The Marriage Lesson Read online

  “To me?”

  “We’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Jocelyn smirked. “As if you’re some kind of unknown confection and he isn’t sure if you’ll be the tastiest thing he’s ever eaten or you’ll—”

  “Poison him,” Becky said in an offhand manner.

  “What a charming thought. Not the poisoning, of course, the rest of it.” Marianne laughed. “It’s also completely absurd. He wants nothing more than to be rid of the lot of us. And me probably most of all.”

  “I think he looked suspiciously like a man who is jealous and is trying to determine why. However, believe as you wish.” Jocelyn shrugged in dismissal and promptly turned the conversation to the more interesting question of their new acquaintances. “Do you think they’ll be at the ball tomorrow?”

  “I daresay, everyone . . . ”

  Becky and Jocelyn chattered on but Marianne didn’t find their conversation nearly as intriguing as their suggestion. She settled back and stared at Thomas sitting stiff and board straight beside the driver.

  It could be that Thomas was simply being overprotective. Marianne drew her brows together in annoyance. He was taking his responsibilities toward them far too seriously. In truth, Marianne was a grown woman and perfectly capable of making her own decisions, even if the rest of the world didn’t think so. Beyond that, she and her sisters had Aunt Louella to look out for them and no one could ask for a more diligent chaperone.

  Or it could be that he didn’t appreciate being treated like a stable boy. Marianne stifled a grin. He had been rather indignant. Although, if he truly wanted to find them husbands, or rather to find her a husband, one would think encouragement was called for rather than irritation.

  Her sisters’ observations were utter nonsense, yet they did explain his withdrawn and somewhat sulky behavior.

  Marianne had certainly been acutely aware of Thomas when they’d walked side by side today. And the memory of his arms around her as they’d danced did tend to surface with an unnerving frequency. And the kiss they’d shared lingered in the back of her mind.

  Did it linger in his mind as well?

  Nonsense. She brushed aside the ridiculous thought. Thomas was an experienced man. Little things like a single kiss or a mere dance or an innocent stroll would bear little more than passing notice from a rake like him.

  No. Jocelyn and Becky were wrong. Thomas was probably feeling a little put upon and was therefore out of sorts. There was nothing more to it than that.

  Besides, Marianne was not at all the kind of woman he was looking for. And even if she was interested in finding a husband, which she wasn’t, Thomas Effington, the Marquess of Helmsley and future Duke of Roxborough, would not be her cup of tea at all. She wasn’t entirely sure what kind of man would be but she did know he would have to be a man of adventure and excitement. Rakish reputation notwithstanding, Thomas did have a surprisingly stuffy streak and was not at all adventurous, even if admittedly his kiss was rather exciting and dancing with his body close to hers a touch intoxicating and even walking by his side oddly delightful.

  No. Unexpected regret washed through her. She was not the woman for him and he was definitely not the man for her.

  In that, if nothing else, they were agreed.

  Chapter 5

  . . . so I should perhaps, dear cousin, take a moment to describe Lord W to you. He is a fine figure of a man, tall and dark but prone to melancholy. He drinks a great deal and one wonders how he has achieved his notorious reputation as a rake with his surly manner.

  I should be wise to be quite scared of him, for this is a man one knows instinctively is dangerous. Indeed, I would be quite frightened were it not for the way my heart flutters when he enters the room.

  I can confess this to none but you, for it is surely wicked of me, but I am torn between fearing what may transpire between us and what may not. . . .

  The Adventures of a Country Miss in London

  “Are you quite all right?” Marianne’s voice sounded from the doorway. Thomas hadn’t seen her, or any of them, since they’d returned from the park hours ago. Precisely as he wished it. “We missed you at dinner, and I know you haven’t joined us any other night, but I did rather think, now that we’ve broken the ice, so to speak, that you would—”

  “I’m fine. Thank you,” he said curtly, not looking up from the barely legible scribblings on the desk before him. With luck his blunt manner would discourage her and she’d leave him alone. Exactly as he wanted it.

