and calm even when George was not, seemed quite upset.

“It's his lordship. I haven't seen him for two nights now. It's not like him. I confess I'm worried, my lady. Do you know where he could be?”

If any other young man had failed to return home for two nights, it would have been of little consequence. But her brother was so married to his routine, this news was upsetting.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Thursday afternoon. He was off to the Christy Collection as he likes to do every Thursday. I expected him back that evening, but he didn't return. I didn't want to alarm you then, for he has, on rare occasion, changed his plans. But not seeing him at all today . . .”

“I'm glad you told me, Mr. Billings. He said nothing to you?”

“No, my lady. I was hoping he'd told you something.” Poor Mr. Billings looked close to tears.

“I'll make some inquiries, Mr. Billings. I'm certain there is a logical explanation and we shall be very angry with his lordship for causing us such worry.” She forced a smile, and he returned a rather shaky one.

“Good evening, my lady,” he said, and retreated down the hall to his quarters.

After he'd gone, Charles emerged from the wardrobe. “I heard. What can I do?”

Marjorie shook her head. She had no idea what to do, where to start. George had never done such a thing before. He'd never stayed away for an entire day, never mind two. “I think George is in trouble. Something has happened to him.” Tears filled her eyes and she instantly was in his arms, trying to draw strength from Charles.

“Where would he go?”

Marjorie tried to think, but all she could imagine was how upset George must be. What if he were injured and in a hospital? What if he were still lying beside a road?

“To his club. That's where you met him. He goes there Thursday night, but only for one hour.” She let out a small hysterical laugh. “One hour. Precisely. Then he goes home. But Thursday night was the night of the ball. He had plans to go with Lilianne. He wouldn't have gone to his club.”

“He was there, and quite late, the night I met him. Perhaps he went to the club and got distracted.”

Marjorie stepped out of his arms and began to pace. “Jeffrey must have convinced him. George has a bit of hero worship for our cousin, you see.”

“Perhaps he met up with Jeffrey again. Perhaps your cousin convinced him to go somewhere.”

“For two days? George would never agree. Not even Jeffrey could convince him of such a thing. At least I don't believe so. I have to talk to Mother.” Suddenly, it dawned on Marjorie that Charles was standing in her room, late at night and that she most likely looked like what she was—a woman who had just been thoroughly made love to. “I'm sorry this has happened, but . . .”

He held up a hand. “Please, do not apologize. As soon as you've spoken to your mother, I'll leave. She may know something we don't about your brother. I'll stay until I hear.”

Marjorie gave him a small smile. “I'll be right back.”

Marjorie opened her door and let out a little screech. Lady Summerfield stood there, her hand up as if to knock, her eyes pinned on Charles.

Dorothea was immobile, panting, her face growing redder and redder with each moment. Her mouth opened, then closed, before she turned her gaze to her daughter. “How
could
you?”

“Nothing happened, Mother.” Nothing permanent.

“Nothing happened?
Nothing happened?
There's a man in your room, Marjorie Anne. A man in his shirtsleeves and without a tie.” Dorothea squinted her eyes and Marjorie thought her mother would faint on the spot.

“Please tell me that is not Mr. Norris standing half naked in your room.”

“He's not half naked, Mother.”

Marjorie saw her mother's hand twitch and she took a step back. She knew she was provoking her mother and had no wish to feel Dorothea's hand against her cheek.

“We wish to marry,” Charles said, stepping forward and laying a hand on Marjorie's back.

“Do not touch my daughter, you cur. How dare you? How dare you come into my home and into my daughter's room and defile her?”

“I dared because I love her and it was the only way to convince you to let us marry,” Charles said, his voice taking on a hard tone Marjorie had never heard before. It was rather daunting, but her mother was not a woman easily daunted.

“You
planned
this?” Dorothea's eyes went from Charles to Marjorie.

“We could think of no other way to convince you, and we didn't want the scandal of an elopement,” Marjorie said. She had known this moment would be awful, but she hadn't realized just how awful. “He asked for my hand and you refused. I told you I admired him and you forbade me to see him. We love each other, Mother.”

