A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (16 page)

He was looming over her, blotting out the stars. She looked up into his face. Even in the half-light, she knew his eyes were full of love and laughter. She was sure that her own must be the same. ‘Later, sir, if you should chance to propose marriage to Miss Amy Devereaux, gentlewoman, instead of to Amelia Dent, common abigail, it is…just possible that the lady may entertain your suit.’

‘And if I prefer to marry the uncommon abigail?’

Amy ignored him. ‘It will all depend, of course, on—Oh, heavens! Marcus!’ A shudder ran through her body.

‘It will depend…?’ he repeated wickedly, his lips still wreaking havoc against her skin. His busy fingers began to unfasten her gown.

Amy’s voice seemed to have sunk by at least half an octave. ‘It will depend on how well Mr Marcus Sinclair makes his case.’

‘You mean…like this?’ he murmured, trailing his lips down her throat to the pouting nipple he had just freed from her chemise.

Her only response was a deep moan of pleasure.

He suckled so gently at first that, for a second or two, only the answering ripples in Amy’s belly confirmed that his mouth was still on her skin. But when the suckling grew stronger, Amy’s whole body began to quiver in
response. His long fingers were touching her, opening her body to him like a butterfly spreading its wings to the sunshine. He was her sun. Without his warmth, without his love, she would shrivel to a husk. She needed him. Now. Always.

When she touched her hands to his face, he looked up at her, kissing her still. His dark eyes gleamed.

‘Marcus,’ she whispered. She could hear the longing in her own voice. Could he hear it, too?

He sat up and began to shrug out of his coat and shirt, his intent gaze travelling over her body as if he were trying to memorise every inch of her skin. ‘Ah, but you are beautiful, my darling abigail. So beautiful. And so very desirable.’ He was suddenly very still. Distant. ‘I want you so very much, Amy. But I must not do this. Not here. Not now.’

Amy allowed her swollen lips to curve slowly into a very knowing smile. She could see that every line of his powerful body was screaming with desire. Why could he not see those same signs in hers? They were meant to be together. They had both accepted that. And now was the allotted time for their joining.

She settled back more comfortably into the leather cushions, allowing that siren smile to broaden. When she saw the first response in his face, she lifted her bare arms invitingly. ‘Marcus, I want us to be together. Now. Here, under the stars. Please, Marcus.’ She saw his turmoil. And the moment when he yielded. The desire that had been so ruthlessly leashed now blazed in his eyes. He did not ask if she was sure.

He knew.

They tore off their remaining clothing, kissing, and touching, and tasting all the while. Their skin shone silver in the starlight as they gazed hungrily at each other,
with wonder in their eyes. There was a long, long moment of utter stillness. Their love and longing sang between them.

Then they reached for each other, passion overcoming all else, as Amy drew Marcus down to her body, rejoicing in their joining. And together they soared to the stars.

Amy snuggled more comfortably into the crook of Marcus’s arm.

‘Are you cold, my love?’

‘No.’

Ignoring her, Marcus pulled his coat more snugly over them both. They must part soon, but he was loath to let her go, even for a few hours.

Amy’s hand started to wander over his body, under the enveloping coat. Marcus’s nerves began to tingle. Especially as her hand moved lower. When she cupped him, he clapped a hand over her fingers. ‘God! Amy!’ he groaned. ‘Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?’ His flesh had begun to stir again. He would not have thought it possible. Not so soon. Amy Devereaux must be a witch.

She squeezed him gently. His response was unmistakable.

‘Amy…!’

‘When I touch you…there,’ she began shyly, ‘you…Does that mean—?’

‘It is not simply when you touch me “there”, as you so delicately put it, my love. You can have that effect just by being in the same room as me. I love you. And I desire you. A man’s body is…not always under his control. Desire is an unpredictable mistress.’

‘Oh.’ Amy paused thoughtfully. Then she squeezed again. The reaction was even more marked than before.
She ran her finger up his hard length. ‘Marcus, does this…er…evidence mean that you desire me? Now?’

He forcibly removed her hand and laid it on his chest, covering it with his own stronger one. However much he desired her, he would not make love to her again tonight. It had been her first time. Her body needed to recover. His own desires—no matter how urgent—would have to wait.

‘The evidence you mention,’ he began a little hoarsely, trying to ignore the demands of his body, ‘is…um…not overwhelming.’

She had begun to rub her fingertips in tiny circles on his chest. ‘I beg leave to differ, sir. I should have to be blind not to be overwhelmed by something so…er…’ She laughed, deep in her throat, and tried to extract her hand.

‘No, Amy. There is to be no more touching tonight. You may touch me as much as you wish after we are married.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed. But she did not continue to fight him. She relaxed even further into his arms, with a deep, contented sigh.