  This afternoon had been extremely irritating to him and he’d spent much of the time since then trying to figure out why.

  “What are you writing?” Her voice drew closer.

  “Nothing of any significance.” He pulled open a drawer, slipped the paper inside and closed it with a sharp click. He was not about to confide in Marianne, even though he suspected she would take his efforts seriously. Still, one never knew, and he was not in the mood to risk either criticism or laughter. He got to his feet, rested his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I just wanted to thank you for today.” She reached the desk and perched on the edge of it. He straightened abruptly.

  “Thank me? Whatever for?” She sat entirely too close to him. Why, he could reach out for her with no effort whatsoever. Pull her into his arms. Meet her lips with his . . .

  “For taking us to the park. We had a lovely time.”

  “I took you to the park as much for my own reasons as to entertain you and your sisters.”

  She wore some sort of evening frock and he wondered with a touch of disappointment why, at this late hour, she hadn’t changed to nightclothes. The modest but still fetching bit of frippery she’d had on the other night, for instance.

  “Oh, I know that.” She waved in an airy gesture. “But still you needn’t have taken us. You could have escaped the bedlam by retiring to your club or a boxing saloon.” She tilted her head and peered at him over her spectacles. “Do you box?”

  “A bit.”

  Of course, she hadn’t known she’d run into anyone that evening and now she could reasonably expect to find him in the library in the late hours. Certainly it would be most inappropriate for her to deliberately appear wearing something so personal and intimate as her nightclothes. Improper and enchanting.

  “Rather nasty sport, isn’t it.”

  Something that drifted around her with all the substance of an insignificant breeze.

  “Isn’t it?”

  Something that revealed fetching curves and shadows when she stepped in front of the light.

  “Thomas?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Of course,” he murmured, wiping the vision from his mind. She narrowed her eyes. Surely she couldn’t possibly know what he had been thinking. “Boxing,” he cleared his throat, “is an excellent sport for both observers and participants.”

  She studied him for a moment then shrugged and changed the subject. “Do you have many friends like Lord Pennington and Lord Berkley?”

  “Enough,” he muttered and picked up the brandy he’d nursed through the last hour.

  She glanced at the glass and raised a brow.

  He lifted his glass in a mock salute. “I warn you, I am in no mood to discuss my drinking habits.”

  “I didn’t say a word,” she said lightly. “We quite liked them, you know. Your friends, that is.”

  “I noticed.” He swallowed the last of the brandy and wished for something stronger.

  “And I believe they liked us.”

  “I noticed that as well.” Something much stronger.

  She plucked his glass from his hand, stood and strolled to the cabinet that housed the brandy. She pulled open the doors, refilled his glass and poured a second for herself. “You don’t seem terribly happy about it. I should think a man who’s goal in life is procuring husbands for the females who’ve invaded his home would be quite thrilled we attracted any
attention whatsoever.”

  “I am ecstatic.”

  She stared at him for a moment then burst into laughter. “Come, now, Thomas.” She handed him the glass. “Whatever is the matter?

  “Nothing.” She was absolutely right. He should have been pleased that the girls had been noticed. It would make his job much easier. What was wrong with him, anyway? Perhaps he simply wasn’t used to this kind of responsibility. Surely there was nothing more to it than that. He hesitated then caught her gaze. “Is that what you want? Someone like Pennington or Berkley, I mean.”

  “What’s wrong with them? To be honest, I scarce see a great deal of difference between them and you.” She took a sip of the liquor. “Although they aren’t nearly so ill-tempered and grumpy.”

  “Grumpy?” He tried not to smile. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction but the corners of his mouth turned upward in spite of his efforts.

  “But, no, they are not what I want. Not that I want anyone, mind you. Remember, I have no desire to wed.”

  “No,” he said under his breath, “you want to experience life.”

