A Midsummer Bride (23 page)

“No. I will not allow you to use this book as bait,” Penelope whispered, following Marchford as he greeted guests and was altogether too friendly while holding her annotated copy of
Debrett’s
. “What are you thinking of walking around the entryway so that everyone can see it?”

“I can only concur with Miss Rose,” added Mr. Neville, coming up behind them. “If this book is of a sensitive nature, it should not be where anyone can see it.”

“But who would think anything unusual? It is merely a book which many of the peerage have in their possession,” said Marchford.

“But they don’t carry it about,” chastised Penelope. “I will put it away safely.”

“No! I should be the one to do that!” declared Neville.

“Here.” Marchford handed the book to Neville. “Wait for me in the library, I will be along shortly.”

“What are you doing?” hissed Penelope as she watched her precious volume walk away.

“If Neville thinks it is a sensitive document, so will the traitor,” Marchford whispered in return.

Marchford greeted guests awhile longer and then strolled to the library, where Neville was sitting on the settee. He slapped the book closed when they entered.

“I need not tell you to keep that volume safe,” warned Neville.

“No, you need not,” agreed Marchford, extending his hand for the book.

Neville handed it over and stalked off.

“I do not wish my book to be used in such a manner,” said Penelope when they were alone.

“The demands of King and country, my dear.” The room was well lit by several lanterns blazing and Marchford quickly checked them. “I want this room as bright as the noonday sun.”

“The book represents years of work,” Penelope tried to explain.

“Listing the worth of men to be judged and sold to enterprising young women? I could suggest that I would be doing mankind a service by removing this text from your possession.”

Penelope gasped. “You would not be so cruel!”

“At this moment, I only wish to use the book to catch a spy. You may have it when the mission is complete.” Marchford placed the book carefully on the table. He stepped back to the curtains, surveyed his perspective of the book, and appeared satisfied.

“Can you assure me that it will be safely returned?” Penelope resisted the urge to snatch the book from the table.

“No,” replied Marchford, for he was an honest man. “But you shall have the supreme comfort of knowing that your precious object was used in the service of your country to protect England from foreign invaders. What more could anyone ask?”

“But—”

“Enough. I do not wish to displease you, but I must use this. I will be here, waiting for the spy. When it is taken, I will grab him. It is very simple. But you must leave, and now. The trap is about to be set.”

“Your Grace?” called the butler. “You are needed at the bonfire, sir.”

“I’m on my way,” called Marchford. He opened the door to the library. “Go!” he hissed.

Penelope folded her arms across her chest and shook her head.

Marchford’s valet walked in and the men quickly exchanged coats. Marchford handed him the mask and the valet walked off.

“Go now,” mouthed Marchford.

But Penelope retreated out of reach and Marchford had no choice but to swing the door shut, with her still inside. He motioned for her to leave and ducked behind the drapes, between the wall and the curtain. Penelope followed.

“Leave!” he whispered in an irritated tone.

“I’m going to stay with my book,” she whispered back.

“There’s no room.”

“I am small enough.” She pressed herself against him behind the curtain. She was immediately hit with a wave of heat.

“Penelope,” he growled in a whisper. “You need to leave. Now!”

“As long as my book is here, I am here.”

“You are compromising an investigation.”

“You are compromising the work of many years.”

“If you get any closer,” he hissed in her ear, “I will be compromising you!”

Another wave of heat flashed through her. If he was attempting to get her to leave, this was not the best tactic. She put her hands on his chest in order to move closer. He glared down at her in a decidedly unfriendly manner. He may have been unhappy, but there was nothing he could do about it. He needed to remain still and silent in order to lure in the thief. If the spy would even take the bait.

Consigning himself to wait, he leaned against the wall. She leaned against him. He sighed and put his arms around her. It felt good. It felt better than good. Utterly inappropriate thoughts flashed through her head.

Here she was, concealed with one of the greatest catches in all of marital history. The opportunities were endless. True, he didn’t want her here. And true, she knew he had many more tempting offers if he wished for a discreet liaison. But she was here now, and he was, if not hers for the taking, at least in a position to do very little to fight off her advances.

