The Wyndham Legacy (14 page)

“Marcus,” she whispered, and she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him. “Marcus,” she said again into his mouth. “I'm not Lisette. I'm not your mistress.”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I know.” He was kissing her deeply now and his hands were on her breasts veiled with her hair—her body remembered the pleasure of his fingers on her flesh, remembered very well, but then he was going lower, his hand between their bodies and he was touching her, feeling the dampness of her, and she felt that smile of his, touching her mouth, and then he was on top of her and she felt the weight of him pushing her down, the heaviness of his legs, but his hands were beneath her hips, drawing her upward, and he slowly eased into her. She heard his breath catch, felt him going deeper and the pain wasn't so bad this time, but it was there despite the dampness still within her, and she tried to pull away from him, but he held her tightly until he came over her and she felt him touching her womb.

“Not again,” she said, for he was beginning to move and stretch her and she was still very sore, but he wouldn't
slow. “Not again,” she said against his throat, hearing his breathing sharpen and grow more urgent. “Please, Marcus, it hurts.” She felt his frenzy even before it became wild movement, before he jerked and shuddered as if in the throes of a cataclysm of something she couldn't begin to understand. She cried out, “No, Marcus. Please, not again. There's no need. Please, Marcus, no!”

“There's every need,” he said, his voice raw and deep, “every need because . . .” His harsh breathing overtook his voice. He continued until he found his release. He was quiet over her for but a moment. Then he pulled slowly out of her. He rose to stand beside her bed, staring down at her. He'd lit a candle and she opened her eyes to look up at him. She was sprawled on her back, her legs parted.

“Why did you do that?”

“Why not?” he said and shrugged. She saw no anger in his eyes, no expression on his face. He continued, his voice hard as his body. “Since you already took me once why shouldn't I return the favor? Don't you think I'm a gentleman, Duchess?”

She struggled to pull the covers over herself.

“There really is no need. I've felt your body and looked at it. Do you think I've never seen a naked woman before? Do you believe yourself such a treat of originality? Such a feat of creation? You're only a woman, Duchess, nothing more.” He struck a naked pose, his long fingers stroking over his jaw. “Of course, this is the first time I am really seeing you, for that first time, it was dark and I was only conscious enough to . . . well, I don't want to be crude, do I? And this time we were beneath all those covers.”

She left the covers at her waist. She said nothing. She felt her heart thudding wildly, but she held herself quiet, knowing she did it automatically as a protection against his words, and knowing just as certainly that her silence wouldn't keep him from saying anything he wanted to say. He was like that.

She saw that he would leave. He couldn't, not yet, not until she was certain he understood. She said quickly, “I had to do it, Marcus. Surely you realize that. You did not seem averse.”

“I thought you were Lisette. Had I realized it was you that first time—” He shrugged and her eyes fell from his face down his body, and he knew she was looking at him and he merely shrugged again. “You had to do it. What an odd thing for you to say. Why? Surely you, of all women, of all bloody virgins, wouldn't willingly want to take a man. You're so cold I doubt you would ever have consented to have me inside you unless . . .” His voice stopped cold. He stared at her.

“The one time was necessary. You're safe now, Marcus, you're safe from yourself and your perhaps unthinking anger . . . that is, you can't now annul the marriage.”

“So,” he said. “I thought that, but I didn't want to believe it, even in my muddle-minded state, but I couldn't believe that I could think such perverse thoughts. Goodness, Josephina, you even forced yourself to be impaled on me. And I helped you because I believed you to be Lisette. Yes, that worked mightily in your favor, didn't it, Duchess? If I hadn't come awake, wanting her again, why I never would have realized what had happened until the morning. But I saw your blood all over me and on the sheets as well, your precious virgin's blood, a commodity Lisette hasn't shared with a man in many a long year. But I did wake up. You're right, there'll be no annulment now.” He looked at her another moment, and his expression was hard and unyielding.

“Marcus,” she said, and she lifted her hand to him.

He just shook his head. “I doubt I would have annulled this marriage, Duchess, despite what you have done. I'm not all that stupid. Even I wouldn't whistle a bloody fortune down the wind all for the sake of pride.”

“But you gave me the impression that you would, you made me think—”

He just smiled, not a very nice smile. “I was angry,” he said, as if that explained everything, excused everything. “Now, it is done. No annulment. Don't misunderstand me, Duchess. I still believe that bloody pederast Trevor can still be my heir, or if he begets any little pederasts, then they can. Don't believe your precious blood will flow through the next earl. Never would I give your damnable father that satisfaction. If I father a child, then it will be as illegitimate as you are—were. And, unlike you, he will remain a bastard.

“No, no annulment, Duchess. Your simple mind can now be at ease again. You have made your ultimate female sacrifice. And here I was crude enough to force myself on you again. Well, that's a man for you. And I am your husband.”

“Do you truly want to be my husband?” She heard the plea in her voice and hated herself, for she knew he wouldn't hesitate to dash her into the rocks, and he did.

“I wonder what that means?” he said, still stroking his jaw, his voice sounding mocking in his scorn. “Does that mean I must be civil to you at the breakfast table? Does that mean I must force myself to take you occasionally? As I did tonight? I must tell you, Duchess, that first time when I believed you were Lisette, ah, that left me blank-brained with lust and pleasure. This second time, knowing it was you, well, consider it an experiment on my part, an experiment to determine if you are as cold as I believe you to be.”

“I'm not cold.”

“You, Duchess,” he said very precisely, the hated drawl more pronounced, “hated my touching you. Don't deny it. It was difficult for me to bring myself to climax with you yelling at me to ‘stop, stop, please Marcus, do stop.' Very difficult. I had to keep thinking of Lisette and the way she cries out and squirms against me and caresses me with her mouth and her hands.”

