M Is for Marquess (16 page)

“You are especially protective of me. And not without reason.” Thea’s throat worked. “I know my constitution is not as robust as everyone else’s.”

“If I’m overprotective, it’s a habit from when you were a little girl. In truth, it says more about me than it does about you.” Sighing, Emma said, “I
am
trying to be less managing.”

“You are caring, loving, and no one could ask for a better sister,” Thea said.

“And you, my dear, are even-tempered, kind, and the fulcrum of family peace—just like Mama was.” Em’s voice grew wistful. “She rarely took sides and saw the best in everyone.”

It stunned Thea that Emma saw her this way. “I always thought
you
were the one most like Mama. You’re so practical and industrious. When times were lean, you made sure we had food on the table, kept us clean and clothed. We survived because of you.”

“And
thrived
because of you. You never complained about anything and set an example for us all.” Emma’s head tipped to one side. “Remember the year we spent Christmas in the schoolhouse?”

Frost melted from a window of the past. Thea saw that long ago day clearly.

“You’d stretched that cheese and loaf of bread as far as anyone could, even giving up your share,” she said in soft tones, “but the younger ones were still so hungry. I can still remember Vi’s stomach rumbling.”

“The only thing louder was Violet herself.” Emma shook her head in fond reminiscence. “The way she was carrying on you’d think she hadn’t eaten for weeks. She got Polly and Harry going too, and soon they were caterwauling about
everything
, from the lack of plum pudding to the dearth of presents that year. Christmas might have been ruined entirely if you hadn’t remembered the keys.”

“Keys?” Marianne asked.

“To the schoolhouse. Papa had just been dismissed from his position as the schoolmaster because of his illness,” Thea explained, “but I remembered he had a set of spare keys—”

“And she convinced everyone to bundle up and tromp through the snow to the schoolhouse,” Emma reminisced. “There was a pianoforte there, and Thea played Christmas hymns for us all night. Everyone sang along, laughing, forgetting everything but being together.”

Thea smiled. “It turned out to be a fine Christmas after all, didn’t it?”

“Thanks to you. Which is why you must never doubt your strength,” her sister said.

“Emma has a point.” Her expression thoughtful, Marianne said, “Moreover, Tremont’s concern about your being ‘delicate’ may say more about him than you. For instance, what do you know about his first marriage?”

Only that it was perfect.

“From what little Tremont has said, Lady Sylvia was the ideal wife and mother,” Thea said with a pang. “They were very happy, I think.”

How can I compare with such a paragon?
Her throat constricted. If the true source of his reservation was his devotion to his dead wife, then Thea could never win his heart. It was ironic, really. Because what she loved about him—the driven intensity of his passion—might be the very thing that kept them apart.

“Your description matches the
on dit
about Lady Sylvia. From everything I’ve heard, she was the epitome of female virtue. The fact that Tremont has never remarried or taken a lover adds a special shine to her halo.” Marianne cleared her throat. “You do know how she died?”

“Yes, in childbirth.” The moment Thea said it, the realization struck her. “Goodness. Do you think that is why he’s so concerned about my delicate health?”

“That is a question for him, my dear,” Marianne said.

Resolution rooted in Thea. Whatever his reasons, she was tired of being led back and forth like a toy on a string. She was a
rock
, according to her sister; from here on in, she would lay the foundation for her own future.

“I’m going to talk to him,” she said, “and I’m going to get answers once and for all.”

“Spoken like a true Kent,” Emma said with approval.

Chapter Sixteen

At midnight, Gabriel arrived.

Thea watched as he closed the door of the conservatory soundlessly behind him. Anticipation lived in the scent of ripening citrus, the hushed secrecy of dark foliage. Moonlight streamed in through the glass that made up three of the room’s walls, plating his hair in silver, giving his eyes a predatory light. He prowled toward her, large and sleek. He’d thrown a black brocade dressing gown over his shirtsleeves, and his casual sensuality spun her senses.

She pulled her flannel wrapper tighter around her body.
If you can slip a note under a man’s door, you can carry on a rational conversation. Don’t lose nerve now.

