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August 6, 1818
Marjorie stood at the opened French-paned doors in the ladies’ salon and breathed in the fragrant summer air. In the mid-morning, it was relatively cool. Already, the calls and chirping birds beckoned to her soul, offering a freedom she’d never known. In a few minutes, she’d wrangle Maximus and then go for a long walk, perhaps find a lovely vista to sketch and allow herself to dream. The two cats had taken occupation of one of the low sofas. In fact, Luxor had turned upside down with his legs in the air and his brown furry belly on display while Edinburgh lay curled in a tight, white ball, his fluffy tail covering his nose. They were dear little beasties, and she adored their presence.
After tea with the dowager yesterday, she’d feigned a megrim, for she hadn’t wished to see Oliver at dinner or any other time. Knowing he’d had a previous relationship with the woman from the courtyard had thrown her into confusion, which was ridiculous. Of course, he would have had relationships with other women in his past. Beyond that, she’d understood when she’d signed the contracts with him that nothing would come from their false engagement.
So why did it feel as if she’d been betrayed?
“Marjorie?”
The softly uttered word in his voice had the power to accelerate her heartbeat. She turned about to face the duke. “Yes?”
He stood in the middle of the room, an expression of uncertainty on his face. Though no less handsome in dove gray breeches, a gray waistcoat, thin lawn shirt and black jacket, the trace of vulnerability in his ice-blue eyes tugged at her chest. “I wanted to check on your health. Has your megrim subsided? Mother was concerned but didn’t wish to pry. As was I.”
The heat of embarrassment leapt into her cheeks. “Yes. I’m quite fine now.” She shouldn’t have lied to him, but then, she suspected he lied to her about that woman in the courtyard.
But why?
“I’m glad to hear it.” He glanced awkwardly between the Aubusson carpeting and her. “Uh, I came to invite you for a walk and a picnic, if it might make you happy. I thought the fresh air might do you good.”
The fact he wanted to try and mend the tiny fracture between them lifted her flagging spirits. “I had planned to walk already, actually, and find somewhere to do a few sketches.” When his shoulders drooped slightly, she allowed a small smile. “But I wouldn’t mind company. The cats are well and good, but they don’t offer up much in the way of conversation, and Luxor has a tendency to complain.”
His grin was slight and didn’t reach his eyes. “Same with Maximus, who absolutely refused to come with me, even after I said I was headed for a walk.”
“I like how your animals have little personalities.” Perhaps she’d been remiss in falling into a snit with him. After all, she had no claim to him or his time. What he did with whom—especially outside of this month—was of no concern to her. She’d never expected him to have lived the life of a monk.
“They certainly make their preferences known.” He made no move to close the distance between them. “And I rather think they prefer you to me.”
Marjorie snorted. “I don’t know about that. Perhaps you’re busier than I. And they do sleep excessively.”
“It’s true. For the first time since I had them as kittens, the cats haven’t deigned to spend time with me, unless I’m in the same room as you.”
Was it bad that pleasure warmed her chest? “Well, I do rather enjoy thinking that something considers me irresistible.”
“How can you not believe that for yourself?” he asked in such a low voice she almost missed it. Then he shook his head. “In any event, I’ve asked Cook to prepare a basket for us, so if you’re ready, we can stop by the kitchens before heading out.”
“I need to collect my hat and gloves.”
“Leave them. It’s just us. No need to stand on societal rules.”
His answers continued to mollify her. “I should change into a walking dress.”
“You’re stunning as you are.” Finally, he moved, closed the distance between them and offered a crooked arm. “Shall we?”
As olive branches went, it wasn’t bad, but he didn’t mention the woman of yesterday and neither did she. It didn’t matter, for there was no romance between them. “Where will you take me today, I wonder?”
“I thought we’d stroll to one of the ponds. It’s a pretty area, with a collection of willow trees that will offer plenty of shade and soft tufts of grass upon which to sit. Loads of gorgeous views if you want to sketch.” This time when he flashed a grin, it brimmed with confidence. “My father particularly enjoyed the spot when he wanted time alone to think.”
