Miss Marianne's Disgrace (18 page)

She tugged his coat from his torso, pushing it down to trap his arms before she rose up on her toes to press her lips to his. He tasted like fine port and she drank him in, languid under his influence. She drew back, clutching the wool, and he smiled playfully as she held him prisoner. At last she slid the coat the rest of the way off of his arms and tossed it aside to add more wrinkles to the ones already marring the wool. One by one, she undid the line of buttons on his waistcoat and soon it joined the other garments scattered around them. It didn't take her long to untie the loose knot of his cravat, her fingers as nimble with the linen as they were at the keyboard. She twisted the free ends around her hands and pulled slightly, drawing him down to her. With his body against hers, she felt the hardness of him through the stiff cotton of her stays and the chemise beneath. It urged her on, but she held back, not wanting to rush or appear like the hussy so many painted her to be. She was his alone and, after their marriage, everyone would know it.

She let go of one end of his cravat and pulled it off his neck. Then she shifted back out of his arms. He straightened to watch as she raised first one stocking-clad foot and then another to step out of the circle of her dress. Turning slowly, she exposed the laces of her stays. Glancing at him over her shoulder, she silently invited him to undo them. She would reveal everything to him, just as she'd done when she'd played her composition for him, laying bare not only her emotions but her whole being.

* * *

Warren ran his hands over her buttocks, than traced the line of the laces to her stays. Last night he'd feared he'd lost her. Today she offered him her entire self. He would be worthy of her, help her fight the rumours and work even harder to make a life for them. Row by row he slipped the laces free, letting the past and all his concerns fade with each empty eyelet. While they were together, nothing could trouble them.

At last the confining thing dropped away. He caught her chemise by the sides and drew it over her head. She turned to face him, unflinching in her nakedness, her gorgeous breasts tight and heavy above her flat stomach. He'd dreamed of seeing her like this so many times during the darkest nights in London, but not even his imagination could match reality. He reached out to caress the pointed tip of her breasts, his chest catching as they drew tighter with his touch. His fingertips dug into the generous flesh as he cupped the heavy mounds. She moaned as he took one pert nipple into his mouth to sweep it with his tongue. She tasted as good as fresh water after a long voyage, quenching the burning pain which had driven him on for too long. He'd worried about her turning away from him, but she embraced him, offering him everything as he'd given all of himself to her.

He trailed his fingers down the length of her stomach and slipped them between her thighs. She pressed her hips against his hand as he worked her pleasure, her body like the finest sand on a beach never touched by a man before. She was innocent and open, sensuous and inexperienced. He wanted to teach her and see her bloom beneath his touch. Her breathing quickened and her body tightened around his until he slid free, determined to be one with her when her pleasure came.

He leaned back to tug off his shirt, then pulled her to him again, delighting in the softness of her body against his as he claimed her mouth once more. While her tongue tasted his lips, her fingers stroked the skin of his chest, following the line of his torso to where his breeches encircled his narrow waist. He allowed her to explore his muscled body, her curiosity feeding his building need. She pulled free the fall from its buttons and he caught her hand. He stepped back to push down the buckskin and reveal himself and his desire for her.

* * *

Marianne swallowed at the sight and strength of Warren. For all the statues in the garden, nothing could have prepared her for the true majesty of a man. She wrapped her hand around his member and he tilted back his head and closed his eyes. He moaned as she stroked the hard shaft, revelling in her ability to bring him as much pleasure as he brought her. A chill slipped through the room and she let go, eager for the heat of his skin against hers. She pressed her body to his and his hot member against her stomach made her rise on her toes in delight. She wanted him as much as he wanted her and they tumbled together on to the wide sofa.

Thoughts fled from Marianne as Warren covered her, his chest hard against her softness. He settled between her thighs, his eager staff seeking entrance. She opened to him, gasping as he slid forward to claim her. He was slow and cautious, waiting until she could completely embrace him before stroking her with slow and even thrusts. They reached into her very heart as she clung to him, hands tight on the contours of his back. She'd never been so close to someone before, one with him in both body and heart, taking him deeper into herself and her life.

He slid his arms beneath her back to grip her shoulders and nuzzle her neck, his subtle groans against her skin the most stunning of music. As she began to lose herself in the flurry of their passion so did he, his thrusts growing faster and faster until he surged forward one final time, pushing her over the edge to cry out with him as they reached their pleasure together.

