His Mask of Retribution (12 page)

‘Marianne Winslow,’ he replied in that deep rich tone.

She couldn’t help herself; she smiled and her heart felt overflowing with gladness, and then the music took them apart. When it brought them back together his hand was in hers and he was birling her around.

‘I have to speak to you,’ she whispered, breathless not only from the dance.

Then she was off and being birled by the next man in the line before being passed back to him. ‘In private.’

The steps led them fast down the centre of the set. At the bottom, just before they peeled apart to travel back up the outside of the set on their own, she whispered, ‘It is important.’

Her hand was small and cool within his. His lady of silver and moonlight. The look in her eyes thawed the chill in his heart and her words fired his blood. He could not deny her, no matter the risk.

‘Head for the ladies’ withdrawing room after this dance.’ Callerton would call him a fool if he knew, but then Callerton didn’t need to know.

She nodded and smiled a secret smile that he knew was just for him; God help him, but he felt his heart warm and expand at the sight of it. And his thumb slid a stroke against the soft skin of her hand before he released it. They danced and he could not keep his eyes off her. They danced until finally the music stopped. Misbourne was watching him again as he returned her, watching him with something in those dark soulless eyes that made Rafe feel uneasy, as if the man knew much more than he was revealing. But he turned away from Misbourne and made his way from the ballroom to wait for Marianne.

Marianne walked slowly, her eyes scanning the bodies that crowded the hallway and staircase, looking for only one man: her highwayman—Rafe Knight.

His touch was gentle against her arm.

‘The study,’ she whispered and he followed her there. They slipped inside and closed the door behind them.

The desk was clear aside from a half-full glass of brandy that sat upon it and the candles in the wall sconces were alight, as if Misbourne had not long left the room. Rafe remembered the last time he had been in here: Marianne, in her nightdress, in his arms, her mouth sweet and eager beneath his, her breast and the thud of her heart beneath his hand.

‘Mr Knight,’ she said, and now that they were alone she seemed shy, as if she, too, was remembering what had happened between them in this room.

‘I think we know each other well enough, Marianne, that you should call me by my given name.’

‘Rafe,’ she said and he savoured the sound of it on her lips.

‘That day in the botanic gardens...who did you see, Marianne?’

‘No one,’ she said hurriedly, glancing away—but not before he saw a shadow flit across her face.

He knew that she was lying. That look of terror on her face that day had haunted him ever since. He knew what he would do if he ever found the person responsible. His fingers touched her cheek in the gentlest of caresses. Her skin was so soft, so perfect, beneath his fingers.

Her eyes came to his, scanning them as if she could read the darkness that was in his soul. ‘We do not have much time. My mother will notice if I take too long.’

‘Your parents guard you well.’ Her parents. And he was reminded again of why this was futile. There could be nothing between them save the torture of knowing what they could not have. Yet still he stayed, standing in Misbourne’s study, looking at the woman who was Misbourne’s daughter.

‘They do,’ she murmured, glancing away again with that strange uneasiness about her. But then she seemed to gather herself; when she looked at him again she was stronger and filled with an urgency of purpose. ‘My father and brother are planning some means to draw you out of hiding. Whatever they might communicate to you, do not heed it; it is a trap to catch you.’

‘I do not mind being caught as long as I take Misbourne with me.’

‘You do not understand,’ she said. ‘My father has no intention of involving the courts.’ She swallowed. ‘He means to kill you.’

He gave a small hard laugh.

But she misunderstood his irony. ‘You do not know my father, Rafe. Incredulous though it may sound, he is serious. He really does mean to kill you.’

‘I do not doubt it for a minute, Marianne. I was never the one who doubted his capacity for murder.’ He saw the hurt flash in her eyes before she turned away and he could have bitten out his own tongue at his carelessness.

‘Marianne.’ He caught her hands in his. ‘Forgive me. I am wont to forget that he is your father. I did not mean to hurt you.’

She glanced up into his eyes. ‘He
is
my father,’ she said, ‘and I am not unaware that I am betraying my family in warning you of his intent, that I seem to have done nothing other since we met. But I do not wish for him to hurt you.’ She glanced down as if embarrassed by the admission. ‘Nor do I wish for you to hurt him.’

Her words were soft against the silence that followed. He wished he could offer her reassurances, tell her that her father was safe. But he could not lie to her. False hope was crueller in the long term.

‘I thank you for your warning...and I do understand something of your dilemma.’

‘Do you?’ She looked up at him.

