Making Merry with the Marquess Page 2

  “Well, it’s not mine.” She shoved herself away from the wall and began marching with determination.

  He was quick to catch up. “What do you mean it’s not yours? You live here. Your family is here.”

  “My da. And he’s getting up in years. What do I do when he’s gone?”

  “You take over his bakery. Why go to London when you have a shop here?”

  “I’m in the mood for something different, some excitement—”

  “Then come to the Havisham ball.”

  She staggered to a stop and swung around to face him. For years, from the shadows, she’d watched the fancy folk arrive and promenade through the gardens. Once she’d even snuck up to the windows of the grand residence to see them dancing in the magnificent ballroom. “Don’t be daft, George. I’m a commoner.”

  “You’re anything but common. It’ll be my Christmas gift to you. A night of merriment and excitement.”

  She wasn’t half tempted. To be part of something so much grander than herself and her village life was something she sometimes dreamed about—before the reality of her situation anchored her back to the real circumstances of her place in the world. “What would I wear?”

  His brow furrowed. “Well, a gown of course.”

  Said so simply by a man for whom everything came so easily. She didn’t resent his place in the world but sometimes it did give him a skewed perspective of what surviving entailed for others. “I don’t have a gown, not like the ones they wear to your glamorous affairs.”

  “Then we shall simply have to send to London for one.” He glanced around, before taking her arm and ushering her into the narrow alley between two taverns. This village had more than its share of drunkards. “Please come. It’s going to be a dreadfully dull affair.”

  “You just told me it would be exciting.”

  “It will be if you’re there.”

  She lowered her gaze to his perfectly knotted cravat. He hadn’t buttoned his outer coat. She wanted to step into him, feel his warmth as he closed the heavy wool around her. Lifting her eyes, she touched his cheek, skimming the back of her fingers over his bristled jaw. For the most part, his features were lost to the shadows, but she didn’t need to see them to know them. “Your mother wouldn’t like it and neither would the lady you’re courting.”

  “I’m not courting anyone.”

  “But I’ve heard rumors you’ll decide that night whom you should court.” Whom he would marry. Her stomach knotted with the acknowledgment that soon he would no longer belong to her in any fashion whatsoever. “My presence would serve as a distraction.”

  “You could help me determine who is best suited to me.”

  Oh, yes, she bloody well wanted to do that. “Don’t be daft, George. You know best who will make you happy.”

  He removed his gloves and cradled her face between his large warm hands. His palms were smooth, not rough like her father’s. Still she felt strength in his fingers. “And if I can’t have her?”

  “You could kiss her.” She’d wanted that for as long as she could remember. A silly thing for a silly girl to wish for. He was the lord of the manor, far beyond her reach.

  She went completely still as he leaned in, his breath fanning over her cheek. “And if I can’t stop there?”

  “She’ll stop you before it goes too far.”

  With his thumbs, he stroked the corners of her mouth. “A gentleman does not take advantage.”

  “Do you want to kiss me?”

  “More than I want to breathe. I have for the longest.”

  She couldn’t help but grin at the need echoing through his tone. “Then why haven’t you?”

  “My world would not accept you.”

  “Then don’t tell them.”

  His laugh was a rush of air as he pressed his forehead to hers. “It would be wrong when I can’t give you promises.”

  “Where’s the harm in a kiss?”

  Rising up on her toes, she tentatively pressed her lips to his, heard his low groan as he flattened his body against hers. With his tongue, he lapped insistently at the seam of her mouth until she opened for him—and her words mocked her.

  She could see the harm in it now, feel the harm in it as heat swamped her and their tongues became entangled, exploring, tasting, very nearly devouring. God help her, but she had waited years for this moment, had started to crave it as her body transformed from girl into woman. No other boy had ever appealed to her as he had. But when his voice had deepened and he’d grown tall and his shoulders had broadened and whiskers had shadowed his jaw, strange stirrings had begun in the pit of her stomach and lower. She’d wanted his hands on her, on all of her.

  Now she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and carried the hand that cupped her face down, slipping it beneath her cloak until it cradled her breast. His guttural growl was the most enticing sound she’d ever heard. He kneaded the pliant orb, his thumb circling her turgid nipple. The pleasure that rippled through her nearly had her knees buckling.

  She didn’t think it was possible for him to get any closer, but she became aware of the movement of his hips as he rubbed his hard cock against the apex of her thighs. Ah, yes, there was danger in a kiss, in his at least. She wanted to lift her skirts, to have him even nearer, to have him dragging his cock between the folds that harbored secrets she’d dared not even think about.

  He deepened the kiss as though it provided sustenance, as though it alone ensured survival.

  “Madeline.”

  Marsden reacted to the sharply delivered word more quickly than she did. She was dizzy, breathless, and only his hands moving to her waist kept her aloft, prevented her from sinking to the ground and urging him to follow her down.

  “Mr. Connor,” Marsden said, the rasp of his voice slipping into her soul.

  Blinking, striving to regain her equilibrium, she saw her protective father standing there, an ominous sentinel in the night. He’d obviously come looking for her when she didn’t arrive home as expected. “Papa—”

  “Off with you now, Madeline,” he said brusquely.

