How to Manage a Marquess (21 page)

Those few weeks in Town had been trying, but also quite special. She'd got to see Mama in her element. An earl's daughter, her mother had been the toast of the
ton
the year she'd made her come-out. And she'd still had so many friends—real friends, not just social acquaintances. Her connections had made Anne's come-out much easier than it would have been had she been merely Miss Davenport from Davenport Hall.

Anne had finally felt . . . well, not precisely close to her mother, but closer. She'd begun to admire her for who she was, rather than continually wishing she were someone she wasn't. And she'd hoped they would get closer still.

And then everything had changed.

“Mama suggested we go for a walk that afternoon. It was a beautiful day without a cloud in the sky.”

“As we approached Loves Water, the sky suddenly got dark.”

She hadn't been frightened then. She'd been excited. She'd stopped to watch the wind whip the lake into little waves and to feel it rush past her face and tug at her bonnet. Mama had walked on ahead, up a little rise to look out over the water.

“There was no warning.” Dear God, she saw it all again, every horrible second, as if the lightning that had killed her mother had burned the images into her memory—into her heart—forever. “I had just turned to follow Mama, when there was a blinding flash and a deafening boom, and then rain poured down for perhaps five minutes. It was over almost as soon as it began.”

She'd stopped walking, she was shaking so badly. Nate's arm came round her, pulling her against him, but that didn't stop the shaking inside.

“I ran to Mama.”

She was crying now. She could feel Nate's hand rubbing her back, comforting her as he had in the cottage.

“She was lying in a heap by the lake.” At least she hadn't fallen into the water. Her body wasn't lost like Isabelle Dorring's. “Her lips were blue. She wasn't breathing.”

“I'm sorry,” Nate murmured by her ear.

“I keep thinking I'll get over it.” She pushed away from him and wiped her face with her fingers until he handed her his handkerchief. “It's so silly—so
childish
—to be afraid of storms.”

She pressed her lips together, sniffed several times, and then gave up and blew her nose soundly.

“No, it's not. Thunderstorms
are
dangerous.” Nate's words were so calm and matter-of-fact, they were a balm on her suddenly raw-again wound.

He didn't say more. He just offered her his arm, and they started walking up the path again.

“I usually pay closer attention to the weather so I can get inside long before a storm comes,” she said. “If I think it will be very bad, I . . . I hide.” She looked up at him. “You might be the only person besides my father—well, and now Stephen and Edward—who knows about my, er, problem.”

“Don't worry. I won't tell anyone.”

Strangely, she wasn't worried at all.

“You lost your mother,” Nate said. “The death of a parent is never easy. But witnessing such a violent and unexpected event likely caused a severe shock to your nerves. My friends who have fought in the wars tell me that the sights and sounds and smells of the battlefield haunt them for years, waking them from a sound sleep sometimes.” He laid his hand on hers where it rested on his arm. “Though the nightmares usually fade with time.”

She nodded. “Things
are
better now. In the beginning, I couldn't sleep at all. Now I rarely dream—or even think—about what happened.” She shrugged. “Unless, of course, there's a storm.”

The boys were waiting for them when they came out of the woods.

“We're hoping you'll go with us to the nursery,” Stephen said.

Edward nodded. “Hedlow won't be happy.”

“Well, I am not happy with Hedlow,” Anne said. She needed to get her mind off the past and dealing with this Hedlow person seemed like the perfect solution. “Though perhaps we should talk to your mother before we confront your governess. What do you think, Lord Haywood?”

“I think the boys' mother is headed our way now.”

Lord Haywood was correct. Mrs. Eaton must have spied them from the terrace, because she was hurrying down the stairs to the garden.

“Excellent. Let's go meet her.”

Stephen and Edward hung back, letting Anne and the marquess lead the way.

“Mrs. Eaton,” Anne said as soon as they got within speaking distance. “I need to—”

But Mrs. Eaton ignored her, rushing straight to Lord Haywood. “Oh, Nate, how glad I am to see you. I was worried when the storm came up, though of course I knew you would keep the boys safe.”

“Did you get my note?” he asked.

“Yes. Hedlow and Arthur have already left the premises—together, I might add, not that I think for a moment such a connection will survive. You can be sure I gave neither a reference.” Then she turned to Stephen and Edward. “Why didn't you tell me what was going on, boys?”

“Hedlow told us not to,” Stephen said.

“Or we'd be sorry,” Edward said.