Marjorie moved to the small desk and collected her sketchbook and a few charcoal pencils. “Then by all means, let’s go.” She put her fingertips upon his sleeve and allowed him to lead her from the room.
An hour later, they reclined beneath one of the promised willow trees. Oliver had brought a blanket in addition to the basket full of provisions. Once he’d spread the covering over the ground, he invited her to sit, and when she did, he reclined on his side, propped on one elbow.
“There were many times when my father brought me here.” A faraway look appeared in his eyes. “He often told me that all the answers I needed could be found within, accessed if I sat in silence.”
“Good advice. I’m sorry he’s no longer with you.” She opened her sketchbook and taking up one of her pencils, she began to draw the outlines of his form, for his relaxed posture practically screamed for her to sketch him.
“Me too, for that would make my life much less complicated.” When he focused on her, a trace of sadness scudded through his eyes, gone at his next blink. “However, none of us can escape reality. We must make the best of it.”
“Unless you try to manipulate it or use it to your advantage.” A flush ran along his exquisite cheekbones. “Might I ask you a question that’s rather personal?”
“Of course.” His gaze grew guarded. Did he think she would ask about the woman from yesterday?
“What are your plans after this month? What will you do once you take possession of your grandmother’s property?” They had fifteen days left together. After that time, would she ever walk the halls of Scarborough Castle again, even as a friend?
“Obviously, I’ll start excavations, but beyond that, I hadn’t given it much thought.” A frown pulled down the corners of his sensuous mouth. “Why? What have you planned for yours?”
Her charcoal scratched across the page. “I have no plans other than to find a place for myself, away from the disappointment, away from the heartbreak of this last year. I merely wish to sketch and paint. Perhaps procure a cat now that I’ve grown accustomed to yours.” She hadn’t meant to admit that, but each time she was in Oliver’s company, the connection they enjoyed pulled secrets from one or the other.
“I can understand that, but do you not hope for marriage, to have children?” Those intense blue eyes bore into her, and for a moment, she wished to dive in, to hide, to let go of the burden of trying to keep her family name out of the muck.
“Of course I want that. What woman wouldn’t? In fact, I would like a handful of children, to build a loving family because mine was too fractured.” Marjorie glanced away and watched a pair of white swans glide effortlessly on the surface of the pond. Quickly, she drew them in the background before she lost the inspiration.
“That doesn’t mean it still is,” he said softly.
“True, but the odds are against me. I’ve had two engagements in two months. One failed and one is a sham.” When she transferred her gaze back to his, she shrugged. A tinge of sadness pervaded her mood. “I can’t meet goals or dreams when I’m not given a chance.”
“But you will have a chance once this month is over,” he responded with light in his eyes. “My reach, my authority will make certain the gossip against your name ceases. And with your income, you’ll present an attractive picture.”
She waved a hand. “For a fortune hunter? A man who only wants that income to pay his debts or fix his ailing property?” Once more her charcoal moved across the paper without effort. “I’d rather not, for I’m a firm believer in love, and I’ll have that or nothing.”
For long moments Oliver looked at her before slowly nodding. “I can appreciate that sentiment. However, why do you put so much stock in that state, when it’s done nothing but give us both bruised hearts?”
For the space of a few heartbeats, she concentrated on the finer lines of his cheekbones and the exact sweep and curl of his hair on the paper. “Because it’s the most beautiful thing in this world to fight for, and I believe that everyone should experience it once.” She guided the tip of her charcoal, hoping to reproduce the exact set of his chin.
When he touched her knee, tingles raced up her leg from the point of contact, leaving heat in their midst. “Will you tell me about your previous engagement?”
With a sigh, Marjorie glanced at him and once again very nearly fell into the enticing blue pools of his eyes. “It doesn’t reflect well on me.”
“Are you ashamed you went through it?”
Was she? After all, it hadn’t been her fault the engagement failed. “Not ashamed per se. More embarrassed, I suppose, and annoyed at myself that I didn’t see what was right there in front of me.”
“Because you hoped so hard for the husband and the family.” It wasn’t a question.