Marcus lay back and gazed up at the canopy of stars. He would have to find a way of recreating this idyll on his own estate. Making love under the stars, with Amy, was like a taste of paradise. He began to stroke her long hair. It looked ghostly in the starlight.

‘Mmm. That feels wonderful.’

‘By the way, my love…’

‘Mmm?’

‘I think I have found the solution.’

‘Yes, you told me that before.’ She sounded rather sleepy. ‘You have decided that I am to marry you.’

‘True, but that was not the solution I meant.’

She sat up so quickly that her hair was trapped in his fingers. She gave a tiny cry of pain.

‘Amy!’

‘Oh, don’t mind that. A few missing hairs are of no consequence. Not if you have found a way to prove your innocence. Tell me, Marcus!’

‘It will not prove William’s guilt, but I fancy it will save me. I shall need your help.’

‘Marcus! Tell me!’

‘Impatient wench!’ He trailed his fingers down her bare arm. ‘Very well, my love. This is what I think we should do.’

M
arcus felt as if he had been pacing the floor for hours by the time the door opened. Timms was standing there with a very knowing look on his face. Marcus assumed a puzzled frown. ‘What now, Timms?’ he snapped. ‘Has your master finally decided what he plans to do with me? Or am I to pace this confounded dressing room for the rest of my days?’

Anthony appeared at his valet’s shoulder. He was looking very serious indeed. ‘Would you have the goodness to join me out here, Marcus?’ he asked formally. ‘There is something I need to discuss with you.’

‘If I must,’ Marcus said crossly, trying to hide his inward glee. Amy had done it. Of course she had!

‘Marcus, there is a paper on my desk.’ Anthony pointed. ‘I think you should read it.’

Marcus nodded and crossed to pick it up.

‘Timms. My compliments to Lord Mardon, and I should be grateful if he would join us here. Immediately.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Marcus read the note through a second time. And a
third. Then he threw it back on to the desk. ‘What is this supposed to be?’ he said harshly.

‘I should have thought that was obvious, Marcus. Though I can understand that you may be too angry to see it. You gave me your word that you had not attacked Frobisher. But I…Things were said that led me to begin to doubt you. There was no justification for my doing so. I can only beg your pardon.’

‘I do not understand.’ Marcus hoped he sounded suitably bewildered. ‘Where did you get this note? I see that it bears no direction. And no signature, either.’

‘Timms found it. Someone must have dropped it. It must have been directed to someone here at the Chase. We can pursue that later. The important thing now, Marcus, is that this note provides proof that you did not attack Frobisher.’

Marcus picked up the note and scanned it again. He waited.

‘Whoever wrote that letter carried out the attack. That much is clear. And his principal has failed to pay him. There are a great many servants here at the Chase,’ Anthony went on grimly, ‘but I had thought that all of them were trustworthy. It is bad enough that I had to dismiss Lady Margaret and that disgusting valet of William’s. But now this!’

Marcus shook his head, but said nothing. He would not be the first to suggest that the culprit could be a guest, rather than a servant. Anthony was grasping at straws. Understandably.

The outer door opened to admit John. Timms had carried out his errand in record time. The valet withdrew discreetly, closing the door behind him, just as John exclaimed, ‘Marcus! So you really
are
here!’

‘He has been here all the time,’ Anthony said evenly.
‘I could not tell you until today. You have always said that, as a member of the House of Lords, you have a responsibility to uphold the law. You were bound to say that I should have yielded Marcus up.’

‘You are right.’ John frowned. ‘I do say so. Even though I have not the least doubt that Marcus is innocent of the charge against him. I know the magistrate who issued the warrant. He is a man of principle. He will not permit Marcus to be convicted without evidence.’

Anthony took the paper from Marcus and offered it to John. ‘Until this moment, all the evidence was damning. But read that letter. It proves there was a conspiracy against Marcus.’

John quickly scanned the letter. ‘Good God! This is infamous!
“If you fail to pay, I will inform Mr Marcus Sinclair that you hired me to attack Frobisher and lay the blame on him. Given Mr Marcus Sinclair’s deadly reputation with sword or pistol, you may prefer to avoid that.”
I can hardly believe my eyes. Who has written this?’ He turned the paper over, looking for a name. ‘I can see the importance of this, of course, Anthony, but I doubt it will be enough to convince the magistrate. There are no names here. Who is this would-be assassin? And what villain has promised to pay him to implicate Marcus?’