‘Of course. I am not unaffected by the situation in which we find ourselves.’ She had no idea of the way she affected him, or what it did to him knowing that he could not stop until he watched her father dance upon the gibbet.

He saw the blush touch pink to her cheeks and thought what a cruel game fate was playing with
them both.

His thumbs slid against her small slender fingers and in return he felt them close around his.

‘Did you come tonight that you might continue your search?’ He could see that she was holding her breath.

‘No, Marianne. I came to see you.’ He pulled her closer. The air sparked between them, the tension was so tight that he felt his blood rush hot with it.

‘It is dangerous for you to be here.’

‘Very dangerous,’ he agreed, lowering his mouth to hers.

He kissed her as he had been dreaming of kissing her all of these nights past. He kissed her until she was breathless and weak-legged. Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, freeing it from its queue. He sensed the untapped passion in her that contrasted so starkly with her innocence and shyness. He could feel it in her kiss, feel it in the tremble of her slim body pressed to his.

Rafe forgot all about Misbourne. He forgot about the document and the quest that had spurred him through the last fifteen years. There was only Marianne Winslow and the depth of feeling and passion that was exploding between them.

His hands were on her breasts just as she had imagined every night as she lay in her bed. But this was real. He was touching her and his touch was gentle, not greedy or grabbing or hurtful. Her body was flush against his, fitting as if they had been made as two halves of the same mould. She let herself relax against him, revelling in his strength and his sheer size, and in the hardness of his muscles.

The scent of him and the faint undertone of sandalwood made her feel heady and safe and excited all at the same time, drunk as if on the bubbles of champagne that her brother had let her sip from his glass when she was sixteen. Her mouth was filled with the taste of him, her tongue meeting his in a dance that she did not want to stop. He caressed her, every part of him against every part of her. Tongue to tongue. Lips to lips. His hands on her breast and her hip. His heart against hers, and as he kissed her, as he touched her, she felt the barricades she had erected around herself begin to crumble.

Even through all the layers of her clothing she could feel the stroke of his hand against her nipples. His fingertips traced against the very tops of her breasts that only just showed over the neckline of her dress. She caught her breath at the sensation and felt her blood rush all the wilder and her nipples tighten unbearably as if they ached for his touch. She did not remember the darkness of the past. She did not remember her fears. She thought only of Rafe Knight, of the magic he was stoking within her body and how much she wanted this intimacy with him.

His breath caressed the crook of her neck and she angled her head, allowing his lips to tease where his breath had been. He touched his lips to the small tender hollow at the base of her throat, then kissed all the way along her collarbone, tasting her, making her thread her fingers through the length of his dark hair and hold on to him. And when he reached the small puff sleeve of her dress he eased it off her shoulder that he might kiss the skin beneath.

The sensation made her gasp so loud that he drew back a little and looked into her face. She did not release him, just kept her hands where they cradled on either side of his head, her thumbs stroking tiny caresses. His eyes looked almost as dark as her own, and there was a look in them that she knew was desire. She knew it, yet she was not afraid. For she felt the same hunger, the same need in herself.

‘Marianne,’ came his highwayman’s whisper as he placed a kiss in the middle of her
décolletage
. ‘Marianne,’ again as his lips slid lower.

‘Rafe,’ she replied and arched against him, desperate to feel him all the more.

Within his arms he bowed her gently, as if she were a willow, as his mouth closed over the top of her breast, as his fingers edged her bodice infinitesimally lower. A moan escaped and she did not know it was her own mouth that made the sound. She clutched his head tighter to her breasts, holding him as if she would never let him go. She was so lost in the moment that she heard nothing save the beat of her own heart and of his.

She did not understand at first when Rafe stiffened and glanced swiftly round at the door. Her mind was dulled with passion. And then, when she looked again, her father was standing in the doorway, grey-faced with worry, eyes wide with shock. Her mother, standing behind him, gave a little shriek.

Her father pulled her mother inside the study and closed the door behind them both. ‘Good God, woman, cease your hysterics unless you have a mind to broadcast this affair to every last one of our guests.’

Rafe had released Marianne and positioned himself to shield her from her parents’ view, but he could not hide the truth. Awareness of precisely of what she had been doing hit her like a deluge of cold water. She could not believe it. Even as she clutched an arm around herself, her father’s gaze swept over her and Marianne felt that Rafe’s every touch, every kiss was branded upon her for her father to see. Her cheeks scalded hot with shame. And then her father’s gaze moved to Rafe and she saw it harden.

‘Papa...’ she started, but her father ignored her.