She raised her head off of his chest, unsure of when she had actually laid it on him. She must stop these thoughts. First of all, she was a respectable lady, and in a position where she needed to keep that respectability intact. She was not a married woman with deep societal ties. She could not bandy about her reputation without a care. Her social status, her credibility, her very living as a companion all depended on her keeping her reputation untarnished. She had not the face nor the fortune for anything else.

“You should go,” Marchford whispered again, but he held her tighter instead.

She struggled against the urge to melt into him. She must focus her attention on something else. “I have some marital prospects to review with you,” she whispered. The library was large and the curtained window was far from the door, so that no one could hear them whisper.

“Now?” His face was incredulous.

“I have your attention.” And she needed to get her mind off of his physique, which was flawless by her estimation. “First of all, there is Miss Maria Cornwall.”

“No.”

“But I have not even begun to tell you her finer qualities,” protested Penelope.

“I am sure they are lovely indeed, but I went to school with her brothers. Twins. Would rather jump in the Thames than have those hellions for brothers-in-law. I would go broke just paying their debts.”

“Fine. There is Lady Evangeline, daughter of the Earl of Braxton.”

“No.”

“I put a good deal of thought into these choices and even wrote up short descriptions of each. The least you could do is listen to the entire presentation. Besides, what could be wrong with Lady Evangeline?”

“Nothing is wrong with her. Lovely girl. Now her mother on the other hand is a horror and currently not on speaking terms with my grandmother, who despises her. Evangeline will not do.”

“I don’t suppose you would consider Miss Crawley. She is an attractive girl.”

“And vicious. I do not wish to marry anyone who scares me.”

“Coward,” accused Penelope.

“Quite so.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Penelope found she was enjoying his masculine scent. It was quite intoxicating. She struggled against doing something horribly embarrassing and searched for some topic of conversation to focus her mind on something other than the strong man before her.

“How did you get into this business anyway?” she whispered. She looked up and realized he was peeking out of a hole in the drapes he had previously made. Clever.

“Since my half brother was intended to be the next duke, my job as the younger brother from a second marriage was to find respectable work as far away from home as possible. Besides, my grandmother complained I made her teeth grind.”

“You still do make her teeth grind.”

“She would say I am too much like my mother, a more heinous insult she could not imagine.”

“Naughty boy.”

“Very true.”

“So how did you end up in Cadiz? It is far away and under a constant state of war with the French and their allies.”

“Precisely so. It was the perfect place for me. I met the diplomat through the normal channels. There is a work program for second sons of the aristocracy. We must be farmed out to do something respectable, such as politics, military, or the clergy. We must stay out of the way and marry rich so as not to put too many demands on our elder brothers who will inherit.”

“I wonder that younger sons are not simply drowned at birth,” commented Penelope.

“It would be efficient, and I grant you there may be some who would agree with you, but you are forgetting the primary reason for being a second son.”

“And what would that be?”

“Why to serve as a spare to inherit in case the elder sibling dies or is not able to spawn young.”

“And that is what happened to you.”

Marchford leaned the back of his head against the wall and looked up at nothing. “I was angry at Fredrick for dying. I know that cannot make sense since it was hardly his fault.”

“I understand. I was mad at everyone when my parents died. Them. God. My sisters. The doctor.”

Marchford nodded. “I was so displeased, I returned to Cadiz. Of course I did have work to do there. But also, I wanted to avoid returning and taking the title that belonged to my brother. Fredrick was…”

He paused for a long time. The minutes dragged on and Penelope listened to the clock tick away the seconds. It was eternity but she would not interrupt his story for the world. He never spoke of Fredrick. Never.

“I begged him not to die.” Marchford’s voice was flat. “But he was always doing things his own way. He was a remarkably strong man for having such a weak body. It was the fever early in life, you understand; he never fully recovered. Maybe because his body was weak he learned to be strong inside. I wish you could have met him.”

“I would have liked that.” Despite hearing little from him about his brother, Penelope knew Marchford looked up to him and protected him. His wishing her to meet him was an honor. Truly.