  “Indeed I do.” She moved to one of the wing chairs and settled into it, cupping her hands around the glass. She gazed at him over the rim. “Even if I did wish to marry I should want someone a bit more exciting than your friends.”

  “More exciting?” He raised a brow. “Most women find them very exciting.”

  “Do they? Well perhaps exciting wasn’t the right word.” She thought for a moment. “Adventurous is a better word. Like the men here.” She waved toward the rows of books lining the walls. “The men who fill the pages of the books I’ve read. Men who brave the rapids of the Amazon or explore the jungles of deepest Africa or search for the hidden treasures of Egyptian pharaohs.”

  “Damned hard to find explorers on the streets of London,” he said mildly.

  “I thought as much. I do believe adventurous heroes reside primarily in books and are exceedingly rare in real life. Should I ever meet one I would possibly change my mind about marriage. For now, however,” she swirled the brandy in her glass, “in regards to my desire to experience life, it occurs to me both Pennington and Berkley would be more than willing to assist me in that endeavor.”

  “Assist you?” He circled the desk and leaned back against it to stare down at her. “Precisely what do you mean by assist you?”

  “Well,” she sipped thoughtfully, “just as an example you understand, you did say you wouldn’t kiss me again.”

  “And I meant it.” Even as he said the words he knew they were a lie.

  “I believe either Pennington or Berkley would be willing to kiss me, and quite thoroughly, I suspect.”

  “No doubt. However,” his eyes narrowed, “I cannot allow that.”

  “Allow?” She laughed. “I scarcely think you are in a position to allow anything.”

  “Oh, but I am. I am in charge here.” He hardened his tone. “I have been given the responsibility for you and your sisters by your brother and I take that charge seriously. You are under my protection and—”

  “Piffle.” She smiled and took a drink.

  “Piffle? What kind of response is ‘piffle’?”

  “Quite appropriate considering the nonsense you’ve been spouting.” Her voice was cool, her manner matter-of-fact. “I am of age. Regardless of any pledge you may have made to my brother, in truth, you have no legitimate say about what I can or cannot do and only the barest of familial relationship with my sisters.”

  “I have a moral responsibility.” He groaned to himself. He didn’t sound like Thomas Effington at all. He sounded like he remembered his grandfather sounding. He sounded, well, stuffy. And he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “And while you are living under this roof there will be no kissing. Of anyone by anyone. I forbid it.”

  “Forbid it?” She placed her glass on the table and rose to her feet. “Don’t be absurd.” She stood barely a hand span away from him and locked her gaze with his. “I shall kiss whomever I want when I want. Pennington or Berkley, or even you, for that matter.”

  “Men like Pennington and Berkley are not known for their discretion. You could end up the center of scandal. Ruined. I will not allow that.”

  “And are you more discrete than your friends?”

  “I like to think so, but this discussion is not about me.”

  “No, it’s about me. However, as I have no intention of marrying, my reputation or lack of it scarcely matters.” Her voice was light but defiance showed in her eyes. “I told you my thoughts on virtue. You must recall my saying—”

  “Don’t say it again.”

  “Very well. But I do want to experience life—”

  With a growing horror he realized exactly what that phrase really meant.

  “—and I need someone to, well, experience life with me. Teach me, I suppose.”

  Bloody hell.

  “And if you forbid me to kiss anyone else—”

  “Anyone at all.” He clenched his jaw.

  “Anyone else, then you should kiss me.” The challenge in her eyes belied the prim note in her voice. They were toe to toe, nose to nose. She pulled off her spectacles and tossed them carefully onto the desk. “I think it’s your responsibility.”

  “My responsibility? I daresay . . . I scarcely think . . . that is I . . . ” He couldn’t seem to get the right words out. By God, he was sputtering! He’d never sputtered before in his life. What had this infuriating woman done to him?

  “Think of it as a lesson, Thomas.” She leaned forward to brush her lips across his.