‘I think we have something to discuss, Mr Knight,’ he said.

‘Indeed we do, sir.’ She saw Rafe give a nod, but his eyes were anything but submissive.

‘Take her upstairs,’ her father hissed at her mother. ‘And try to make her look as if she has not just been seduced.’

‘Papa, it was not like that.’

‘Do as I say, Marianne,’ he snapped, his eyes so dark and clouded with anger that she feared what would unfold between him and Rafe.

‘Papa, it was my fault. Mr Knight was—’

‘Marianne,’ Rafe said and only then did he shift the lethality of his gaze from her father. His eyes met hers and they were dark and meaningful, conveying a message that she should do as he asked. ‘Go with your mother. Everything shall be well.’

Yet still she hesitated to leave the two men alone.

‘Marianne,’ Rafe said more softly and she realised that she had to trust him. She gave a nod and, with one last lingering look that spoke all that she could not say, she turned to her mother.

Chapter Nine

M
isbourne waited until the door closed behind Marianne and her mother before he spoke. ‘You have ruined my daughter, Mr Knight.’

‘I am aware of the situation,’ Rafe said. He knew that there was no way back for Marianne after this. Only one ending to this evening could save her.

The door burst open and Linwood appeared, a feral look in those black eyes of his. ‘You abominable rake! By hell, I will call you out, sir, for what you’ve done to my sister.’

‘Get out,’ said Misbourne coldly. ‘I am dealing with the matter.’

‘You cannot seriously mean to—’

‘I said get out.’

Linwood glowered at his father, then turned and walked away, closing the door behind him.

‘Ignore him,’ said Misbourne.

‘Surely you mean to call me out too?’ Rafe asked, part of him hoping that the bastard would, even though he knew it would never come to that. For no matter how much he hated Misbourne, he could not stand back and watch Marianne’s reputation crumble to dust before all of London. The writing was on the wall; it had been ever since Misbourne had opened the study door.

‘Do I need to?’ asked Misbourne.

‘Only if you have an objection to my marrying your daughter.’

‘I shall organise the wedding for Wednesday,’ said Misbourne. ‘I think you will understand the need for a speedy and discreet affair.’ He lifted the glass decanter from the occasional table and poured brandy into two glasses, one of which he passed to Rafe. Rafe ignored the proffered glass, his eyes holding Misbourne’s.

‘We should return to the ballroom.’

‘You are right,’ Misbourne conceded. ‘We must keep up appearances.’

* * *

‘But I cannot marry him!’ Marianne exclaimed after her father finished his announcement to the family in the breakfast room the next morning.

‘You seemed to like him well enough in my study last night.’

Marianne felt the heat glow in her cheeks. ‘It was just a kiss. He did nothing more.’ She was lying; it had been so much more than a kiss. It had been something that made her forget herself, the past, her fears. In those moments she had felt alive and vibrant and unafraid, a thousand miles removed from everything that was Marianne Winslow.

‘Just a kiss, Marianne?’ Her mother raised an eyebrow. ‘Your father and I both saw exactly what was going on.’

‘Merely being alone with Rafe Knight in my study was enough to compromise your reputation,’ said her father more calmly. ‘Knight is no green boy. He knew the risk he was taking.’

A risk far greater than her father understood.

‘Honour decrees that he offer for you.’

‘But you don’t understand.’ She glanced round at her family, at her mother’s pursed lips and her brother’s dark gaze, and the stubborn set of her father’s jaw. Rafe was the highwayman her father had set half of London to kill. Her father was the man against whom Rafe had sworn a dark vengeance. The two men she loved, each sworn to destroy the other. And no matter what she felt for Rafe, no matter how much the idea of becoming his wife might entice her, she knew that it was far too dangerous.

‘I understand very well.’ But he didn’t. He had no idea.

‘It was my fault. I asked him to meet me in the study.’

‘Good Lord!’ she heard her mother mutter beneath her breath. She did not look at Francis, just kept her eyes on her father, on the angry disapproval in his eyes and the curling of his lip. She knew they were all disappointed in her.

‘And why would you do that, Marianne?’

‘Because I wanted to...’
Warn him of your plan.
She closed her eyes and swallowed down the guilt and warring emotions. ‘Because I wanted him to kiss me,’ she finished, and felt her face flame all the hotter.

‘And he obliged.’

‘Yes.’ She glanced down. ‘So you see, it was my fault.’

‘He is hardly the innocent in this.’

‘And neither am I,’ said Marianne quietly.

The words hung in the room, all clumsy and uncomfortable.