* * *

As the last of her quivers and his faded, Warren didn't withdraw from her, but continued to hold her tight. She'd been as much of a dream for him as Priorton or his writing. Like them she was his, completely and without hesitation. In her arms failure couldn't touch him for there was more to strive for now than money or freedom. He would be for her the one constant she could count on, the person who never left her, who believed in her as she believed in him. Together they would pursue their art and become more than their pasts. With her, he couldn't fail.

He slid off to hold her close and she rested one curving leg on his hip as he traced circles on the alabaster flesh. The filtered light from the front half of the room turned her glowing skin a gorgeous shade of cream. She stroked the line of light hair in the centre of his chest, her heavy breasts resting against his chest rising and falling with a long, contented sigh. He matched it with one of his own, catching the birds twittering outside and the peace and still of the room and their time together.

‘I assume you enjoyed that.' He smiled against her temple, not regretting what they'd done. It was the sealing of their promise to one another and there was nothing sordid about it.

‘Very much,' she purred, her contentment matching his.

‘There'll be a great deal more of that after we're married.' Their day before the altar couldn't come fast enough for him. He wanted her at Priorton with him, her inspiration filling the house and his life.

‘I hope so,' she answered with a wicked little laugh. ‘Will you obtain a common licence?'

‘No, we'll read the banns so everyone will hear about our marriage and how proud I am to make you my wife. I don't want anyone to think it a quick and clandestine affair.'

‘It'll be difficult to wait three weeks to make afternoons like this a regular and blessed affair.' She ran her tongue over her upper lip, like one of his more sultry admirers, but the gesture was for him the man, not the famous author.

His member began to stiffen in anticipation and he cupped his hand behind her neck and drew her to him. ‘We needn't wait.'

Chapter Eleven

M
orning light filled the study as Warren collected his papers in preparation for the visit to the vicar. It had been difficult to leave Marianne and the pleasure of the orangery yesterday, to spend the night away from her, but the sooner he arranged for the banns, the sooner their life together could begin. He folded the note from Marianne outlining the details of her birth and parentage which the vicar would need for the licence. They'd agreed to continue with the lie of her mother being her sister. Their marriage would create enough talk without the added gossip of her true lineage.

Lancelot raised his head to the door and let out a small bark.

Rupert stood there, glaring at Warren the way he did whenever he mentioned Leticia's death. ‘I told you never to come back.' Warren marched up hard on him and grabbed him by the arm. ‘Get out.'

Rupert's boots scratched and banged over the black and white tiles of the entry hall as Warren pulled him along.

‘Not before I show you this.' Rupert jerked away, revealing more fortitude than he had during Leticia's trials. He shoved the piece of paper he was carrying in Warren's face.

Warren batted it aside. ‘I'm no longer interested in anything involving you.'

‘You should be. It's the stockholder agreement laying out all the assets of the company to be sold in case of debt or default. It outlines how you were the primary backer and placed Priorton Abbey as collateral in case the business failed. Everyone who invested in this venture was convinced you believed in it enough to stake your entire reputation and all your assets on its success. When the business fails, and it will, it's not me the investors will press to recoup their losses, but you.'

Warren snatched the paper out of Rupert's hands and skimmed the print. Sweat began to pool in the small of his back as he read in black and white Priorton Abbey and all future profits from his books laid out as collateral for the business. His stomach clenched as it had the first time he'd cut into flesh, but he fought to stay on his feet and to not give in to the horror chewing out his insides. This couldn't be. It was a lie, like everything connected to Rupert.

Warren flung the paper in Rupert's face, refusing to be bested by this scum of a man. ‘I never agreed to this. This is fraud. I'll see you in the Old Bailey for what you've done, not just to me, but to other innocent people.'

Rupert allowed the paper to flutter to the ground, leering at Warren in triumph. ‘I'm not the one who'll be pilloried in the newspapers when the truth comes out. You deserve to suffer like all those dupes whose money I took. They have bags of it, but when I asked them for a pittance they made me grovel for it, just like you did.'

‘If you wanted what they and I have, you should have worked for it. Instead you were too lazy, you always have been.'

‘Spare me another of your lectures. You'll need all your strength to write and keep this pile of mouldering bricks over your head.'

Lancelot trotted to Warren's side. He didn't sit on his haunches like he normally did, but remained on all fours. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he pointed at Rupert and growled. If the dog were an Irish Wolfhound, capable of ripping Rupert's throat out, he'd set the animal on the man, but he wasn't about to risk Lancelot being hurt for the piece of filth standing across from him. He dropped his hand on the dog's head and stroked it, steadying the animal and himself. ‘I'll fight you on this and you'll lose.'

