M Is for Marquess (5 page)

The breathless sounds she made maddened him. His kisses roved lower and lower, and then he was suckling her breast through the linen. His nostrils flared at the sight of her nipple jutting against the wetted barrier. Groaning, he drew her back into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the stiff crest. Blood pounded in his ears, in his turgid shaft. Darkness flooded his veins, and he grazed her with his teeth—

“Tremont. Wait.”

Her panting words barely permeated his haze of lust.

“I can’t—I can’t breathe.”

His head snapped up. Thea’s face was pale, her chest moving up and down in quick, shallow waves. Her pupils were dilated—with fear?

His gut recoiled as if punched. “What’s the matter?”

“My lungs… tight…”

Understanding dawned. “Tell me what to do,” he said tersely.

“Tea,” she said between gasped breaths. “Helps…”

He snatched the pot off the coffee table, sloshing some of the liquid into a cup. He held it to her lips. “Here. Drink slowly.”

She obeyed, taking small sips. Gradually, her respiration steadied.

Pushing away the cup, she said, “I’m fine now.”

In the firelight, he saw that some color had returned to her fine-boned features. Her bosom rose and fell in a regular cadence. He felt relief, followed by a swift undertow of anger. At himself.

“I apologize,” he said stiffly. “I should never have—”

“It’s not your fault. It just happens sometimes.” Her cheeks were pink now. “Excitement can trigger an episode, and, well, there’s been plenty of that today, hasn’t there?”

Her attempt at levity did nothing to assuage his guilt.

“It’s late,” he said curtly. “If you’re feeling better, you should go to bed.”

She blinked. “I am not a child, Tremont.”

Devil and damn, he was all too aware of that fact. Now that the danger had passed, he saw the peril of what had almost transpired. How despicably he’d behaved. He was disgusted at himself for trespassing on territory he’d known was forbidden.

One didn’t kiss virgins without consequences. Consequences he was not prepared to face.

Thea was not only a virgin but one whose health was fragile. Though he’d barely touched her, he’d caused her to have an attack. What would happen if he unleashed his true, aberrant desires on her? The shock would probably kill her.

Shame twisted his gut. “No, you’re a lady. And you shouldn’t be alone with a man at midnight. At any time.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Damnit, this was a bloody mistake.”

Silence stretched. She rose, forcing him to follow.

“A mistake.” Her eyes blazed with golden fire. “That is what just happened between us?”

“The fault is mine entirely. I should not have—”

“Just tell me this, Tremont,” she said in a trembling voice. “Do you or don’t you want me?”

I want to strip you bare and fuck you until neither of us can move. I want to own your pleasure, possess you completely. I want my fingerprints on your bloody soul.

“I’m not right for you,” he bit out.

“Why?” Her voice quivered.

“I wouldn’t make a good husband.” The understatement of the century, he thought darkly.

“But you were married before. Everyone says you were happy.”

Because they don’t know the truth.

“My wife was a paragon,” he said in flat tones, “and I would not ask the same of anyone else. You’re too delicate and innocent for someone like me. Find a husband who will give you what you deserve.”

Pain rippled through the depths of her eyes. Her throat worked.

“From now on,” she whispered, “stay away from me.”

Turning, she ran from the room.

Chapter Five

Thea opened her eyes the next morning to a surge of energy.

Sometimes it happened this way: after an asthmatic attack, she slept deeply and woke refreshed. Or perhaps the interlude with Tremont had wiped the slate clean, relieving her of the burden of uncertainty and hope. She pushed aside the covers and the stab of longing.

The memory of pleasure and humiliation burned through her. She didn’t know who she was more frustrated with: him or herself. For once, why couldn’t her body function in a normal manner? Why did her dashed lungs have to seize at the most inopportune moment? Why didn’t he at least give them a chance to discuss matters?

Because, apparently, I’m not a “paragon” like his first wife
.
I’m too delicate. Weak.

At least she had her answer now. The truth was what she’d expected. He was still in love with his dead wife, and Thea could never compete with a ghost, nor did she want to. And his excuse that it wasn’t her, but him, that was the problem?

She might be a middling class spinster and recovering invalid, but she wasn’t a fool.