‘It makes no difference,’ her father said, but the look in his eyes had softened.

‘But, Papa—’

‘No buts,’ her father said. ‘You will marry him on your birthday.’

‘Wednesday!’ she said. ‘So soon?’

‘Wednesday,’ her father said. ‘And that will be an end to it.’ The strength and angry stubbornness was back in his eyes. No argument was going to sway him.

She turned to walk away without asking to be excused.

‘Marianne!’ her mother exclaimed, but Marianne ignored her and kept walking.

Her father’s words made her hesitate halfway across the drawing room. ‘Until you become Knight’s wife you do not leave this house, Marianne. Knight is procuring the special licence. The ceremony shall take place in this very room so there is no need for travel. After the last attempt at a wedding day I’m not taking any chances. I want you kept safe from the highwayman.’

Marianne felt like laughing and crying both at once. If only her father knew that he had just betrothed his daughter to that same highwayman. She did not look back, just walked right out of the room.

‘Treat her gently,’ Misbourne said to his wife, then waited until the door closed behind her before turning to Linwood. ‘Ensure that all windows and doors are kept locked. No one enters the house without being vetted by me, you or your mother. And I mean no one, not even the lowliest of tradesmen.

‘He may not be the bridegroom I would have chosen...’ Misbourne stared off into the distance and thought of the past ‘...nor this the means of their betrothal, but he will marry her and that is good enough.’

‘He’s a damnable rake, taken to running with Devlin and his crew of late. He seduced Marianne, despite what she says. She is young and her head filled with foolish notions of romance. She fancies herself in love with the rogue and seeks to protect him by taking the blame on herself. You never should have invited him and his cronies. I don’t care what he did at the botanic gardens.’

‘You are too hard on him. We all make mistakes when we are young.’

‘It is unlike you to be so solicitous. Few people knew of their being in the study alone. We could hush this up. Knight does nothing save drink and game and womanise. Are you so desperate to see her married off that you would have her wed such a man?’

‘I cannot deny that I will be happy to see her wed.’ Misbourne felt the stain upon his soul grow heavy and dark as the shadows seemed to whisper in his ear, reminding him of what he had done, what he could never forget. ‘I long for the day that she is settled...and safe.’ And then he realised that he had revealed too much and that his son was watching him too carefully. He pulled himself together, closed his ears to the voices that whispered to him. ‘So she will marry him, and there will be no more gossip. Now, I wish to hear no more about it.’ When the door closed behind his son, a dark frown creased his face, and the darkness of the past rolled in to turn the dust-flecked sunlight of the breakfast room to cold grey shadow, and Misbourne longed for Wednesday.

* * *

‘What the hell do you mean you are marrying Marianne Winslow on Wednesday?’ Callerton stared at him aghast. ‘Have you forgotten who she is?’

‘You do not need to remind me of her relationship to Misbourne; it is ever in my mind. But I have compromised her and I will not leave her to face the shame of it alone.’

‘I told you to stay away from her. You could have any woman in London and you have to go dallying after Misbourne’s daughter. Hell’s teeth, Rafe!’

‘I do not want any other woman. I want her!’ Rafe raked a hand through his hair.

‘Enough to marry her?’

‘Were Misbourne not the complicating factor, yes.’

‘But Misbourne is in this as much as she. Are you are prepared to call Misbourne father for the sake of having her? For that is what it comes down to, Rafe.’

Rafe’s hand flexed so hard that the brandy glass within it cracked. ‘What else can I do? Walk away and leave her ruined?’

‘Yes, if that is what it takes.’ Callerton’s face was pale. ‘I would not see any woman’s reputation hurt, but no good can come of this.’

‘You know I cannot do that.’

‘Your blood cries out for vengeance, Rafe. Do you think it to be so easily silenced to save his daughter’s honour?’

‘What is between Misbourne and I can never be silenced. It plays out to the end.’

‘You will not stop until there is a noose around his neck.’

Rafe looked at him, the confirmation in his eyes.

‘And yet you still mean to marry his daughter?’

‘Marrying Marianne will not prevent me from bringing her father to justice.’

‘Think of what that will do to her. If Misbourne hangs for murder, his family will be destroyed. You will be a part of that family, Rafe.’

‘I will never be a part of Misbourne’s family. Marianne will take my name. She will be my wife. I will take care of her.’

‘Do you think she will forgive you for destroying her father?’

‘If I do not fulfil my oath, then I will not forgive myself. It is a matter of honour both to marry Marianne and to see her father executed. And I will do both.’