Dorothea's breathing was becoming harsh. “I need to sit,” she said, and lunged into the room, nearly collapsing on the vanity chair.

Marjorie gave Charles a desperate look, then went over to her mother and knelt by her, grabbing one of her hands. “We know about the hat,” she said softly.

Dorothea looked at her with confusion. “The hat?”

“Charles's mother. Ascot. We know.”

“Oh, good God.”

“For what it's worth,” said Charles, “my mother deeply regrets her actions.”

Dorothea began to laugh, and Marjorie looked at Charles, her distress clear.

“It wasn't just the hat. It was my
life
she ruined. I was banished to Ipswich to live with my aunt, a terrible woman. I lived with her for ten years, waiting on her hand and foot. Listening to her criticisms. That's where I met your father.” She curled her lip. “Every day I was there I thought about Miss Anne Wadsworth, about how her ‘actions' ended any hope I ever had for happiness. And she
regrets
her ‘actions. ' How lovely.”

“She was very young, Mother. Just seventeen. I'm sure she had no idea.”

“How could she? How could anyone know what her ‘actions' sentenced me to?” Dorothea looked at her daughter, then lifted her gaze to Charles. Something changed in Dorothea's eyes, they'd gone cold and frightfully calculating. “This did not happen,” Dorothea said, as if stating a fact. “I did not walk in and find you with my daughter. I will never speak of this again.”

“Mother, no,” Marjorie gasped.

Charles took a step forward. “I'm afraid, my lady, the deed has been done. You see, you did not catch me in the act of undressing. Rather, you caught me getting dressed. I was just about to leave.” Charles's gaze was steady, his voice low and clear, and Marjorie had never loved him more than at that moment. He never lied. He'd told her that, and yet he was lying for her.

To her horror, her mother began to cry, soft, hiccuping little sobs that broke Marjorie's heart. “Haven't you ever been in love, Mother? So in love you'd do anything for that person?”

Dorothea looked at her, her face a picture of misery. “Yes, Marjorie.”

“What happened?” Marjorie whispered.

“He didn't love me. He didn't.” She let out a shaky sigh and briefly closed her eyes. “I know that now. I suppose I knew it then.”

“Imagine if he did.” Marjorie looked up at Charles and he smiled at her.

“I love your daughter and I will marry her.”

“But I want you there, Mother. Please.”

Dorothea shook her head. “I'll think on it. You have hurt me, Marjorie. Lying with this man you knew I opposed just to force my hand was very badly done.”

“I know.” Marjorie, though she felt horrible about betraying her mother, also felt joy bubbling up in her. It was over. They would marry. Though her mother was still upset by what they'd done, Marjorie sensed a softening in her stance, and she prayed her mother would eventually, if not wholly support the match, at least accept it.

Dorothea lifted a still shaking hand to her forehead. “Why did I come to your room in the first place?” she muttered. “I'd heard a commotion, voices. I thought I heard Mr. Billings.”

Marjorie's hand flew to her mouth. She'd nearly forgotten George. “It's George, Mother. He hasn't been home for two nights and Billings is very worried. I am too, to be honest. You know how regimented George is. I'm afraid something has happened to him.”

“Two nights?” Dorothea asked, clearly startled. “Are you certain?”

“That's what Mr. Billings said.”

Dorothea looked at Marjorie, pain etched in her eyes. “Do you think perhaps he's the one who eloped?”

Marjorie felt the blood drain from her face. “I never thought of that. But why would he? They've already announced their engagement.”

“Perhaps they thought I would do something to try to stop them.”

Marjorie narrowed her eyes. “Why would they think that, Mother?”

Dorothea stood up, quite recovered from her earlier shock. “Because I went to visit the Cavendishes and expressed my opposition to the marriage. Really, Marjorie, if your brother wasn't afflicted the way he is, would we have ever considered his marrying a squire's daughter?”