Drawing a resolute breath, she tamped down the morass of emotions. As Mama had been wont to say,
No use crying over spilt milk
. Feeling sorry for oneself had never achieved anything; what she needed was to learn from the rejection and carry on.

Rising, she went to part the heavy brocade drapes. Sunshine dazzled her pupils, the blue sky stretching over the leafy square outside. Pastel parasols dotted the park’s paths. Determined not to waste the morning’s rare beauty, she set about performing her morning ablutions, which included the series of nasal and throat rinses prescribed by Dr. Abernathy. When she was done, she rang for her lady’s maid to help her dress.

A half-hour later, garbed in a light pink walking dress with fashionably full sleeves, Thea made her first stop at Lord Frederick’s room. Despite her jangled feelings toward Tremont, his son tugged at her heartstrings. She wanted to see how Frederick was faring after yesterday’s harrowing episode, and she had a book she wished to give him.

Tucking the volume under her arm, she knocked softly on the door. “Good morning. It’s Miss Kent. May I come in?”

At his affirmative, she entered and smiled at the boy sitting upright against a mound of pillows. Thankfully, he looked none too worse for the wear. He inclined his head in a formal nod, the effect somewhat spoiled by the fact that his golden hair was tousled, a cowlick springing up at the back of his head.

She approached the bed. “Good morning, Lord Frederick. Feeling better, I hope?”

“Yes, thank you. And I give you leave to call me Frederick. Or Freddy, if you prefer.”

She hid a smile at his solemn manners and sat by the side of his bed. “Then you must call me Dorothea or Thea, as my friends do.”

“Miss Thea,” he said gravely, “I am in your debt for your assistance yesterday.”

“I was glad to lend a hand. Not that you needed it. You showed uncommon courage refusing to obey your governess’ commands.”

“I was obeying Papa. He told us to stay put.” A nearly imperceptible breath escaped Freddy. “And I disappointed him.”

“Disappointed? Why would you say that?” Thea said in surprise.

“He was angry,” the boy mumbled to the sheets. “I could tell.”

“If he was, I’m certain it wasn’t at you.”

She hesitated. It wasn’t her place to translate Tremont’s behavior to his own son. Actually, it was rather ironic that she should decipher his actions to another when she couldn’t figure out what he wanted from her. Yet seeing him with his boy—the depth of emotion in his eyes—she had no doubt of his fatherly concern, even if he didn’t express it in so many words.

“If not me, then who? I’m the one who caused the problem yesterday.”

Goodness, misery was written all over the boy’s little face.

“You didn’t cause the problem. Your governess did.” Brow furrowing, Thea asked, “Had she been acting strangely before this?”

Freddy shook his head. “She only started with us recently. My old governess received an inheritance out of the blue, you see, and left us with little warning. Mademoiselle Fournier applied for the post.” His thin shoulders went back. “I’m sure her references were exemplary as Papa is always thorough.”

“I’m sure,” Thea murmured. “All the same, her behavior left something to be desired.”

“One moment she was fine and the next she was insisting that we see the bears. I’m not even partial to bears.” A bewildered wobble entered Freddy’s voice, his façade of maturity slipping. “I tried telling her so, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“You certainly did your best, and the most important thing is that you’re safe.”

He raised his knees, his arms curling around them. “Do—do you think she’ll come back?”

Thea thought it prudent to be honest. “I don’t know. But if she does, we’ll be prepared. There are footmen guarding the premises as we speak, and your father plans to hire on more men to protect you.”

“This is my fault.” Freddy’s blue-grey eyes had a sudden glimmer. “Papa didn’t want to take me to London, but I badgered him into it. He was right: I
am
too sickly to go anywhere. Now we can’t leave because Dr. Abernathy says I’m too weak to be moved—”

“None of that is your fault. You did nothing wrong, dear.”

“But I had a spell. In public.” Moisture spiked the boy’s eyelashes, and his chest surged on uneven breaths. “Now everyone will know that I’m an odd-oddity. I em-embarrassed Papa.”

Thea’s heart clenched with sudden anger. Had Tremont hidden the boy in the country, kept him from Society, because
he was
ashamed
of his beautiful son? Because he thought Freddy too imperfect, too
delicate
for the eyes of the world?