Marchford took a deep breath as if to clear away the painful memories. “It was just me and my grandmother then. She could not look at me without grinding what was left of her teeth. It was a hard time for all of us. First my father and then my brother had acted as a buffer between us, but then it was just too painful to be together.”

“So you continue to work for the Foreign Office.”

“Yes. I catch spies. It is an odd line of work for a duke, I grant you, but I still wish to protect my country.”

“I am sure your father would have been proud of you.”

“I would like to think so.” Marchford’s tone was somber.

“How old were you when he passed away?”

“I was ten. He died in a fire at his hunting box.”

“I am so sorry for your loss.” Penelope meant it. She could see the pain on his face, even after so many years. She searched for something to get his mind off the painful subject.

“So tell me, since you have rejected my leading candidates to be your wife, what exactly are you looking for in a partner?”

“I have already told you the qualifications.”

“Tell me again.” Penelope’s voice sounded husky, even to herself.

Marchford looked up at the ceiling in thought. “She needs to come from a good family, one that has no members who are currently at war with my grandmother.”

“That rules out half of the families in England.”

“Second, she must have a brain in her head.”

“That rules out the other half,” muttered Penelope.

“And third, as to appearance…” He glanced down at her, his arms still around her. “I thought I asked you to cover your cleavage.”

“Your grandmother strikes again.”

“Then I will be bold and say I would wish for a lady whose décolletage resembled yours in form, shape, and plumpness.”

“Your Grace!” Heat scorched up the back of her neck.

“I am holding my hands around you to try to avoid touching them.”

“You are jesting with me.”

“I most certainly am not. I am only human. And a male human at that. I have had to avoid all feminine company lest I fall prey to a scheming female. I cannot tell you how badly I wish to touch you, Penelope.”

“You should not say such things.” Mostly because it made her want to loosen her stays and let him have his way.

“I did ask you not to be here. I cannot take this torture much longer. You smell too nice.”

“I am sorry. You smell nice too.”

“It would be inappropriate to say or do any more since you are in the employment of my grandmother.”

“I may be resigning soon if we can raise enough capital through our efforts as Madame X.”

“Visit me when you are no longer in her employment.”

“What would you do if I was no longer your grandmother’s companion?” She shifted closer.

Marchford gazed down at her, his eyes black in the dim light. “I might do this.” He ran a finger along her skin at the edge of her bodice. She sucked in air. No one had ever touched her like that. No one had ever wanted to touch her like that.

“Or I might do this.” He leaned down and kissed her chastely on the lips.

“Could you review that?” asked Penelope, breathless. “I want to make certain I understand.”

Marchford kissed her again, real and soft and wet. It was her first kiss and it sent tingles clear down her spine to her toes and then up to a place she hardly knew existed.

“My goodness,” she whispered when their lips finally parted. “I can see how inappropriate that would be.”

“You see why I could not do anything like that.”

“Yes, quite so. My, it is hot here. Why is this thief taking so long?”

“Could be any time or not at all.”

Outside the door, a commotion could be heard.

“What is it?” whispered Penelope.

But Marchford didn’t respond. He was listening intently.

The commotion grew louder until a voice shouted through the hall, “Fire! Fire in the castle!”

“Hello!” said Harriet, happier to hear Thornton than she ought to be. She was with the Duc d’Argon, though she would rather be with another. She pushed such thoughts aside. “I am glad there are so many people who take an interest in chemistry. It is not a common interest.”

“Nay, I would think not,” said Thornton softly. His mask was black and in his dark cloak he was nearly invisible even in the pale moonlight. “Ye seem to have strayed from the bonfire. I should encourage ye to walk back. ’Tis a night of mischief, this Midsummer’s Eve.”

“I shall escort Miss Redgrave,” said d’Argon.

“Let us all walk back together,” said Harriet, linking arms between Thornton and d’Argon. “Tell me, Lord Thornton, what kind of mischief is afoot on Midsummer’s Eve?”

“They say ’tis time for the fair folk to walk freely. Who knows what confusion they may give us for their own amusements.”

“How quaint are your provincial customs, Lord Thornton,” said d’Argon with stiff politeness.