‘No, I won't. When you resist the seizure of Priorton Abbey, it'll appear as if you're unwilling to pay back everyone who trusted in you. Your entire reputation, everything you strived to build these last ten years, will come crumbling down around you.'

Fear curled through Warren again. Rupert was right. Warren had watched society tear down the Duke of York for his scandal over the selling of commissions and he was one of
them
. They'd do worse to Warren, a man viewed by many as an upstart who'd invaded their ranks. They'd be glad to see him demoted, crushed beneath their heels into oblivion while they continued with their rounds of balls and gossip.

‘I helped you, Rupert, I gave you money when no one else would, provided my blessing for your and Leticia's marriage and this is how you thank me?' Warren hissed, wanting to take a sword from the arms on the wall and run Rupert through.

‘You never helped me, but tried to turn Leticia against me. She said I was crazy to think you didn't believe in me or I wasn't good enough for her, but I was right. I hate you now more than the day I married her, or the morning you let her die.'

Warren rammed his fist into Rupert's face and his brother-in-law crumpled to the floor. He gripped his nose, wailing in agony as Warren stood over him. ‘You bastard. You will return every last pound you accepted from every investor or heaven help me I'll make sure you hang for forgery.'

Rupert smiled through the blood running down his nose and dropping on the marble. ‘I can't give it back. It's gone.'

‘Then you'll find a way to work to repay it.'

Rupert pushed to his feet, wobbling on his toes, but never losing his nasty smirk. ‘Not me, Warren, you. The day the debtors come to auction off your entire library, this house and all the rusty junk in it, I'll be here to watch. The morning your ship sets sail because you're forced back into the Navy to make a living, I'll be there on the wharf watching you. You'll regret the way you treated me.'

‘I'll regret I didn't kill you.' He snatched a medieval dagger from the wall and held up the thin, sharp blade between them. Rupert's blackened eyes widened and he lost his arrogance as he scurried out of the house like a rat, fat drops of blood trailing him across the pebbled drive.

Warren dropped the knife and it clattered against the marble floor. His floor in the house he was about to lose, along with everything else he'd built. He snatched up the investment paper and read it, wanting to throw up the way he used to after surgery. How much money had Rupert taken and from whom? Warren couldn't fathom the trouble he was in, but it was large, like a wave at sea threatening to drown him.

He crumpled the paper between his sweaty hands. Everything was being cut out from under him, but he wouldn't allow it to be taken from him without a fight. He wouldn't go back to the Navy or lose everything he'd strived so hard to create. He had to get to London and Mr Berkshire. His solicitor, Mr Steed, and his barrister partner, Mr Dyer, were the best in London. They'd find a way to undo the damage and straighten out this mess before Rupert made it known. First he had to see Marianne and tell her before she found out about it from a more dubious source.

He hurried upstairs to change, pausing on the landing. The first floor was quiet since the workers had yet to arrive to begin their day. Beams, tools and cloths dusted with sawdust littered the hall and many of the adjoining rooms. The beauty of the house was hidden beneath the construction, as his life with Marianne was fast being eclipsed by Rupert's treachery.

He leaned on the hallway wall and rested his head against the cool plaster. The wood chips and their aroma of pine reminded him of a shipyard he'd once visited while in the Navy. In the scent was the very real possibility Warren might be forced back into the stinking ships reeking of death and blood to keep himself, Marianne and his mother from starving. He wouldn't allow it to happen, but if too much was owed, if he couldn't triumph over Rupert, he might not have a choice. He must support his mother. Marianne was another matter.

He pushed away from the wall and wandered to his room with heavy steps. Marianne's wealth could save him, or he could end up squandering it in the fight against Rupert like his father had squandered all his income from the living, leaving his family with nothing. In the end, he might still be forced to re-enlist and then where would she be? Sitting at home with his mother like Leticia used to do, in near poverty, constantly worrying about whether he would return or be blown to bits. To see her life torn apart the way his, Leticia's and his mother's had been by his father's death wasn't what he wanted for Marianne or their future children. He couldn't risk visiting the horror or uncertainty of poverty on those he loved by rushing Marianne into marriage.

Warren tugged at his cravat as he entered his bedroom and began gathering up everything he'd need to make for London after he had visited Marianne. He had no idea what he'd say to her or how he'd make her see they must postpone the ceremony until things were settled one way or another, no matter how much time it took. With any luck, it wouldn't be long, but with no real knowledge of the situation he now found himself in, he couldn't say. As much as he loved her and wanted her beside him in this crisis, he wouldn't drag her down with his failure or have another scandal heaped on her because of him.