“Possibly. Plus, Cecil needs rescued from his poor choices, or at the very least to be shown the light.” She tapped the end of the pencil against her chin. “It’s a rather precarious position to find oneself in, when one is fettered by responsibility and there’s the tiniest niggle of doubt the feelings are real or due to everything riding on a union.”
It was the first time she’d looked at her situation with such a critical eye. Had her feelings for Richard been true, or had she wanted them to be in order to save both herself and Cecil?
“I’m sorry. You’ve known nothing but disappointment and disillusionment in your life.” Compassion shimmered in his intense eyes. “I’d hoped to make things better for you.”
She added shading and contouring to her drawing. “If it wasn’t for you and that advertisement, I don’t know what I would have done.” Had it been two weeks since her fortunes had turned about? Being with Oliver seemed much like a dream. “In any event, my last fiancé’s name was Richard Stafford.”
A frown marred the exquisite perfection for the duke’s expression. “The name doesn’t sound familiar to me.”
“Nor would it. He’s a member of merchant class. Deals in textiles and fabrics. Imports them from all over the world.” The part of her brain that remained concentrated on the drawing wanted to be a bit wicked and portray Oliver, reclining naked, but her common sense overruled, for it would be conjecture. So she began to sketch how his lean, muscled legs looked in the breeches and Hessian boots. “He was—is—a kind man with a heart full of dreams and love.”
“But not for you.” Again, it wasn’t a question.
“Unfortunately, no.” Marjorie kept her gaze on her sketchbook. “Our engagement period, much like yours, lasted six months. I’d thought I knew everything about him, for we’d spent copious amounts of time talking. He seemed a good fit, would be a doting husband who would take care of me into our dotage.” Her hand slightly shook, which sent a mark along the boot that resembled scuffing. It would have to suffice for she’d forgotten her eraser.
“That wasn’t the case.” Oliver touched her knee again, and this time let his hand linger.
Oh, dear heavens, how was she supposed to concentrate now? The warmth of his fingers seeped through the thin cotton of her lavender dress. Marjorie attempted to ignore him and nodded. “No, that wasn’t the case. He was the one to call things off.”
“When? I’ve heard a few rumors and wish to lay them to rest.”
“Ah, rumors. Gossip from sharp-tongued vipers who like nothing more than to tear others apart so they’ll feel better about their own lives.” She shook her head and gripped her pencil so tightly she feared it would snap in two. “The timing wasn’t ideal, of course, but then, would it ever have been when one cries off from an engagement?”
“No, I suppose not.” Gently, Oliver tugged the pencil from her hand and removed the sketchbook from her lap. He set them both aside behind him near the basket.
With nothing to occupy her hands, she traced the embroidery work on a portion of her skirts. “When we were to say our vows, Richard spoke. He was in high anguish. Said he couldn’t go through with the wedding, for his heart belonged to another, and if he married me, he’d do both of us a disservice.”
“Though I’m glad he was finally honest with himself, leaving the matter until the vows are spoken is bad form.” A thread of annoyance wove through the duke’s voice to match the roiling emotion in his eyes.
“Oh, I won’t argue with you there.” Marjorie’s laugh sounded forced even to her own ears. “As my world crumbled at my feet, he then proceeded to inform me that it wasn’t a woman who’d turned his head and captured his heart. In fact, he was—is—in love with a man.”
“Ah, now the story makes sense, for I couldn’t understand why someone would willingly give up a woman as wonderful as you.”
Heat infused her cheeks from the compliment. “Once he’d talked to me about it, I couldn’t fault Richard for leaving. Imagine loving someone—anyone—with that much passion and conviction and then facing a lifetime bound to someone else who is completely wrong for you.” She pressed her lips together and finally caught his eye. What would he think of her? “But he’d intended all along to make that sacrifice, to marry me, give me children, while trying to deny what he truly felt.”
“It’s a noble endeavor, of course, but in the end, he did the right thing. Neither of you would have been happy.” His brow creased as he frowned. “Had you and Mr. Stafford previously been intimate? Did you have an inkling about his preferences if there was hesitation or lack of performance?”