  She looked at Marsden. He merely nodded and stepped away. It irritated her that he looked guilty doing it. Angling her chin, she met her father’s gaze, hoping the darkness hid from him the flush burning her cheeks. “It was only a kiss.”

  “It’s never only a kiss,” her father said. “Go on.”

  “Good night, George,” she said.

  “Good night, Miss Connor.” He always addressed her in that manner when it wasn’t only the two of them. Tonight it irked beyond all measure.

  Marching away from both men, she heard her father’s voice but not his words. Then his rapid footsteps as he caught up to her.

  “He won’t marry you.” She heard the truth and the sadness in his tone. “He’s nobility, and you’re a baker’s daughter.”

  “I know.”

  But what she knew in her head was very different from what she believed in her heart.

  Chapter 2

  “Don’t ruin her, m’lord. If you do, you’ll also ruin her life.”

  Connor’s parting words echoed through Marsden’s head as he galloped back to Havisham, handed his horse over to the stable boy, strode into the residence, and headed for the stairs. Damn it, he knew the truth of them which was the reason he’d resisted the lure of Linnie for so long, but then tonight seeing her with Robbie—

  When she had asked, “Where is the harm?” he’d merely planned to explain all the ways in which it existed. But when she’d pressed her lips to his, all the fantasies he’d harbored over the years finally were presented with the opportunity to exist in reality. She felt so damned good, smelled so intoxicating. The warmth, the sighs, the feel of her in his arms—

  “You’re home at last, I see.”

  He swung around. His mother—who had obviously come from the parlor—stood stiffly before him, appearing none too happy, but then she was not generally a jolly sort.

  “Your friends returned ove
r an hour ago.” Her voice rang with admonishment as though he were still a lad to be chastised rather than a full-grown man who now managed estates and mines.

  “I had a matter to which I needed to attend.”

  “You can’t marry a baker’s daughter.”

  He didn’t know how she knew—probably Robbie, on further thought. No telling what tales his cousin had told upon arriving at the residence after the tavern closed. “I wasn’t taking her to Gretna Green. I was escorting her home.”

  “It was one thing for you to spend time with the chit when you were children. It’s entirely inappropriate now that you’re a grown man with responsibilities.”

  “Friendship does not end when one reaches a certain age. Besides, Robbie attempted to take advantage of her this evening so I felt it was my duty to ensure she reached home safely.”

  “He told me that you threatened to strike him. I don’t know why you and your cousin are always at odds.”

  “Perhaps because he’s an ass.”

  “Your language!”

  He merely shook his head. “Good night, Mother.” He turned to go—

  “I’m not finished speaking with you.”

  With an exasperated sigh, he faced her. She was fairly seething with righteous indignation, but then it wasn’t the first time they’d squared off thusly. “I will not have you behaving as your father did, taking up with the lowest of women and bringing shame to this house—”

  “Linnie is not like the women with whom Father associated. She works hard, she asks nothing of me.” Except for a kiss and that could have led to disaster if her father hadn’t shown up. Marsden had been on the cusp of securing them a room in one of the taverns. He’d never wanted anything as much as he’d wanted to be closer to her, with no clothes separating his skin from hers. He’d wanted to taste every inch of her, not only her lips. He’d wanted to know her in a way that would have been wrong on so many levels when he couldn’t offer her his name.

  “If she gets with child, you cannot marry her and ladies of quality frown on bastards running around.”

  He rolled his eyes at the ludicrousness of this conversation. His mother distrusted all men. It irked that she also distrusted her son. “Not that it is any of your business but we have not had nor will we have carnal relations. I have too much respect for her to take advantage. We are what we have been since we were children: friends.”

  As though gratified to hear that, she relaxed somewhat and extended a sheaf of paper. “Good. Now, I have managed to reduce the number of girls attending the ball to a list of half a dozen you should consider as a future wife.”

  Ah, yes, what every gent wanted: a woman selected by his mother. Still, he took the list, glanced over it quickly. He knew most but not all the names.

  “They would each make an exceptional marchioness,” his mother stated.

  He had no doubt there as his mother had very exacting requirements, but he wasn’t of a mind to give her what she wanted so easily, not when she’d done all in her power through the years to discourage his friendship with Linnie. “You’re to invite Miss Connor to the ball.”

  “The baker’s daughter!” Her shrill shriek would no doubt awaken the staff. “You are not considering her for a wife.”

  “No, but I want her to attend the ball.” Having caught her once peering in through the windows, he knew she longed to be part of the festivities. Besides, he’d already invited her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She doesn’t belong here.”

  He held up the paper. “Do you wish for me to consider one of these ladies for matrimony?”

  “Of course I do. I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of listing them otherwise.”

  “Then you will send an invitation to Madeline Connor. You will welcome her into this residence as though she were related to the queen. You will send to London for your seamstress and ensure she has a proper gown to wear.”

  “The ball is in less than a sennight. My seamstress cannot work miracles.”

  “And here I thought it was the season for such.”