‘One of the servants must be—’

John shook his head. ‘No, Anthony. This is not the work of a servant. Nor could a servant afford to pay so great a sum.’ He tapped the letter with a fingernail. ‘This was done by someone who is your enemy, Marcus, someone who knew just how to ensure that you—and only you—would be accused of this crime. You must be able to tell us who it is.’

Marcus hesitated. He glanced towards Anthony for
support, but he, too, was silent. The grim set of his mouth suggested that he had identified the most likely culprit. John was frowning now. He looked truly worried.

‘I cannot say, John. There were a great many people in the gaming hell that night. And we were all in our cups. It could have been any of them. Or perhaps it was someone who learned of it afterwards.’ That sounded very lame, he knew. Especially as very few of those from the gaming hell were now guests at Lyndhurst Chase. But Marcus was determined not to name William. Not to his brother. Not without proof.

‘Ned Devereaux was there, was he not, Marcus? He has done any number of outrageous things since he attained his majority. Might he be responsible for this?’

‘I doubt—’ Marcus began.

Anthony interrupted him. ‘That is not possible, John. Ned Devereaux is a feckless young rascal, but he is thoughtless, not wicked. Besides, he…ah…’ Anthony stopped, looking embarrassed.

‘What Anthony is trying to say, John, is that young Devereaux is in no position to send notes to anyone, or to receive them. He is being hidden in the cellar of the North Lodge.’

‘Good God!’ John exclaimed again. He sat down abruptly in the nearest chair. ‘This is not a hunting box. It is a madhouse!’

Marcus grinned at him. ‘You understand now why Anthony could not tell you any of this. Believe me, Ned Devereaux has come to no harm. We had to lock him up to stop his gossiping tongue. He’d caught sight of me, unfortunately. Given half a chance, he was bound to tell the world. So we decided to…er…offer him an extended stay at the Chase. Don’t look so concerned,
John. The lodge keeper, and that deaf old aunt of his, are looking after Ned. He and the lodge keeper have a shared passion for cards and wine. Timms tells me that young Devereaux has no desire to leave.’

‘Young Devereaux is a wastrel!’ John declared roundly. ‘His sister has spent years bringing his estate into good heart, and he seems like to gamble it all away in a twelvemonth. Amy Devereaux is a fine woman. She deserves better than Ned.’

‘Amy Devereaux?’ Marcus repeated, sounding surprised. ‘But surely she was married some years ago? To some rich old Cit, I heard. I thought, at the time, that it was a terrible waste.’

‘And so it would have been,’ John agreed, ‘but it did not happen. Miss Devereaux is still single. She has put all her energies into saving her brother’s inheritance. That is why she has not been in society for some years now. Why, even Sarah is hard put to persuade Miss Devereaux to make a visit of more than a day or two. The lady maintains that she dare not leave the estate for any longer.’

‘With Ned Devereaux ready to plunder it, I am not in the least surprised,’ Anthony put in tartly.

‘She and Sarah are fast friends,’ John continued. ‘But I was not aware that you and Miss Devereaux were acquainted, Marcus.’

Marcus hoped he was looking suitably unsettled by John’s enquiry. ‘The lady did have a Season, John. Or part of one, at least. I met her then. We were—’ He shook his head and turned away abruptly to gaze out of the window. ‘I am much surprised to learn that she is still unwed,’ he added in a stifled voice.

‘As am I,’ Anthony agreed. He sounded relieved that
the subject had moved away from the note and its unnamed recipient.

‘You will soon be able to judge for yourself whether Miss Devereaux is still in looks, Marcus. My wife tells me that her friend will be arriving at the Chase at any time. She would not leave the Devereaux estate for Sarah’s sake, but she has learned that her precious brother has disappeared. She is coming here herself to look for him.’

Marcus threw up a hand and turned back to Anthony. ‘In that case, we had better make sure that Ned Devereaux is released—and sober—before she arrives.’

Anthony laughed then.

John did not. ‘That is not the issue,’ he snapped. ‘What are we going to do about Marcus?’

Anthony took a deep breath. ‘Do you accept, John, as I do, that this letter provides proof of Marcus’s innocence?’

John nodded.

‘Good. Then, with your agreement, I shall announce to the assembled company that Marcus is here, that I have written proof that he was not responsible for the attack on Frobisher, and that the real culprit is being sought. If the culprit is here at the Chase, we may manage to smoke him out.’

John nodded again. He looked more concerned than ever.

‘You understand that you must not leave the Chase, Marcus? I shall warn the servants to hold their tongues, but as soon as you are known to be here, the gossip is bound to start. However, with luck, we will have identified the true villain before the rumours of your whereabouts reach the magistrate in London. You must remain at the house, in plain sight, acting the part of an innocent
and honourable gentleman who has been gravely wronged by these accusations. Remember that you are here at the Chase because I have insisted upon it. You were all for surrendering yourself to the magistrate, of course—’

Marcus gave a bark of laughter.

