Family Scandals (13 page)

Once the tired maid left, Corinna hung the dress in the wardrobe and finished preparing for bed. Taking down her hair, she brushed the wavy tresses into a semblance of order before containing them in her customary braid and tying it off with a ribbon.

It was as she approached her bed and noticed the box on her bedside table that she remembered she should have said something to Marcus this evening.

“Oh bother!” she exclaimed. Should she go back down now? Glancing down at herself, she briefly wondered if she should get dressed again. The nightgown she wore covered adequately, but it was still night attire and Marcus was still, for all intents and purposes, a bachelor.

She sighed. Would appearing in the library in her nightgown and robe make him think she was throwing herself at him? Of course it would, her conscience told her. But she could keep her distance and say her piece, then leave. Besides, she argued with herself, if not now, when?

Mentally, she reviewed tomorrow’s schedule. The mine accident had thrown the entire household out of its routine. Many of the staff had extended families or friends who worked in the mines. As everyone waited anxiously for news, life just seemed to move slower and small things were overlooked. With the accident over and the situation being attended to, life would return to normalcy, but there was much to catch up on. Marcus would be in high demand and, as the governess, she doubted she’d be able to breeze into the library and request an audience.

“Bother!” she said again and, on impulse, snatched up her wrapper, put it on, then took up the box and left the room. There might be a better time for this, but right now she just wanted him to know. She was tired of hiding, especially now that she knew he thought her dead.

The house was silent, eerily so. Not one stair creaked, no clock chimed, no wind whistled. She wondered if Marcus had already finished in the library and gone to bed as well. She hoped not. She wasn’t sure where the master suite was. And she wasn’t sure she would dare to brave it at night anyway. Reaching the first-floor landing, she heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of light underneath the door, and reached for the knob.

The door opened soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. Peeking around the door, she slipped silently into the room, shut it behind her, and leaned against it. Her heart was beating so loudly she was sure Marcus could hear it, provided he was still there. She looked around.

The library was a large room. It took up nearly the whole of the first floor in this wing. Windows with burgundy velvet cushioned seats interspersed with floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the wall to her left and at the far end of the room, looking out over the front of the house and the topiary. The wall directly beside the door to her right was solid shelves and crammed full of books. The far wall, facing the row of windows that looked out over the front, boasted a massive marble fireplace, over which hung a painting of a man in turn-of-the-century court dress, flanked by more book-filled shelves.

Thinking that the man looked familiar, Corinna resolved to study the portrait at another time. For now, her eyes were drawn to the large desk that sat angled between the two walls of windows. Behind that desk Marcus was slumped in the chair, asleep.

Crossing the expanse of burgundy carpet to the desk, her eyes flicked over the open cask in front of him, but it was the items laid out on the desk before him, one in particular, that caught her eye. Putting down her own box near the chest, she reached out and picked it up. The metal warmed in her hand and she closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the last time she’d seen it.

“Time to go,” Douglas said, his watch in his hand. Closing it with a snap, he returned it to his pocket and reached down to give her a last hug. “Take care of yourself, imp,” he admonished with a boyish smile. Swinging into the saddle, he and Marcus waved at her and her parents one last time before turning their mounts.

Then the two had ridden off, down the drive of Houghton Hall, Douglas for the last time.

Opening her eyes, she pressed the catch and the lid snapped open. Pain sliced through her and a deep sense of loss engulfed her. Tears blurred the face of the watch and a sob rose in her throat as it began to chime softly.

Marcus surfaced to the sound of bells. What the…? No, it wasn’t bells, it was chimes. He had been thinking of Douglas and their time in India. Now he was hearing Douglas’s watch again. He smiled. Douglas would set the blasted thing then forget it. And it would start chiming at the most inopportune time. Like now.

Opening his eyes, he registered his surroundings slowly. He was no longer in India. He was in the library at St. Ayers and Douglas wasn’t with him. Douglas was dead.

Raising his head, he was unprepared for the sight of Corinna standing beside the desk dressed in a pink gown and wrapper. She was covered decently from neck to foot, but what threw him was that she was holding Douglas’s watch, staring down at the face as tears streamed down her own, dripping from her chin onto the front of the robe.

“Corrie?” She looked up and the suffering on her face hit him like a blow. Instinctively he moved, but she backed away, collapsing into one of the large, overstuffed chairs situated there. “What…?” Turning sideways and curling her feet up underneath her, she leaned against the back of the chair, hunched her shoulders and began to sob as if her heart were breaking.

For a moment, Marcus was completely bewildered. What was going on? Rising from his chair, he crossed to the one he had dropped his coat in earlier, extracted his handkerchief then returned to Corinna, dropping to the floor before her. Pressing the piece of linen into her hand, he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Corrie? What’s wrong?”

He wasn’t sure she heard him. Her sobs never let up, shaking her small shoulders with the weight of her pain. Reaching up, he tried to take the watch from her hand, but she gripped it tighter, closing it with a snap, and holding it against her breast as if it were a lifeline.

“Corrie, please, stop crying and tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded. When she continued to cry, he slid his arms around her, and, still kneeling, cradled her close to his chest. She snuggled closer and he was assaulted by a light flowery scent that rose from her hair. His wayward body began to stir and he fought to subdue it.

His position was not very comfortable and, after a few minutes, he knew he could not remain that way. Making a quick decision, he slid an arm beneath her legs and stood. She weighed no more than Caroline. Returning to his own chair behind the desk, he sat, Corinna cradled in his arms, to wait out the storm.

