Page 16 of Mentor to the Marquess
She stopped. In her musing, she hadn’t realized that she had walked to Lord Lowell’s office. He stood in the doorway, a newspaper tucked beneath his arm. His cravat was missing, and his shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing a tantalizing amount of muscular chest.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Y-Yes, of course.” She wrenched her gaze back to his face. “The dress fittings went well.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He stepped closer. “I’ve just come from the bank. I checked Constance’s account, and it was nearly depleted.”
The news was not a surprise but made her feel as if she had swallowed a stone. It was difficult to believe the girl she’d danced with had paid to have such awful things published.
“There is something else,” he said. “I sent a footman to the office of theLondon Evening Standardand got a copy oftomorrow’s edition. Perhaps you should see it before you return home.”
She steeled herself for the worst and accepted the newspaper. It was folded to display the newest article from her nemesis. As she read it, her face grew hot, and she had to tamper back the urge to tear the paper into shreds.
ACCUSED MURDERESS FAILS AGAIN. I am pleased to inform the esteemed readers of theLondon Evening Standardthat Lady Allen has failed in her latest attempt to prevent the spread of truth. There is no alternative now than to reveal the full extent of her crimes. It did not start on the night of the earl’s death, but a fortnight earlier, when the cowardly woman began dosing her husband’s nightly draught with laudanum. With the earl unconscious, the seductress donned a cloak and crept out of her marital home to pursue her wicked endeavors. However, the men who imbibed of her flesh should not be blamed. They are as much victims of feminine wiles as the cuckolded earl, who, after many nights of restless sleep, caught wind of her schemes. On his final night, he refused to drink her potion, and in doing so received his ultimate gift—a fatal dose forced down his throat.
How did her enemy know she had dosed the earl? They had refused visitors the days before he’d passed, and she had told no one, not even Saffron, of the earl’s pain. Laudanum had been the only thing that had brought him peace. Only the two of them and a handful of staff knew.
Staff.
That was the answer. Her enemy must have paid one of her former maids. If so, they were likely in possession of far more damning information. She was not proud of all that hadhappened during the earl’s final hours, when he had become delirious with fever.
“Is it true?” he asked softly.
“There is an element of truth,” she said, without looking at him. She didn’t want him to see how upset she felt, or it would open the floodgates and she wouldn’t be able to stop feeling.
That had been the case in the early days of her marriage. The earl would say something to set her off, some cruel insult or barbed comment, and it would cause her to lie in bed and sob for hours, lost to misery. It had taken her until the age of thirty to learn that if she was neutral, unfeeling, she could not be hurt.
The marquess put his hands on her shoulders, a shockingly intimate gesture, as his thumbs grazed the tops of her breasts.
“You don’t need to pretend with me,” he said.
She knew she should reciprocate, encourage him with a flutter of her long lashes or a gentle sigh. That was what Lady Allen would do now that there was no longer any reason to resist her attraction. But Lady Allen felt a million miles away, and it was Olivia trapped beneath his touch.
Her jaw trembled, and a tear slipped down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away and put some distance between them. “It is nothing,” she said, relieved when her voice held no trace of tremor.
He tugged her into his office, then closed the door and locked it.
Her mouth went dry. “My lord, what are—”
He wrapped his arms around her. One hand cupped the back of her head, the other curled around her waist, trapping her against him. She didn’t have the willpower to push him away, not when the solid muscle beneath her fingertips made her want to melt into his embrace.
The impropriety of the moment made her freeze, yet he didn’t kiss her or make any overtures she recognized as the precursor to an intimate encounter. He only held her tightly, silently. She smelled soap on his skin, combined with the musk of his sweat, and relaxed.
The earl had never held her. Nor had most of her previous lovers. With rare exception, they had taken what they wanted, then left. She never let anyone stay beyond their coupling. There was no point. When both parties had achieved release, why extend the moment?
He released her and stepped back with jerky movements. “I apologize. I should not have done that.”
The set of his shoulders. The pain in his voice. The tightening of his features. It was like seeing a reflection of herself from the early years of her marriage when the earl had punished her for failing to become pregnant by refusing to acknowledge her presence.
That simply would not do.
She closed the distance between them, went up on her toes, and brought their mouths together.
Chapter 10
Lord Lowell’s lips were still against hers for the first few seconds before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight. She slid her arms up his back, as far as she could reach. The rasp of his mustache and beard against her cheek made her skin erupt into gooseflesh.
She swept her tongue into his mouth, and a sound rumbled from his chest. He tasted of sweet wine and the hard ridge of his arousal dug into her stomach.