No one was paying Anne the least bit of attention.

She swallowed her annoyance. Of course they weren't. This was between Mrs. Eaton and her children. And Lord Haywood was Mrs. Eaton's childhood friend.

“Well, the problem is over now,” Mrs. Eaton told the boys. “You will not see that woman again.”

“But who will be our governess, Mama?” Stephen asked. “Is Winkie coming back?”

“No.” Finally, Mrs. Eaton glanced at Anne before turning her attention back to her sons.

The notion had made Anne angry when it had occurred to her back in Loves Bridge, but now that she'd met Stephen and Edward, she'd be happy to take charge of them for a short time. She didn't have the training to be a governess, though, and they were bright boys. They needed—

“One of the maids will stay with you tonight. Lord Davenport has gone off to London to procure a special license. When he gets back tomorrow, we will be married and we'll all move to Davenport Hall. We'll hire a new governess there.”

Anne blinked at Mrs. Eaton.

She waited for the pain to knife through her. Instead, common sense pointed out she'd been gone all day. When was Papa supposed to have talked to her? It wasn't as if this marriage was a surprise.
That
cat had been let out of the bag last night.

“Huzzah!” Edward threw his arms around Anne. “We get to live with Miss Anne.”

“I'm too old for a governess, Mama,” Stephen said. “I should have a tutor.” He looked to Anne for support.

Anne opened her mouth to agree—and stopped. Mrs. Eaton was frowning. She did not look like she would take Anne's opinion in good grace.

“I'm sure your mother and my father will discuss things, Stephen, and come to a sensible decision.”

Mrs. Eaton looked relieved—until Nate weighed in.

“I had a tutor when I was six and went away to school when I was eight.”

Mrs. Eaton glared at him. “Stephen is not going away to school next year!”

“I didn't say he was. I just said I did.” Lord Haywood shrugged. “He's not a baby any longer, Eleanor.”

“I
know
that.” She shook her head. “You don't understand, Nate.
You
don't have any children.”

Lord Haywood frowned. “But I was a child, Eleanor. I was a boy. I remember what it was like.”

The boys' eyes were going back and forth between the adults. It couldn't be good for them to be listening to this conversation. They'd heard far too much adult talk in their short lives as it was.

“Pardon me for interrupting,” Anne said, “but I'm afraid you must excuse me. I wish to have a bath before dinner.”

Mrs. Eaton finally focused on Anne—and her eyes widened. “My word, what happened to you? Your hair is hanging down your back, your dress is quite bedraggled, and your bonnet—where
is
your bonnet?”

Did the boys look nervous? Anne wasn't about to tell tales.

“I'm sorry to say I fell in the water.”

“How on earth did you do that?”

Edward buried his face in her bedraggled skirt.

She patted the back of his head. “I slipped. Now I really must go. As you see, it will take some effort to put myself to rights.”

She thought she saw Lord Haywood grin at her with approval as she left.

Chapter Fourteen

Nate stood naked in his room and looked out his open window. It was past midnight, yet the air felt heavy and close—which was why he'd shed his nightshirt. It was too hot to wear even that much clothing.

He glanced at the closed door to the dressing room he shared with Anne. Surely she was already asleep and wouldn't be disturbed by any thunder or lightning.

He leaned on the windowsill, inhaling the scent of the garden. Dinner had been rather a trial, though Anne had borne it well. Everyone had been talking about Eleanor's wedding. They expected Davenport to arrive sometime in the morning tomorrow—well, today now—and then he and Eleanor would marry in the drawing room with Huntley officiating.

How could Davenport not have spoken to Anne privately before he left? Eleanor had said last night on the terrace that the baron was going to do so.

Nate sighed. To be fair, the governess and footman's behavior had likely forced Davenport's hand, moving the wedding from soon to as soon as possible. And perhaps the man would have talked to Anne if she hadn't spent the day on the island.

But it was difficult not to feel some anger, because it seemed that after the wedding, Eleanor and Davenport might be going off on a short honeymoon, leaving the boys with Anne.

He took a few deep breaths and forced his hands to relax their grip on the windowsill.

In Eleanor's defense, it hadn't been her idea—or at least she hadn't been the one to voice it. And Davenport might not know of it yet. Lady Banningly had suggested it, springing the notion on Anne right there at the dinner table.