Straightening her shoulders, she said, “I’m glad you got my note. I was afraid you were asleep.”

“I was up.” His expression unreadable, he gestured to a wooden bench surrounded by potted orange trees. “Would you care to sit?”

“I’m fine standing.” She took a breath. “We need to talk, Gabriel.”

His gaze was dark, unfathomable. “Yes.”

’Tis now or never.
“I must know where we stand. I told you once before you needed to make up your mind about our relationship,” she said, proud of how calm she sounded, “and I meant it. I don’t deserve to be toyed with.”

“No, you don’t. You deserve better.” His chest surged. “Much better than what I have to offer you.”

Exactly what she’d feared he’d say. Her nerves tremored like the freshly hammered strings of a piano, but she bolstered her resolve.
Don’t fall apart now. Get your answers.

“Because of the Spectre?” she managed.

He gave a grim nod. “I thought I could put the past behind me, but I was wrong. What I was, what I did—it will never leave me. And I won’t have you getting hurt because of it.”

“What you did, you did for your country. In my eyes, that makes you a hero.”

Surprise flared in his eyes; it was gone the next second. “You have no idea of the sins I committed. Espionage is an ugly business. The things I did—it would disgust you. Make you want to run from me as fast as you could.”

She didn’t back down. “What did you do?”

“I killed,” he said. “Dozens of men.”

She saw the banked fire in his eyes and knew he was testing her.

Quietly, she said, “Were they innocent?”

His mouth twisted. “Depends which side you were fighting on. But the men I killed—they had family and lovers to mourn them—the same as any British agent or soldier. And I took their lives as easily as a butcher does livestock.”

“Not as easily, I think,” she said softly, “for the butcher doesn’t think of the beast he slaughtered over ten years ago. He doesn’t hate himself for doing his job.”

Gabriel’s lips pressed together. Had she hit a nerve?

“Regardless, I cannot put you in danger.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “The Spectre is out for my blood, and no one near me is safe.”

“With the help of Kent and Associates, you will capture the villain. I know you will.” Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Once the Spectre is caught, would you want to be with me then?”

“Thea, it’s not that simple—”

“It is precisely that simple. You’ve been ambivalent about me from the start—even last Season, before the affair with the Spectre reared its ugly head,” she pointed out. “What aren’t you telling me, Gabriel? Is it me? Because of my weak lungs, my health—”

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Not one bloody thing.” His hands closed around her upper arms, his eyes glittering. “You are perfect, princess.”

“Then is it because…”—her throat cinched, yet she forced the words out—“because of your wife? Because you love her still?”

He looked briefly startled. “No. That is, I hold her memory in high esteem. I always will. But romantic love… it has long faded.”

Relief washed over Thea. She heard the truth in his voice, saw it in his face. Her worst fear was conquered. Placing her hands on his chest, feeling the hard-paved muscles flex at her touch, she whispered, “Why then, Gabriel? Why won’t you let us be together?”

Silence hung like ripe and ready fruit.

He released her, took a step back.

“Because,” he said in a guttural voice, “I want you too damned much.”

She blinked. Of all the things she expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. “I don’t understand.”

“There are things about me you don’t know.”

She grasped the lapels of his robe, gave a desperate tug. “For goodness’ sake,
tell me
.”

With gentle yet firm authority, he removed her hands and placed them back at her sides. “If we were to marry, I’d want certain things. In the bedchamber,” he said bluntly.

Warmth swirled beneath her skin. She still didn’t see where the problem was.

“I think… I’d want those things too,” she said bashfully.

“Would you?” The corner of his mouth curled and not in amusement. “I’m not talking about the kind of marital relations that exist between most couples. What I want is… more. More even than what would legally be mine, what words on paper could convey. I’d want to possess you, Thea. To have you surrender to my every desire and submit your will to mine.”

Heat fluttered between her thighs. Her lungs constricted.

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Could you, um, be more specific?” she managed.