  His mother glared at him. “You’re being preposterous.”

  “Still, if you want your ball to be as you’ve touted it with at least one of the Undecided Lords deciding then you shall have an invitation for Linnie waiting on my desk in the morning so I may deliver it in the afternoon. Otherwise, I might find myself spending the evening of the ball in the village, deep into my cups.”

  “Why do you despise me so?”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “I don’t despise you, but I do loathe those among us who consider others beneath us simply because of the circumstances of their birth. Sleep well.”

  Although as he turned for the stairs, he doubted she’d sleep at all. Rather she’d seethe all night regarding his demands, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to spend as much time as possible with Linnie when it might turn out to be his last Christmas with her.

  They only kept the shop open until half past two, which gave Linnie an opportunity to catch a few winks before heading to the tavern. But when she opened her bakery in London she was going to keep the doors unlocked until sunset. Surely, Londoners had a more leisurely life and would make their purchases later in the afternoon. She would also have a delivery service for the fancy and the posh. She had all sorts of plans to ensure her business supported her and allowed her to set aside funds for her old age. Her da, bless his heart, would probably be working until the day he cocked up his toes. As for herself, she wanted to have a bit more fun before she went to her grave.

  The bell above the door tinkled as it opened, and her heart lurched at the sight of Marsden strolling inside, removing his hat in one fluid motion. How was it that he encompassed both gracefulness and masculinity? After being caught in a compromising position the night before, she hadn’t expected him to be so bold as to appear here when he knew her father would be about.

  “M’lord,” she said as he neared the counter, although he had yet to look at her directly but seemed more interested in the few loaves that remained on the shelves behind the glass.

  “Are we going to be formal today, Miss Connor?” he asked, bending slightly to study the pumpernickel.

  “It’s advisable.” She leaned over the counter slightly and whispered, “My father’s in the kitchens.”

  “Then I shall be on my best behavior.”

  And his best obviously involved giving his attention to the baked dough. Irritated with his ignoring her, she heaved a sigh. “Why are you here, George?”

  “I’m in need of bread for a picnic.”

  “In winter? One doesn’t picnic in the cold. Are you daft?”

  He peered up at her then. “Does one not?”

  “No, one does not unless he wishes to catch his death.”

  “I think one can. Perhaps I’ll show you sometime.”

  She wished he would. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  Finally, he straightened. “We spent more time together when we were younger. Chasing after each other, fishing, climbing trees. I even taught you to ride a horse.”

  “All in innocence. We lose our innocence as we get older.”

  “Indeed we do. I enjoyed kissing you.”

  The heat suffused her face. “You’d best not let my father hear you say that.”

  “Did you like kissing me?”

  She shook her head, surprised when he suddenly looked devastated. “It ended too soon, but until then—” She shrugged. “I have no complaints.”

  He grinned. “I think you enjoyed it more than I did.”

  “It was more involved than I expected it to be.” She’d especially liked the lovely way he’d fondled her breast, wish he’d had time to give attention to the other.

  “Was it your first?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yours?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  Jealousy speared her. He was four years older. It was ridiculous to think he’d have had the patience to wait for her to g
row up. “Was she pretty?”

  “I don’t recall. I suppose I should but I was quite foxed at the time.”

  “Have you done more than kiss?”

  He held her gaze until she wanted to squirm. They’d never had any difficulty discussing the most intimate of things but she was beginning to wish she hadn’t asked.

  “I have,” he finally said quietly.

  “What was it like?” she whispered.

  “Awkward. I was clumsy and rather … quick. I doubt the entire exchange lasted as long as our kiss last night.”

  Her eyes widened. “I thought copulating lasted all night.”

  “I suspect on occasion it could.”

  “Not very ladylike of me to ask, I suppose. But then I’m not really a lady, am I?”

  “I’ve always told you that you can ask me anything.”

  “As you can ask me.”

  “Good.” He looked back down at the shelves. “Which is your favorite bread, as I need to purchase a loaf.”

  “Sourdough.” She grabbed one, wrapped it in paper, and handed it to him. “I’ll add it to your account.”

  “Very good.”

  “Afternoon, m’lord.”

  Linnie rolled her eyes at her father’s resounding voice echoing around them. He sounded less happy than he had the night before.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Connor.” Marsden held up his purchase. “I needed some bread.”

  “I should think your cook would provide that.”

  “We have an abundance of guests arriving, and I didn’t wish to trouble her when my need is personal. And I almost forgot. I needed to deliver this.” He reached into his coat pocket, removed an ivory vellum envelope, and extended it toward her. “On behalf of my mother.”

  Why the devil would Lady Marsden send a missive? The woman had never spoken to Linnie except to chastise her when she was younger and had been tearing through the garden, Marsden hot on her heels. Taking it, she stared at it as though it were an unknown object. Miss Madeline Connor was written in delicate script.

  “You should open it,” Marsden insisted. “It might require a response.”

  “Yes, of course.” With care, she unsealed the envelope and removed another vellum piece, only this one was embossed with gold lettering, requesting her presence at the ball. “She can’t be serious.” She looked up at him. “This is a prank.”