  Desire battled with duty and he froze.

  “A lesson . . . ” her mouth murmured against his, “in life.”

  Her touch was tentative yet determined. Bold yet yielding. Innocent yet . . . inviting.

  Her hands slipped around his neck and he forgot to breathe. He wanted her. Wanted this. He should push her away. Now. This minute before all thought of honor and responsibility was swept aside. Before desire overcame good sense.

  She lifted her head and stared up at him. “If you’d prefer, Penn—”

  “I most certainly do not.” He tossed his glass aside, wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers.

  Damnable woman. Very well, if she wanted a kiss he’d give her a kiss. If she wanted a lesson he’d be more than happy to be her teacher. Her only teacher. In this he was an expert. He was, he argued to himself, in fact, protecting her from other men. She was right; this was his responsibility. His duty. Besides, he was indeed in charge and this was an excellent way to make that point.

  He angled his mouth across hers and deepened his kiss. Her lips opened slightly and his tongue met hers. Desire surged through him. He pulled her tighter against him and her body melted against his, molded to his. As natural, as right, as the beat of his heart.

  She met his passion eagerly, with an innocent hunger that inflamed his senses. Her fingers tunneled through his hair. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Her breath was in rhythm with his own.

  His hands caressed her back and lower across the lush curve of her buttocks. He gathered her tighter to him, the heat of her body searing him through his clothes and hers.

  The long case clock at the far end of the library chimed the hour, its rich tone reverberating in the quiet night.

  Thomas drew back and stared at her, his own shock at the power of their kiss reflected in her eyes.

  Still, it would not do to let her know. He forced a calm he did not feel. “I do hope that was to your satisfaction.”

  “It was well done, my lord.” Her voice had a curious, breathy quality. “Quite well done.”

  He knew he should release her and step back. Yet he was unable to move. Unable to let her go.

  “Well, I . . . um . . . that is I . . . ” Marianne couldn’t seem to find the right words, or any words at all for that matter. Now who was sputtering? He bit back a satisfied smile.

  “It’s late. You should retire for t
he night,” he said gruffly, his arms still locked around her.

  “Yes, yes, that’s exactly what I should do.” She made no move to leave.

  “I think it would be best.” He lowered his lips to hers.

  “As do I,” she whispered.

  He kissed her with a light touch and fought the need for more. Reluctantly, he released her, leaned over and picked up her glasses from the desk. Gently, he set them on her nose and hooked the wires around her ears. “Good night, Marianne.”

  She stepped back. Her hair was more mussed than usual, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with passion and a bemused expression. “Good night, Thomas.”

  She turned and walked slowly to the door. Her hips swayed slightly with each step and once again the ethereal vision she’d been on their first meeting in this room popped into his mind. It was a very good thing she hadn’t appeared in her nightclothes tonight. Who knows what would have happened with so little between them?

  She reached the door and turned. “Thomas?”

  “Yes?”

  “I daresay I shall enjoy experiencing life.” She cast him a saucy smile then slipped out the doors.

  A wave of foolish delight passed through him and he grinned in what he suspected was a most idiotic way. No, he knew full well what would have happened here tonight if she’d appeared in clothing flimsier and a great deal easier to remove than the gown she’d had on. As it was, another few minutes and he would have torn the dress from her obviously willing body and made love to her here on the library desk. If the chime of the clock hadn’t dragged him back to his senses, he had no doubt what would have happened. What he wanted to happen.

  What he wanted to happen?

  Dear God, when had his desire to protect her changed to desire of another kind entirely? And what was he to do about it?

  He moved to the high-backed chair behind the desk and sank into it, resting his elbows in front of him and burying his face in his hands.

  Think, blast it, Thomas, think!

  He wanted his best friend’s sister. His best friend’s virginal sister. A young woman who had been entrusted to him by both her brother and his mother. His mother! She’d have his head on a platter if Richard didn’t kill him first.