The heat in her face intensified. “We did not,” she managed to choke out from a tight throat. “He’d perhaps kissed me a few times, and quite chastely, but there was nothing else between us.” Cursing herself for a fool, Marjorie glanced at the swans on the placid surface of the pond. “I had no idea what to expect or compare it to... until I met you.”
Stop talking, Marjorie!
“How so?”
“When you kissed me that first time at your engagement ball, it felt different. As if there was life behind the kiss, a chemistry, movement. It was quite shocking.” She refused to look at him for fear he’d judge her or worse, laugh. “Nothing in any of Richard’s few overtures ever made me feel both confused or exhilarated, but perhaps I willfully ignored it out of desperation.”
“Ah, that explains your shock afterward. Oliver nodded. “I’m sorry your first foray into engagements and love ended so disastrously.” He took her hand and tugged her down until she reclined on both elbows beside him. “However, I won’t apologize for our kisses. If nothing else, they’ve shown you how a proper engagement should work.”
She snorted. “This is hardly a proper engagement. It’s as convoluted as what I would have had with Richard, though at least you were truthful about it from the first.”
“There is that.” He frowned again and his expression gave way to confusion, but why?
“There will be plenty of time for me to sit and dwell upon the fact I’m not the kind of woman men wish to go the distance with.” She stared up into the slightly swaying branches of the willow tree. “Eventually, it will no doubt take a toll on my psyche, but at least my future will be settled.”
“Yet you won’t have love,” he added in a barely audible voice.
“I wouldn’t have had that in a marriage with Richard, and I certainly won’t have it with you, for you’ve made it quite clear ours is an engagement of convenience.” Realizing that probably sounded harsher than she’d intended, Marjorie sighed. “I apologize, Your Grace. I meant no disrespect. I’m simply frustrated this is where my life is at right now.”
“I understand completely.”
She eyed him askance. “I’m not certain you do, for you’ve always been a duke’s son, which gives you opportunity and elevation to have your pick of choices in life. Due to my parents’ history, I’ve been a pariah in society, and that put restraints on me. Even from my first Season, I wasn’t what men wanted. Too brunette for a few years, not tall or willowy enough in others. A woman with a mind who expresses opinions? No thank you. A woman with dreams of selling her paintings? Oh, the horror. To say nothing of the taint of my father’s suicide.” With a slight, sad grin, Marjorie shook her head, but the urge to share continued. “Seemingly a handful of years ago, I was tired of the rejections, of the excuses, so I let a man have his way with me, merely so I could experience what relations between men and women felt like.”
Oliver’s jaw dropped. “I... I don’t know what to say.” But there was a light of admiration in his eyes that gave her a boost of confidence.
“Why should men have all the fun in exploring or sowing wild oats?” She sighed and returned her attention to the willow boughs overhead. “It wasn’t the best coupling, or so I’d like to think, but it quelled at least some of my curiosity.”
“You don’t want to further your quest for knowledge in that arena?” There was a certain slight growl in his voice that had awareness dancing over her skin.
For the space of a few heartbeats, she thought upon the matter. “If the opportunity arose, I would certainly not sneeze at it, but suffice it to say, I’m headed for a life of spinsterhood. I haven’t the time nor the patience to try my hand at being a member of the demi-monde.”
A faint blush shadowed his exquisite cheekbones. “No, you’re quite right there.” He apparently swallowed wrong, was lost in a coughing fit, and finally took refuge with a bottle of lemonade from the basket. “There is someone out there for you, Marjorie. Don’t give up hope just yet.”
When he offered her the bottle, she accepted, welcomed the sweet tart burst of flavor upon her tongue. “Thank you, but I’ve grown tired of looking, of offering up my heart for the moment. It’s proven quite exhausting.”
They sat in silence for a long while, and Marjorie finished the bottle of lemonade. The quacking of ducks and the honking of geese and swans lulled her into a sleepy complacency. If only life could be as simple as sitting by a pond on a summer’s afternoon.
Eventually, Oliver shifted his position and looked down at her. “Our first society event in Wiltshire is tomorrow.”