John was shaking his head in disbelief.

Anthony ignored them both. ‘No doubt the magistrate will believe every word of it. Such defiance of the law is only to be expected—’ Anthony’s voice took on a note of real bitterness ‘—from a man who is known to have made away with his wife.’

Anthony finished his announcement to stunned silence. Everyone seemed to be staring at the floor, or the furniture. No one was daring to look directly at anyone else.

No one except Marcus. He had been hidden behind the heavy curtains in the corner of the room, from where he had been able to watch them all. Especially William. William had paled at the mention of Anthony’s ‘written evidence’. His eyes had flickered towards his brother. But John had been sitting with bent head, his mouth set in a grim, determined line. William had then leant nonchalantly against one of the huge fireplaces. He had even raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise as Anthony’s gloomy recital continued. But there had been a bead of sweat on his upper lip.

‘Marcus!’ Anthony beckoned him forward.

Everyone turned. There was a babble of excited voices. Words of welcome, and congratulation, and astonishment.

Marcus smiled at them all.

‘You may leave us now, Ufton,’ Anthony said to the butler. ‘You have my permission to share this informa
tion with the inside servants, though they are not to discuss it outside the Chase. Make absolutely sure they understand that Mr Marcus is innocent of all the charges against him. He has been wickedly maligned. And I intend to make it my business to find the culprit. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir. Quite clear.’ The butler bowed and silently withdrew.

William came forward, smiling too broadly. ‘You’ve been dam…dashed lucky, Marcus, I must say.’

Marcus nodded, thankful that William had not offered to shake his hand. He was perversely pleased to see that William’s split lip had not completely healed.

‘Marcus! What the devil were you doing, hiding there? And where have you been all this time? Come over here at once. I wish to speak to you.’

‘It will be my pleasure, Aunt Harriet,’ Marcus lied.

‘Now, what’s all this about? Didn’t understand a word of that nonsense Anthony was spouting. The man’s clearly been losing his wits since the day he lost his wife.’

With a noise akin to a suppressed explosion, Anthony marched out of the room.

Great-aunt Harriet ignored him and turned to her companion. ‘This is my scapegrace nephew, Marcus Sinclair. Marcus—my companion, Miss Saunders.’

Marcus bowed politely.

‘Move to another seat, if you please, Miss Saunders. I wish to have a private conversation with Marcus.’

The companion rose immediately. Some of her embroidery silks fell to the floor in a scatter of colour.

‘Allow me, ma’am,’ Marcus said, stooping to help her retrieve them. Then he picked up her books as well and
stood, looking round the room. ‘Where would you wish to sit, Miss Saunders?’

Great-aunt Harriet pointed her ear trumpet towards a vacant chair. ‘Stop fussing, Marcus, and come here. I said I wish to talk to you.’

‘Presently, ma’am,’ Marcus replied. He would help the companion to settle herself in her new place first. Great-aunt Harriet might treat the poor lady like a servant, but Marcus would not. He set the books and the silks on the little table next to her chair and helped her into it.

‘Thank you, Mr Sinclair. You are very kind.’ She smiled shyly up at him, with just a hint of a blush in her pale, flawless cheeks.

He gazed at her for a moment, narrow-eyed. Hers was indeed a very sweet face. ‘It was my pleasure, Miss Saunders,’ he said. And meant it.

The old lady patted the now-empty place on the sofa beside her. ‘Sit here, Marcus, and tell me what the devil is going on.’

Since he had no choice, Marcus did as he was bid. He noticed that William had gone. All the others were drifting out of the room, too, probably going off into secluded corners to discuss Anthony’s astonishing statement. And to wonder about Marcus’s proclaimed innocence.

Sarah had remained sitting calmly in the window with her embroidery. John would have warned her, of course. Nothing Anthony had said would have come as a surprise to her. And she was in Amy’s confidence, too. How much would Amy have told her about Marcus?

Sarah looked up just then and caught Marcus’s eye. He could almost have sworn that she winked at him. He bowed his head and began to cough, covering his mouth
to hide his laughter. Sarah had always had a wicked sense of humour.

‘I don’t know why you are sitting there looking so satisfied, Sarah Mardon. I warned you about that woman of yours. And I was right.’ Great-aunt Harriet brandished her ear trumpet to reinforce her point. ‘Was I not? Eh? Eh?’

‘You were, Aunt Harriet,’ Sarah said meekly. ‘And next time I will take care to listen to your advice. Thank goodness my old abigail will be returning soon. I was quite deceived by Dent. If I had not caught her—’