He stuffed the crinkled stock agreement in his satchel along with his notebooks then buckled it, tugging the leather to make it tight. She would resist, but he'd make her see it was for the best for both for them. He'd never relied on a woman or anyone else for financial support before and he wouldn't do so now, nor have everyone, including her, doubt the sincerity of his love by the convenient timing of their union. He hoped she would agree to wait for him.

The very real prospect she wouldn't seized him and he leaned hard on his hands against his dressing table. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his face as ashen as after an amputation. His inability to provide for a wife and his family, to be like his father, was everything he hadn't wanted, the reason for resisting her allure during their first days together. He was nothing without Marianne, but if Rupert succeeded in ruining him, he'd be even less. She deserved happiness, not squalor or a husband stinking of blood and gunpowder. No, it wouldn't come to that, he wouldn't allow it.

He straightened, regaining control over himself and his fears as he hung the satchel strap over one shoulder. He loved her, but he wouldn't wed her as a failure. He would be for her the strong man who'd overcome this difficulty as he had every other one in his life, a man made worthy of her hand by the industry of his own.

* * *

‘I wish we had time to go to London for the trousseau,' Lady Ellington good naturedly complained as they left the milliner's shop on the village high street, ‘but with the wedding breakfast and so much else to plan, there isn't time.'

‘It doesn't matter. I could be wed in my riding habit for all I care.' Marianne floated down the walk beside the Dowager, oblivious to the people wishing them good day as they passed. Not long ago, she'd thought the normal life of a young lady impossible. Today, she'd shopped for her trousseau, anticipating her union with Warren and all aspects of their life together. After telling Madame Martine the reason for their visit, Marianne was sure the news of her engagement would be all over the entire countryside by evening. It would be confirmed when the banns were read and then everyone who'd ever tried to pull her down would see they no longer had any hold on her. Even if they never stopped gossiping about her, she was done caring about what they said or thought. Her life with Warren was the only thing that mattered, the rest was simply noise.

‘Miss Domville,' a voice called out over the passing wagons and the men laughing in front of the tobacconists. Down the walk Mr Hirst pushed through the promenading people in an effort to reach them. ‘Miss Domville.'

‘Come, we have more things to do today.' Marianne took Lady Ellington by the elbow and hustled her towards the coach. She wanted nothing to do with Mr Hirst or for his nasty, leering remarks to tarnish the happy day.

‘Miss Domville, please wait, I must speak to you.' Mr Hirst jumped in front of them. His crooked and swollen nose beneath two black eyes and a bloodstained cravat was as startling as his insistence. ‘It's urgent, about Warren.'

‘Has there been an accident?' Panic seized Marianne. All her life so many pleasant times had been torn from her by people and circumstances outside of her control. Despite her elation over the engagement and Warren's love, it wasn't difficult to imagine something happening to end it all.

‘Warren did this to me.' He pointed at his nose as if he expected pity.

‘Then I'm sure you deserved it.' She pushed past him to reach the carriage where the tall footman stood, watching to decide if he should intervene or not.

‘Wait, I've come to warn you. Warren only wants you for your money. His business venture is failing and he doesn't want to sell Priorton to pay back the investors. He needs your wealth to keep him out of debtors' prison.' He shoved a paper at her. ‘This is the stock agreement, it outlines everything.'

Marianne stopped and Lady Ellington held up her hand for the footman to remain where he was. Marianne took the paper, covering her mouth with one hand as she read the script laying out Priorton Abbey as a guarantee against losses and the backing of the investments by Warren.

‘You aren't the only wealthy woman he's tried to woo either.' Mr Hirst slid an old edition of the
Morning Post
over the stock agreement. ‘Lady Preston has also been a great admirer of his work, in more ways than one. With her support and your wealth, he can save Priorton, pay back the investors and keep the scandal from reaching the papers.'

Above a none-too-subtle allusion to Warren's relationship with Marianne was also printed an alleged affair with a Lady P. It had to be Lady Preston.

Lord Bolton's warning came rushing back to her.

‘He might phrase the contract in prettier terms, but in the end he's after your money and he'll woo you for it like he wooed society and the Prince to get his title and lands.'

No, she wouldn't allow scum like Lord Bolton or Mr Hirst to make her doubt Warren. Warren had visited Lady Preston's manor to read his work, but it had been at the invitation of her husband. As for his wooing her before the truth could come out, she'd been the one to lead Warren to the orangery and hurry their intimacy. He wanted the banns read and for them to take their time and for her fortune to be safeguarded against his use. He wouldn't have insisted on any of those things if he'd wanted to capture her before she could flee, or if his need for her money was as urgent as Mr Hirst implied.