“I think it would be lovely to meet a faerie,” sighed Harriet.

“I dinna ken ye were a believer in the fair folk,” said Thornton.

“I am not, so alas I doubt I shall ever see one.” She laughed at her own circular logic. None of the gentlemen joined her. They were too stiff, both of them.

“Too much of this nonsense, it atrophies the senses,” said d’Argon with more disdain than she had heard from him before.

“I suddenly remember that Miss Crawley had inquired into yer whereabouts,” said Thornton carelessly.

Even in the dim light, she could see d’Argon flinch. She could not fathom why, except that if Miss Crawley was looking for her, she would flinch too.

“I would not even know how to recognize her,” said d’Argon. “Let us return to the fire.”

“I shall escort Miss Redgrave,” said Thornton with a ring of authority she rarely heard.

The Duc d’Argon had been dismissed, and he could do nothing now but demand a duel or leave the field. “It has been a pleasure,” he said, though his tone told another story. He bowed and walked away into the night.

“I may be slow when it comes to society,” said Harriet, “but I believe you were actually trying to get rid of d’Argon.”

Thornton shrugged. “Never belittle the fair folk. They have a way of getting a laugh at yer expense.”

“So you are a believer?”

“On Midsummer’s Eve, it would be unwise not to be.”

“Then I shall believe as well. Shall we return to the dancing?”

Thornton glared in the direction d’Argon had gone. “Nay, nay, let us tarry here a while longer.” Thornton removed his mask and rubbed his eyes.

“Are you feeling well?” asked Harriet. She was trying to convince herself it would be better to walk away from Thornton—goodness only knew what people would say if they saw them together. But she could not leave him unwell.

Thornton nodded his head. “I am well, though perhaps a wee bit tired.”

“Perhaps you should go back to the house. I also have been tired of late.”

Harriet began to walk toward the courtyard, but Thornton held her arm.

“I do not wish anyone to see us and begin more talk. Let us go back to the house by the back way.” Thornton stood tall, his eyes glittering in the soft moonlight.

Harriet paused. She should not go with him. It was one of those easy questions to be honest. Should an unmarried lady go unescorted with a Scottish earl into the dark of night on Midsummer’s Night Eve? No. Of course not.

Was she going to go with him?

Of course she was.

“I am an idiot,” she muttered and linked arms with him so he could lead the way. “If I end up in a bog, I deserve no less.”

“No bogs on this route.”

It was hardly a reassurance. They walked a ways into the dark, Harriet’s eyes adjusting to the pale light of the moon. Thornton walked steadily on, and although he did not waver, she hoped he was not so overcome by fatigue so as to get them lost.

Suddenly things around them began to look familiar. “I know where we are.” She stopped and turned around in a circle. “We are in the faerie glen.”

Thornton muttered under his breath something that did not sound like a young maiden should hear. “Shoud’na have come this way. Must have rocks in my head. I confess I was mainly thinking o’ separating ye from d’Argon.”

“Were you? Why?”

Lord Thornton cast her a look so desirous, so full of lust, even she could not pretend not to understand his meaning. “We should leave.” He turned to go.

“No.” Her heart pounded. Now it was her turn to try to keep him for herself. It was so wrong, but she could not say good-bye. “Let us tarry a little. Maybe we shall see a faerie.” Harriet began to look about, as if to glimpse something otherworldly, yet her focus was entirely on the man before her.

“Nothing good can come from straying into a faerie glen on Midsummer’s Eve. Mark my words.” His words were soft, yet the warning stung.

“Whatever could happen?” Harriet stepped closer, her breath coming in quick pants, her excitement and her tight gown conspiring against taking a deep breath.

Thornton stepped closer, his hands trembling at his sides. “We must leave this place.”

“If this is an enchantment, I do not wish to break it,” whispered Harriet.

“What fey creature are ye that ye have so bewitched me?” With one stride he was before her and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was urgent, demanding, passionate, unlike anything they had yet shared. Despite the alarm bells ringing in her head, she melted into him and kissed him in return.