Marcus looked down at the dark head resting against his chest and discovered a protectiveness he hadn’t known he possessed. The tears continued to flow, slowly soaking his shirt, but he didn’t care. There were other things on his mind, such as how perfectly she fit against him, how easily he held her, and how sweet and fresh she smelled. He tried, unsuccessfully, to quash his impulses, but celibacy had never been a favored state. At the same time, he pondered the question of her distress and what had caused it. Something he was able to do with only marginal success.

She had a death grip on Douglas’s watch. He doubted that even if she fell asleep he’d be able to pry it from her hands. Had the watch triggered a memory? Perhaps her father had owned one and she’d played with it as a child.

Another, seemingly more important, question occurred to him. What was she doing down here in the first place? After that near miss earlier this evening, he would have thought she would spend the next few days avoiding him. Instead, she had readied herself for bed then returned to the library—and him.

She didn’t seem like a young woman who would welcome a casual dalliance. Nor did she seem like someone who might deliberately try to compromise a man. So why was she there?

He glanced over the desk and reached for his brandy glass when another object caught his eye. It was a small box. Sitting near his chest. It could have easily fit into the chest, but he knew that it hadn’t come from there. He had nothing like it, nor had Douglas, whose personal effects were the only things he kept in the chest. Where had it come from? Had she brought it down? Perhaps to show it to him? But, why now? Couldn’t it have waited until morning?

Reaching for it, he jostled her slightly. Except for the fact that her sobs were not quite as loud, she was still crying, even as she burrowed closer against his chest. He picked it up. The letters on the top tickled a memory, but it remained elusive.
Cedar wood
, he thought, as a light fragrance reached him when he lifted the lid. Putting the lid on the desk, he reached into the box and pulled out a ring.

His eyes widened in shock. What was she doing with his ring? He had given it to Amy. A small suspicion began to form in his mind as he reached for the piece of paper the ring had been resting on. Putting the ring and box back on the desk, he unfolded the scrap of vellum.

His brain seized up. Locked in disbelief, he stared at the writing on the paper. No! It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Coincidences like this did
not
happen. Especially not to him. But even as he thought it, something deep inside told him that this time it had, and it explained so many things. It explained her tears when he told her of Douglas’s death while on the beach, and it explained her anguish now as she clutched Douglas’s watch.

He could barely bring himself to say her name, but he knew he had to ask.

“Amy?” The sniffling quieted, but she didn’t answer. Instead she went very still. “It is you, isn’t it?” This time she nodded slowly.

Marcus leaned his head back against the padding in the chair, his thoughts in turmoil. Amy was alive! He had not let Douglas down after all. But how? What had happened? And why had her brother written that she had died? Instinctively he tightened his arms around her, even as it registered that he was holding his wife.

His wife! Corrie. Amy. Why hadn’t he figured it out? Why hadn’t she said something before now? And where had she been for the last five years?

He tried to remember what she had told him. She had gone to live with a great aunt, then the woman had died. But how did her brother fit in? She told him she was alone in the world, but he knew she had five older siblings. Anger rose to the surface at his thoughts. That worm, Gregory, had thrown her out, he guessed. At least they hadn’t made her a drudge—or had they?

“What happened?” he asked now. “Does Gregory know where you are?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I ran away.” Her voice was a rough whisper, still thick with tears.

“When?”

“Two years ago.”

“Why didn’t you write?”

“I had no money to post a letter.”

“Why didn’t you contact my brother? He would have written.”

“I was afraid to.”

With each answer, his dismay grew.

“Why?”

“I wasn’t sure he’d believe me,” she sniffed. “He might have thought I was an opportunist or–or worse.” Her voice was growing stronger, but she still hadn’t looked at him.

It was what she didn’t say that gave him pause. Gregory wouldn’t have believed a person in her situation—why would she think Brand would have? Her own half siblings hated her. What made her think anyone else’s might not be cut from the same cloth? He sighed.

“But you have been living with them since May. You must have realized he wasn’t like Gregory. Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“I-I meant to, but time just slipped by and–and then suddenly you were here and–and I didn’t know what to do.” She wiped her eyes and nose with his handkerchief, then continued. “I knew you didn’t recognize me, and I kept wondering if you were looking for me.”

Marcus suddenly went still. “Bloody hell!” he swore. “I told you you were dead! Your brother wrote to Douglas that you had died.” Rage poured through him like acid. “I’ll kill him!”

Corinna’s head lifted at the violence in his voice. His arms tightened around her. Squirming in his arms, she watched him as he struggled to contain his fury.

“Don’t, Marcus,” she said softly. “Please? Don’t let Gregory do this to you. He’s not worth it.” Her hand crept up his chest as she spoke, coming to rest over his rapidly beating heart.

His name on her lips changed the atmosphere in the room in an instant. Suddenly he was himself, looking down at a desirable woman. A woman he had been drawn to all evening. A beautiful, desirable woman who was sitting in his lap. A woman who was also his wife. His control snapped. With a groan, his lips came down on hers.

Surprise held her immobile at the first touch of his mouth on hers. Her lips were soft and warm beneath his, luxurious and decadent. Eager to taste, he slid his tongue along her lower lip, seeking entrance. Her breath hitched, then she sighed. Marcus pressed deeper and his tongue slipped inside. A shudder went through her, her head fell back, and her hand moved up to his neck.

She was innocence, pure and simple. Her untutored response reminded him that she was out of her depth. Her body softened, relaxed, melted against his, and he availed himself of her unconscious surrender. His arms locked her against him, one hand coming up to cradle her chin, holding her immobile while he plundered her mouth hungrily, albeit gently.

Corinna was unprepared for the onslaught, the torrent of heat that washed through her at his touch. She thought she ought to stop him, but her mind and body refused to go in that direction. Instead, she parted her lips and lifted herself against his chest and blindly followed his lead. It was the only path readily available, and she hadn’t the will to look for another.