Page 46 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
“If not for my father, I would have recognized it from the start.” He was crying too, he realized. “I would have seen,” he kissed her cheek, “your beauty unblemished by his desire.” He kissed her forehead. “I would have experienced your soul as it was intended. For me.” He pressed his mouth to hers.
The kiss cut short his confessions. He melted into her, realizing he had been living a colorless life in her absence. Her kiss was like an elixir. She coiled her hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer to her, telling him what he needed so desperately to hear through the rippling of her lips against his. She moaned gravely against his mouth, pinching at the skin of his neck to pull him closer still. His hands were on her face then her back then at her waist, so thankful yet so benumbed that she had not pushed him away. Weightless.
With great resolve, he pried himself away. “Tell me,” he pleaded breathlessly against the heat of her mouth. “Tell me you feel the same for me, and we shall never have to suffer another day without one another.”
He would not open his eyes. He could not, for fear of her not being there. And in that darkness, he heard her whisper, “I do.”
ChapterNineteen
“So, no Dorset for you then, My Lord Remington?”
The question came from Violet, who had been sitting in a quiet storm for the last three hours of their traveling. She had embroidered a littletooviciously. She had been shooting decided, wary glances at Albert, who was flopped opposite Edna in the carriage they all shared. Simply put, Violet had not taken kindly to the Marquess’ indecision when it came to her goddaughter. “Round and round like the hands on a clock,” she had said when Edna had told her of their reconciliation.
Except, this time, there would be only moving forward. No more living out of time.
Albert shot Violet a teasing smile. “No, My Lady. I fear there has rather been a change of plans.” He glanced mischievously at Edna. “You look tired.”
Edna stifled a smile. She could do nothing but smile since their reuniting, even though she was not quite sure what it all meant. They had declared their affections for one another, and while it did not erase the truth of the Duke’s plotting, it did make Albert hers and hers alone. “I’m perfectly fine,” she offered in half-truth, dropping her eyes back to the illustrated novel she had been mulling over. “Besides, we shall arrive within the hour. Is that so, Godmother?”
Violet let out an unladylike groan.
An hour turned into two, but at last, the carriage drew up before the stately country seat of Lord Miles. It was at the very lip of a village called Mileton from which Jonathan siphoned his title. It looked nothing like the houses in London, even less like those in Bloomsday. The house was of white stone, twice as long as it was tall, standing in effigy against the fields behind it. A small household was waiting for them by the house entrance, looking as though they had not seen the sun in years. Thiswasthe land of the Scots, she supposed, or as close to it as one could get in England.
Jonathan and her father were discussing something with a man who was either his butler or the estate manager—not that she looked long enough to resolve the matter. She was staring only at Albert, who was staring at the house as though it were some sort of homecoming. He looked, for the first time since their meeting, a little at peace.
Ere long, the footmen had carried her affairs up to her room. Her trunks were stacked at the foot of the bed, waiting to be unpacked by a housemaid who had volunteered to be Edna’s lady in waiting for the duration of their stay. Two weeks or so. Enough time for a wedding and reprieve.
A sudden, slow knock rapped at the door. Her heart leaped in her chest. With any luck, it would be Albert...though perhaps an impromptu visit from the Marquess would not sparkluckat all, but gleeful dishonor...
When she opened the door, Edna was surprised to find it was not Albert at all nor her maid. “Father,” she breathed as he ambled into the room. She shut the door behind them.
Her father, in a beige traveling jacket almost the same shade as his peppered hair, began circling the room slowly, like a kestrel above a field. He paced with his hands behind his back, peering into the adjoining dressing room and glancing behind curtains.
“If you like, we could pull up the quilt of the bed, too. Perhaps you might scour my trunks for whatever it is you’re looking for.” Notwhat, she realized—whom.
He clicked his tongue against his palette and lowered himself into the chair by the window. Her father had that look she feared most, one that almost always preceded a scolding. She had not seen that expression in a while, not since she had refused the Duke’s advances at the first.
“You should know, my daughter, before anything else—I am aware of what transpired before we left London.”
Edna settled on the bed opposite. “And what exactly did transpire, father? If you be so kind as to enlighten me.”
He dismissed her toying with a shake of his head. “I know of the Duke’s attempt at meeting with you. I know of his blasted son’s involvement too. I know of yourtryst, Edna.”
Fear wrapped around her like a doomed shawl. “Who has sought to feed you these stories?”
“They are not stories, my girl.” He snapped his head away. “You might be surprised to learn that the Duke is more forthright than you know.”
“Oh, I have never said a word against his forthrightness. Seems to me, the Duke boulders through life taking what he wants.” She sought her father’s gaze. “I am only surprised to find that you have not intervened despite knowing all you do of him. If you are so well-acquainted, you will know the type of man he is.”
“One who might provide for you.”
“One who mightdestroyme!” Edna rose to her feet. “I suppose that does not matter to you so long as I am a Duchess.” She shook her head, her voice rising to a shout. “Must we argue over this again? Is your standing really so important that you would pay the price of a daughter to dream at a duchy?”
“Oh, Edna.” He groaned as though they were not discussing her life but the buying of an expensive gown. His mustache twitched as he considered what next to say.
She beat him to it. “Why? Why are you so adamant about pairing me with a man I abhor? With whom I have not a thing in common nor a shred of liking for? If not for the money, then what? Mother would turn in her grave if she knew what you were up to.”
“Your mother is precisely for whom I toil!” He slammed his fist against the table at which he was sitting, and it frightened Edna into sitting down again. “Do you picture it as an easy task to raise a motherless daughter? I have only ever wanted the best for you, and I have had to want and work twice as hard for your mother’s being gone.”