“You are not an oddity,” she said firmly, “and you’ve nothing be ashamed of. You can no more help your spells than I can mine.”

Freddy blinked. “You have spells too?”

“I do. Not the same sort, precisely, but I’ve had a respiratory ailment since I was a little girl. My lungs are prone to spasms—and often at the most inopportune times.” Flashing to the inopportune attack the night before, she felt her cheeks heat. “My episodes, like yours, can be unpredictable. That is nature’s fault, not ours.”

“Even if that were true, I’d give anything to be like other boys.” Freddy’s shoulders slumped. “To be able to ride with Papa and play sports and have friends. To be… normal.”

You can do anything you put your heart to, Freddy,
she thought fiercely.
Anything at all.

Yet she understood from the boy’s resigned expression that words would do little to alter his opinion of himself. After all, she struggled with her own self-doubts. In her own situation, what had helped most was being around her family. They’d brought normalcy into her confinement, entertaining her with conversation and games when she was too weak to leave her bed. Their loving, rambunctious presence had buoyed her through her darkest moments. Perhaps Freddy’s spirits would be lifted by being with children his own age. And she knew just the companion for him.

On impulse, she said, “When you’re up to it, would you like to meet my nephew? Edward is around your age, and I think the two of you would rub along famously.”

“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “The doctor said I mustn’t leave the bed. And I haven’t much experience with friends—”

“Friends?” Tremont’s deep voice cut in.

Thea swung around in her chair. Once again, he’d approached as soundlessly as a shadow, and this morning she found the habit irritating. That and the fact that he was so dashed attractive. Why couldn’t he be missing a few teeth or losing his hair? But, oh no, he had to look perfect. Like a sculpture, his angelic features were schooled to an impeccable sternness. His hair, the same tawny shade as his son’s, lay neatly against his head. His eyes were as somber as the charcoal coat and buff trousers that fit like a glove over his lean muscularity.

“Good morning, Papa,” Freddy said tentatively. “I’m feeling so much better today.”

“I’m relieved to hear it. Now what is this about friends?”

The boy bit his lip, so Thea said, “That was my idea, my lord.”

At Tremont’s inquiring look, she repeated her proposal.

“That is not possible,” he said. “My son is not well enough for a social call.”

Freddy’s face fell like a soufflé.

“We could consult Dr. Abernathy,” she said swiftly. “I am sure he will approve of the distraction. In addition, I could make sure my nephew knows not to overtire Freddy. Edward is a quiet boy by nature and much prefers games like chess to Oranges and Lemons or Hide the Slipper.”

At length, Tremont said, “I will consider it—if the doctor approves.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Freddy said tremulously.

Tremont’s gaze remained on hers, the grey depths turbulent, disconcertingly warm. Thea told herself that she was glad for the boy’s sake alone. She didn’t care what his father thought.

She rose to leave—and remembered the book in her hands. Holding out the leather volume, she said, “I almost forgot. I brought this for you.”

“For me?” Freddy took it, his eyes as big as dinner plates.

“A belated birthday gift. My papa gave it to me when I was bedbound, and Captain Gulliver’s adventures made the time pass more quickly.” She smiled at the fervent way the boy opened the cover. “I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I have.”

She almost made it to the door when Tremont blocked her path. She ignored the jolt that his gentle touch on her arm elicited. Lifting her chin, she said, “My lord?”

“I wanted to inquire after your health.” His high cheekbones turned ruddy. “After, ahem, yesterday’s events.”

His solicitous tone made her grind her teeth.

“I’m no porcelain doll,” she said tartly. “I’m perfectly well and stronger than I look.”

“Did you know Miss Thea has an illness too? I would not have guessed,” Freddy piped up from the bed. “She was fearless yesterday and didn’t stand down.”

“Miss Kent’s vigor is indeed a thing of wonder,” Tremont said.

Cheeks flushing, Thea told herself to ignore the husky edge to his voice, the hungry gleam in his eyes. Frustration filled her. Why was he toying with her, flirting with her when he’d made clear not once, but
twice
, that he didn’t want her?

There was, she supposed, a freedom that came from knowing that one has been rejected. She had enough pride not to ask him to reconsider. If Tremont couldn’t recognize the strength of her passion—couldn’t see her for who she was—then she would find someone else who would.