Anne's head had snapped up—she'd likely been woolgathering, since the only conversational topic the entire meal had been the wedding. She'd looked a bit startled. But she'd rallied. He smiled. He'd been very proud of her—

He frowned. Perhaps
proud
was the wrong word, since that suggested a connection they didn't have.
Admiring
was more appropriate—he'd admired her poise. She'd said she'd be happy to take charge of the boys for a few days, though she had no experience with children.

The sky flickered and thunder rumbled far in the distance. He glanced again at the connecting door. Surely that hadn't been loud enough to wake Anne?

No. She probably slept with the windows closed. Most people did, thinking the night air unhealthy.

He looked back into the darkness. Foisting the boys on Anne was bad enough, but then someone suggested that the honeymoon was no reason to delay the planned move to Davenport Hall. After all, the boys seemed to be quite taken with Miss Davenport, and she must wish to return home as soon as possible. An immediate move would even help allay the boys' anxiety—and everyone knew they were very anxious children.

Miss Davenport had pointed out that since her father would be taking their coach and coachman on his honeymoon, she would have no way to get from here to there.

So then Lady Banningly had said Miss Davenport was, of course, welcome to stay at the Manor with her and the viscount.

Nate snorted. Good God! He wouldn't wish an extended stay alone with those two old sticks on his worst enemy.

But Banningly had offered to put his traveling coach at her disposal if she wished to attempt the journey.

That
was how Nate had been nudged into disaster. The blasted viscount had looked directly at him when he'd added,
but even a
mature
woman such as you, Miss Davenport, should not travel alone with two young boys.

Anger at Banningly for calling Anne
mature
in just that tone, as if she were someone's ancient aunt, had clouded Nate's reasoning. Well, and he hadn't liked the notion of her alone on the road with only Stephen and Edward and the coachman to support her. Loves Bridge was less than a day's journey away, but one never knew what one would encounter while traveling. The coach could lose a wheel. Or a sudden storm could make the road impassable.

A thunderstorm—

Anne would not do well if she was stuck in the mud in a traveling coach with two young boys and lightning flashing round her.

He dropped his head into his hands. So he'd offered to escort her and the boys to Loves Bridge himself.

Everyone had thought his offer a very good thing and had gone on to plan his and Miss Davenport's journey for them. At least he'd managed to ask her quietly if the situation met with her approval, and she'd smiled and nodded, seeming happy for his assistance.

It felt very good to have his efforts appreciated.

Oh, Lord. It wasn't her appreciation that was making him feel good. It was the thought that he'd have more time alone with her.

No, not alone. Stephen and Edward would be there, too, thank God. He could not allow his male instinct to slip its leash with two young boys as chaperones.

And
that
was the problem.

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head against the window frame. He should bang it against the wall—perhaps then he'd knock some sense into it.

The passionate certainty he always felt at that thought didn't come this time. Instead he felt . . . empty.

Lonely.

Bah! He pushed away from the window. He was letting his sympathy for Miss Davenport and the odd nature of this house party muddle his thinking. Once he deposited her and the boys in Loves Bridge and returned to London, he'd be himself again.

And of course he wouldn't actually ride in the coach with her. He'd have his curricle to drive. He would follow along, see the little party safely to Davenport Hall, and, if he was lucky, get back to Town the very same day. This would be nothing more than a small detour to do a good deed.

The wind was picking up. Lightning flashed again, brighter this time, and thunder followed more quickly. He glanced again at the connecting door. The storm was still a distance away. With luck it wouldn't get any closer. It wasn't raining yet—

He'd no sooner had that thought than all hell broke loose. A bolt of lightning split the sky, and thunder crashed right overhead, making even him jump. Rain pelted him as he rushed to slam the window shut. Poor Anne! Before he could form another coherent thought, he was through the connecting door with his hand on the latch to her room.

She
might
still be asleep.

He took a steadying breath, cracked the door open—

And heard Anne scream.

He burst into the room.

Zeus, what had she been thinking? Her window was wide open. She hadn't even closed the bed-curtains.

“N-Nate.”

He dealt with the window and then hurried over to her. As soon as he was within reach, she lurched up, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her soft, nightshift-clad body pressed against—

It was too late to do anything about that. Another flash of lightning illuminated the room.

Anne tightened her grip. “Don't leave me,” she shouted over the thunder. “Oh, please don't leave me, N-Nate.”

“Of course I won't leave you. Move over, love. I'll hold you until the storm passes.”