She closed her eyes against him. “I didn't hate you touching me. You woke me up and you hurt me again.
Surely that doesn't make me cold. I didn't know how to caress you and touch you. And I didn't yell at you to stop. I just didn't understand, Marcus, and I was afraid.”

“Well, let me be more simple for you, Duchess. Understand this, you forced your way into my life. I cannot force you out of it now, but I don't have to accept it. Do go back to England, Duchess. You don't need anyone hanging about you, particularly a husband. You are so self-contained, so very independent, and now you're a countess, no longer an ignominious former bastard. But I beg you not to take a lover. There will be no progeny from this union, as I told you. I couldn't punish your father in life, but, by God, I will make certain that he has no children from your womb. I slipped tonight, taking you that second time, but no more. Yes, Duchess, go to London, and do enjoy yourself. You are rich and you are now titled. Even the greatest sticklers should admit you to society.

“But first, why don't you tell me where you have stashed Lisette?”

She had won; she had lost. There was no hope for it. She said, calm as the soft summer breeze outside her window, “She is in an apartment just down the street. There are embassies along the Rue Royale and that meant men of power and influence and wealth. I gave her ten thousand francs, Marcus.”

“You spoke to Lisette?”

She nodded.

“What did you tell her? Jesus, you told her all of this debacle?”

“Yes, it's the truth. That I was afraid you would annul the marriage and I couldn't allow that to happen. She understood, Marcus. She is fond of you and she wanted what was best for you. She was willing to help me help you.”

“Not even a small showing of wifely jealousy, eh?”

“There was no room for it.”

“I see. Didn't you even remark her abundant bosom and make a comparison to yourself?”

She closed her eyes and said, “Yes.”

“But no jealousy. Didn't it bother you—after all—you are my wife at your own behest, that I have suckled Lisette's magnificent breasts? That her body gives me immense pleasure? It didn't bother you at all? You are silent again. Your nobility is beyond anything that I would ever have expected, beyond anything I ever wanted. I suppose you paid for her new apartment?”

“Yes. It is at Number Forty-seven Rue Royale.”

“Thank you, Duchess. Now, it is too late to visit her tonight so I will take myself back to bed. Good night, Duchess. Thank you for an enlightening episode.”

“It was enlightening,” she said. He didn't turn. She watched him stride naked from her bedchamber. She saw the anger radiating from him. There was nothing specific to point to. It was something she simply felt. She'd always felt him—when he was joyful as only a boy of fourteen could be, when he was dashed down, again, as only a boy of fourteen could be, beginning when she was nine years old, the first time she'd met him, but she wouldn't think about that because it wasn't important now. She'd won, for he'd breached her maidenhead. He'd consummated the marriage. He was safe, finally, despite his rage, he was safe. She wondered if he truly wouldn't have considered an annulment. He was probably lying to himself when he said he wouldn't have.

 

It was Badger who awoke her the following morning, not Maggie. He had a tray on his arm. He handed her the wrinkled nightgown from the floor, then turned his back while she pulled it over her head and smoothed it down. She allowed him to assist her into her dressing gown, then drank down the thick black coffee. He said nothing until she had taken two bites from the warm brioche.

“Do you not wish some butter and honey?”

She shook her head. “No, this is fine, Badger. The brioche are wonderful. Did you bake them?”

Badger waved away her words. “His lordship is gone. Mr. Spears said the earl was pulling on his boots when he went in to wake him. Mr. Spears said he was very quiet, not overtly angry that he could see, just very quiet. Mr. Spears, naturally, couldn't question him. He did ask him when he would return and his lordship said, ‘Ah, I live here now, Spears, don't you know? But I—' ” Badger folded his lips into a thin straight line.

“Please, Badger, tell me the rest of it. Nothing he would say could possibly surprise me. Please understand, I am quite used to Marcus's rages and his insults.”

“He said that he now knew where you'd sent Lisette and he would doubtless spend a good deal of time with her.”

She took another bite of brioche.

“Shall I send you Maggie? I heard her humming when I passed her door. Her hair is redder this morning, if such a thing is possible. She is a piece of work, isn't she?”

“Yes,” she said. “She makes me smile. Ah, Badger, please inform her that the three of us will be leaving for Calais by noon, no later.”

He stared at her, opened his mouth, then closed it. He said ten minutes later to Spears, Maggie beside him, “It's over. Your master and my mistress have bungled it royally. We're returning to London. I will send you our address when we arrive.”

“You won't stay at the Wyndham townhouse?”

Badger shrugged. “I have no idea, Mr. Spears. She won't tell me anything. But I think we will. She let the lease go on Pipwell Cottage in Smarden. I can't see her traveling to Chase Park, not now in any case.”

“Thank God for that,” Maggie said fervently.

He grinned down at her. “You'll like the townhouse. It's in the middle of everything that is exciting and fun. I'll have to assign you a footman to keep all the young bucks away.”

“I surely hope so, Mr. Badger,” she said, all demure as a nun, and winking at Spears. “But perhaps you shouldn't
act so hastily—with the footman and all.”

However, Spears didn't see her wink, which was just as well since he was looking austere as a hanging judge. “I will correspond to you as well, Mr. Badger, as soon as I understand what is happening here.”

“His lordship is a bleater, Mr. Spears.”

“Yes, Maggie, it would appear so, at least for the moment. I will take care of him and we will see. Good journey to you, Mr. Badger, Miss Maggie. Mr. Badger, I look forward to your veal and bacon terrine.”

“And what will you look forward to with me, Mr. Spears?”

“Why, your pert rejoinders, Miss Maggie, what else?”

“How unoffensive of you, Mr. Spears.”