“I’d want your body when I want, how I want. You wouldn’t refuse me—unless you were ill or hurt. Even then, you would trust me to take care of you,” he said bluntly. “Sometimes I would make love to you tenderly, other times I’d want to rut you hard and fast. I would accept no limits to our sensual life. Restrain you, have you in different positions, anything I can think of. And I would expect you not only to obey my command but wish to.”

She felt dizzy. His words swamped her with a wave of arousal—and she wasn’t even sure she fully comprehended what he was saying. She moistened her lips. “I… see.”

“No, you don’t. This isn’t something I’d expect a virgin to understand.” His pupils were dilated, black edging out grey. “But this is what I want, and I cannot change who I am.”

She became aware of two oddly opposite feelings. One was heady, vibrant desire. What would it be like to belong to Gabriel in the way that he described? To finally be
wanted
as a woman and with such unbridled intensity? His masterful possession in the carriage washed over her, and recalling the supple leather between her palms, the way his command had restrained her, she felt a deep, lush tug of yearning.

At the same time, annoyance pricked her. Why did he have to assume that she wasn’t able or willing to be what he wanted? After all, she trusted
him
. In spite of the violence in his past, she knew he would never hurt her—would defend her to his dying breath. Why didn’t he return her trust, show confidence in her strength? Why did he say the word
virgin
as if her condition were a disease?

Lifting her chin, she said boldly, “And if I say this would not be a problem?”

“Then I’d say you don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes hooded, a muscle leaping in his jaw. “You’re dainty and innocent, Thea. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“For heaven’s sake, I am tired of you treating me as if I’m a ninny incapable of making up my own mind.” He was teaching her that she did indeed have a temper and that it was fully operational. “And I’m even more tired of being treated as too weak and delicate for your manly desires. You were happily married before. If this wasn’t a problem then, I fail to see why you think it will be a problem with me.”

Lines slashed around his mouth, his features hard as if carved from granite. His throat worked, as if he wanted to say something and could not. Suddenly, she understood. What he was too much of a gentleman to say.

His marriage… it hadn’t been perfect.

That was the reason for his present reservations. Guilt filled her that she’d brought up the topic so carelessly—and even more so that she felt a tiny, terrible spark of relief that whatever she was being measured against, it was not perfection.

“I will not dishonor the past,” he said in low tones, “but I have learned from it. I will not place myself in a situation where my needs are incompatible with my wife’s. To do so results in misery for both parties.”

She swallowed. “And if both parties want the same thing? If I’m willing to try to be the kind of wife you want?”

In the moonlight, his mask of equanimity was ripped away. He was laid bare to her, his expression ravaged. “There’s no
trying
, Thea,” he said with sizzling scorn. “Marriage is permanent. If we are not suited, you’ll be tied to a husband who disgusts you.”

“You could never disgust me,” she said with conviction.

“You don’t know that,” he scoffed.

Insight flashed.
He’s afraid
, she thought in wonder. Back in the country, one of their neighbors had owned a stallion that had been trapped in a barn struck by lightning. Subsequently, any sign of a storm had caused the animal to react with agitation, to slice the air with its great hooves.

Whatever had happened in Gabriel’s marriage had spooked him completely. Was making him lash out and try to scare her away.

Tenderness and a strange calm flowed through her. Seeing this powerful male quivering with his need for her—fighting against it—opened an inner dam of courage. Strength.
He’s yours for the taking
, a voice whispered.
If you’re not afraid to reach for what you want.

Oh, how she wanted him. A daring plan unfolded in her head. It was brazen, wanton—something a frail spinster would never dream of doing. And something a woman in love
had
to do.

She said softly, “The first time we met, I knew I wanted to be with you. You heard the passion in me, and you answered it. That was real, the true music between us. Anything else is just noise.”

“In bed, I’m no sonata. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be hearing a funeral march,” he predicted grimly.

She shook off the
frisson
of anxiety elicited by his dire words. “I have a proposal for you, Gabriel. Let me decide for myself if I want what you have to offer. Treat me as the woman that I am,” she said steadily, “and let
me
make the choice of whether I want to marry you.”