He'd intended to be a gentleman—if a chilly one—and lie on top of the blankets, but Anne was having none of that. She let go of him long enough to pull the covers back, and then, the moment he stretched out beside her, she plastered herself against him, burrowing her face in his chest and hooking her nightshift-clad leg over his hip, pressing closer and closer as if she wanted to climb inside him.

There was nothing seductive about her actions. They were so clearly driven by fear and the need for comfort that even his wayward body recognized it. Oh, his cock was very interested in the soft, warm opening it knew was nearby, but it was allowing his will—and his heart—to govern its actions.

Finally, the storm moved off. Anne's breathing slowed, and her body relaxed.

Was she asleep?

No.

“Mmm.” She pressed a kiss to his chest.

“The storm is over, Anne.” He gently unhooked her knee from his hip and guided it back to its mate. “Time for me to go back to my room.”

She made a little disgruntled sound like that blasted Spinster House cat might make if someone stopped petting it before it was ready. One of her hands spread over his chest; her other slid down his back past his waist to his arse. She kissed his chest again—and then swept her tongue over his nipple.

Sending a bolt of lust straight to his brain. He stopped thinking, giving his cock the advantage. It led his hips toward Anne's warm body.

Or perhaps that was Anne pulling him closer.

“You're naked.” Her hands moved again, stroking over him and making
him
want to purr. “Very naked.”

“You can't be very naked. It's something you either are or you aren't.” He was very aroused was what he was. Surely she noticed his cock trying to impale her.

“You are.” She kissed the base of his throat. “Very.” She pressed another kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Naked.”

I have to leave. I have to leave
now
.

His muscles refused to obey. They were so warm and comfortable and delighted by the soft, curved female body pressing against him. By
Anne
pressing against him.

Several wonderful things a man and woman could do together without endangering anyone's maidenhead popped into his head.

Somehow he'd bent his head so Anne could reach his lips. Her tongue traced the seam of his mouth while one of her hands followed the curve of his arse to his thigh, the tips of her fingers brushing his bollocks.

He inhaled sharply—a serious tactical error. The moment his lips parted, her bold little tongue darted right in.

Bold, but inexperienced. That combination excited him more than any practiced touch. Still, he tried to resist. He
would
resist. He'd pull away in just—

Her fingers slipped up his leg to touch his poor, beleaguered cock.

Zeus! That was more than any man could bear.

* * *

She'd been caught in the old nightmare, the one where she saw the bolt of lightning hit Mama. Where she ran up the slope to her, only to stare down into her lifeless face.

Horror and helplessness churned through her again. She tried to call for help, but she couldn't inhale. She tried to run, but her feet wouldn't move. She—

Then thunder had boomed so loud it broke the dream's hold on her. Air rushed into her lungs and she'd screamed.

And seen Nate.

He was here with her now. His heat had melted the icy terror in her heart. But he was going to leave. Even though his body hadn't moved, even though she was kissing him, she could feel him withdrawing. In just a moment, he'd untangle himself from her and take his warmth and comfort away.

She didn't want him to leave. She
needed
him here. How could she persuade him to stay?

It was luck—and clumsiness—that caused her fingers to brush against his male bit.

He made an odd sound, something between a gasp and a growl, and for a moment she was afraid she'd hurt him. But before she could apologize, he moved and she was on her back and he was leaning over her.

He wasn't leaving. She was so happy he wasn't leaving.

His lips brushed her eyes. His tongue traced her mouth. She opened for him, but instead of coming inside, he sucked gently on her lower lip and then moved on to nuzzle her jaw.

“Nate.” His gentle touches were fueling a different sort of storm, one building inside her.

His large, warm hand cupped her breast, stroked it—and then his thumb brushed over her nipple.

If Nate hadn't been holding her, she might have shot off the bed.

She wanted to feel his skin on hers. “Let me take my clothes off. Please.” Her nightshift was thin, but it wasn't thin enough.

“No.” He kissed her throat. “Too dangerous.”

“Dangerous? You're naked. Why can't I be?”

“Because we aren't married.”

“I don't care.”

She
should
care. She knew what they were doing was wrong. It just didn't
feel
wrong.

Lud! Now Nate was frowning.

“I should stop,” he said.

She covered his lips with her fingers. “No.” There was a flicker of lightning and a faint rumble, and for the first time since that terrible day at Loves Water, she welcomed it. “The storm's coming back. Make me forget.”

He looked at her, his face tense. He closed his eyes—

When he opened them, she could tell he'd decided to stay.

He cupped her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Don't worry. You're safe with me.”