Callerton shook his head. ‘You are making a mistake in marrying the girl, Rafe. There can be only trouble down this route. You can choose to save her honour or your own, but you cannot have both.’

* * *

‘Mr Knight,’ Marianne said politely and made her curtsy. And when she peeped up through her lashes, that steady amber gaze was on hers and she blushed at the sudden heady rush of anticipation and longing.

‘Lady Marianne,’ he replied and the sound of his voice seemed to stroke a caress all the way down her spine. He was dressed impeccably in a tailcoat of dark-blue, buff-coloured breeches and riding boots. In one hand was his hat, riding gloves and crop, and in the other a bouquet of flowers.

‘For you.’ He passed her the bouquet, not large and showy as Mr Wilcox’s had been, but small and plain and made entirely of white rosebuds.

‘Thank you, Mr Knight. They are beautiful.’ Marianne inhaled their perfume.

‘They reminded me of you.’

She felt herself blush and lowered her eyes. ‘White roses are my favourite flower,’ she murmured.

‘How lovely, Mr Knight,’ said her mother with a false smile, whisking the bouquet into the hands of the footman to find a suitable vase.

‘Indeed, Lady Misbourne,’ he said, but his gaze did not move from Marianne’s and the look in them was passionate and possessive and everything that was contrary to the pale innocence of the flowers.

The silence in the room was heavy and awkward. Her mother lifted her tambour and worked upon her embroidery. Marianne swallowed. There was so much she wanted to say to Rafe, none of which could be spoken in front of her mother.

‘The weather is uncommonly fine for the time of year,’ she said, trying to fill the silence.

His eyes looked golden in the sunlight that flooded the drawing room. His face, so handsome and serious that she longed to press her lips to his and tell him that she loved him. To tell him that she understood all that he had done for her and all that he was prepared to do to save her once again, even though she could not let him.

In the silence the knock at the front door was so sudden and loud that Marianne jumped. Then the butler appeared, whispering soft words in her mother’s ear and her mother frowned. ‘I shall come at once.’

She looked at her daughter, then at Rafe. ‘Excuse me while I step out of the room for a few moments.’ She left the drawing-room door wide open in her wake. Marianne glanced towards it and lowered her voice.

‘I am grateful for your desire to save my honour, but I cannot let you do this, Rafe.’ She looked up into his eyes. ‘You cannot possibly marry me.’

‘Marianne, we do not need to have this conversation.’

‘Yes, we do. It is too dangerous. If my father were to discover who you are...’

‘We will deal with that if it happens.’

‘He has sworn to kill you!’

‘I know what your father does to those who cross him.’ There was an underlying bitterness to his tone that made her shiver.

‘And you have sworn vengeance upon him.’

‘Not vengeance,’ he said, correcting her as he had done before. ‘Justice.’

‘Justice that involves you wishing him dead.’

‘I cannot deny it.’

Her blood ran cold at how adamant he was about it. ‘He is my father, Rafe. And I love him, even with his imperfections. I cannot bear that you should wish to hurt him...’

His expression remained hard.

‘...or he, you.’

His hand closed around hers, his thumb stroking the centre of her palm.

‘I will not marry you, Rafe. I cannot. Surely you see that?’

‘I see that if you do not marry me you are ruined.’

‘I will survive a little social embarrassment.’ She glanced away. ‘I have survived much worse.’ And her mind flickered back to touch on a shadow from the past that was fading more with every day that passed.

‘After Arlesford and Pickering you will not survive this.’

‘I will not marry you,’ she said again, even though he was the only man in the world she would willingly marry.

She saw something flicker in his eyes.

‘What is between us, Marianne, cannot so easily be extinguished. It will burn whether we marry or not, whether we will it or not.’

‘You are mistaken,’ she said, even though she knew he was not. Her heart was already lost and nothing she could do would reclaim it.

‘Am I?’ he asked, stepping closer.

She swallowed, feeling her heart begin to thump and that same fluttering in her stomach that she felt whenever he was close.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed where his thumb had traced.

‘Marry me, Marianne,’ he said in the highwayman’s harsh whisper. And when his arms came around her, she went into them willingly. When his mouth touched hers, she kissed him with all the love that was in her heart.

‘Your mother has left you unchaperoned?’ Her father’s voice shattered the moment.

She jumped and felt a panic over whether he had heard Rafe’s whisper and recognised it as the highwayman’s. ‘There was a caller at the front door; she went to deal with it.’ She stood slightly in front of Rafe.