He finally broke the kiss and immediately let her go, stepping back as if a mere touch would burn him. “I am sorry.”

“No, you are not.” Harriet’s only regret at the moment was that he stopped. Later… later would come later.

“Ye’re right. I’m not. More’s the pity.”

“Duncan, I have been thinking,” which was a gross falsehood since she had stopped thinking the moment he greeted her this evening. “I understand you do not wish to marry someone for money and I need to return home. Thus, soon we shall be apart.”

“Aye. If I could stop thinking about it, maybe I could sleep,” mumbled Thornton.

“If we look at this logically,” began Harriet, which was another falsehood since all logical faculties were silent and all she had left was pounding desire, “since we obviously have some attraction for each other and we cannot actually marry perhaps you might wish to… to…” Her courage chose that moment to give out.

“To what?” He gave her his full attention.

“I do not know what I am about.” Harriet began to pace around the faerie circle. “When I am with you, I want to do more experimenting of the kind we did in the stables. When I remember we shall not be together, I wish to avoid romance forever and live for my work.”

“My advice to you at present would be highly suspect.”

“What advice would that be?”

“I want you. I want you here and now.” Duncan’s voice was raw and it struck within her a chord so deep it vibrated through her soul.

“Duncan…” She took a step toward him and stopped.

“We should leave this faerie circle,” said Duncan without a trace of humor. “We may be truly bewitched.”

In the light of day, Harriet would have dismissed the notion, but under the pale moonlight she felt a desire, a
need
to be close to him. “What can we do?”

“Submit to temptation or…”

“Or?”

“I dinna ken. I be stuck on submitting to temptation.”

This time it was Harriet who closed the gap and kissed him with all the power of the raging emotions within her.

“This gown…” Duncan traced a finger along the edge of her exposed bosom.

“It belongs to Penelope.”

“I will buy it from her. It will be yours forever. Ye should always wear such things. But only for me.” He removed his cloak and spread it over a patch of moss. He pulled her down beside him and nestled his face into her cleavage, kissing her along the line of the gown. It did not take much to release her from the tight bodice.

The combination of the cool night air and Duncan’s warm mouth made her tremble with anticipation. This time he would not escape untouched. She reached for his breeches and he did not stop her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew there was a price to pay for this action. She would be ruined. Blame it on faerie dust, but when his hand slid up her thigh, she could not bring herself to care.

He was hers tonight. They would soon be parted. This was her last chance, her only chance to be with the man she loved.

She loved him. The realization slammed into her, painful and giddy.

He covered her and she understood that this was what she had been waiting for her whole life. She belonged to him. She needed him. With a flash of pain, she was joined with him.

“Have I hurt ye?” he asked, and she realized she must have winced.

“Was that it?” She must confess the ending was a bit anticlimactic.

“Nay, there is more, if ye wish.”

“Oh, yes, lots of wishing here.”

He began to kiss her again, and she pulled up his shirt until she could feel his smooth skin beneath her fingers. Somehow feeling his skin close to her made it better. She needed him close. She pulled him closer and everything moved, him, her, something coiling within her. He moved back and she pulled him forward again. This time was better and the coiling deep within her rumbled and seemed to take over any rational thought. She struggled against the rising heat and pain and friction and irrationality even as she lunged into it.

A war was raging within her, even as the movement between them heightened. She fought against it and struggled to claim it, all the while wondering what she was trying to achieve, until even that thought was robbed from her and she hurtled toward something she feared might consume her and destroy her. She fought against it until she could no longer resist the pull and fell into the abyss.

Waves of pleasure coursed through her even as Thornton removed himself and spilled his seed beside her. He rolled next to her and draped his arm protectively over her. She snuggled closer, trembling with emotion and aftershocks of their joining. She would never be the same.

“I fear I may love you,” she whispered.

He froze then slowly pulled her closer. “I wish I could blame it on the faeries, but I ken I cannot. I adore ye. I need ye.” He paused and leaned his forehead against hers. “I love ye.”

This was the price.

She had made a grave mistake, for the chemical bond forged by their love was permanent. They were forever bonded, forever united.

And forever apart.