The calm she’d found shattered at that handful of words. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“You haven’t yet.” The intensity of his eyes changed as they darkened with a need she didn’t understand, but it sent tingles down her spine all the same. “You’re an amazing woman.”
“Thank you. Perhaps you should post an advertisement saying such to help my cause once you and I are through.” Her laugh was a shaky affair, but when he chuckled as well, her smile felt genuine.
“Give me a chance, and perhaps I’ll do just that.”
As her elbows and arms fatigued, she laid on her back, watching the movement of the clouds as they became visible when the willow branches swayed. Oliver was a good man, but obviously not the man for her. There was a comfortable knowledge in that, and it removed most of the anxiety. “When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a bird, of flying away, of seeing the world from a greater height... of being free.”
“Does this life hinder you from those dreams, specifically of being free?” His gaze roved her face, looking for God knew what, but she suddenly hoped she had what he sought.
“Sometimes. You’ve heard my stories so can draw your own conclusions, but birds seem content with their lot. Come what may, they will always sing in the morning.”
He nodded, continuing to stare, the need in his eyes never fading. “Are you happy?”
Am I? A difficult question to answer. “That depends on the day. I want more than I’ve been given, and I won’t lie about that.”
“Materialistically?”
“No. Emotionally.” It felt all too natural to share these private pieces of herself with him. “I want to be needed, loved, to be everything to a man and know the joy of returning all of that to him. To be given wings that way, and fly because I have everything I’d ever wanted.”
“I understand that all too well,” he said softly as he brushed an escaped tendril of her hair away from her face. “Since becoming the duke, I feel as if I live in a cage of sorts, always with expectations to various things, as if my time isn’t my own.” Then he cupped her cheek, and God help her, she nuzzled into his palm. “You’ll have everything you wish for, Marjorie.”
The way he said her name, the gentle way he touched her all worked to send her down a rabbit hole that would inevitably lead to heartache, but she went anyway. “What of you, Oliver? You deserve that too.”
“Who can say? Life is long and the future undecided.” Slowly, and with his gaze holding hers the whole time, he lowered his head and then claimed her lips with his.
With a sigh, she surrendered to him and the kiss, for she’d let him see her vulnerabilities and now needed to know she wasn’t as broken as she thought. Daring much, she slipped a hand to his nape and encouraged him. He obliged in spectacular fashion by sliding an arm beneath her hips and pulling her closer while his body angled slightly over hers. As he explored her mouth, she did the same to him. The tart taste of lemonade met her palate, the elusive sweetness spurring her onward. In this one fleeting, perfect moment, she forgot about the part she played with him, forgot about the fact she’d remain unwanted at the end of the month, and concentrated on the man in her arms.
What would his naked body feel like moving against hers under cover of the night amidst twisted sheets?
He was hard in all the right places, and hot in others, his scent wrapped about her to drive her to insanity, and still they traded kisses. She explored until wicked sensation surged through her body and awareness of him tightened her nipples into sensitive peaks, to say nothing of the pulses of need awakening in her core. The duke drifted a hand to her breast, cupped the globe, rubbed the pad of his thumb over that aching tip, and she moaned her encouragement. As her heartbeat accelerated, she opened her mouth, inviting him to take the kiss deeper because she wanted that connection, to feel his passion, know that in this second, he wanted only her.
Oliver darted in his tongue, fencing with hers, the thrust and parry as old as time itself. And with each pass, the edges of her sanity frayed. Confusion and desire clouded her brain, but her traitorous body clamored for more. The insistent, rigid bulge of his length pressed against her thigh sent another layer of want to their kissing. Oh, he would be magnificent sans clothes, yet now was perhaps not the time to discover if she were right, not while anyone could come upon them, and she didn’t want him merely for a quick tryst to pass the time.
She anchored a palm to his chest and pushed until their kiss broke. He stared at her, his chest heaving, while she worked to catch her own breath. “Never worry that you aren’t potent,” she said with a rather shaky laugh. “A duke who can kiss like that will never find himself lonely.”
“I don’t deserve all the credit.” His words had a breathless edge to them, but his eyes hadn’t lost that intensity. “However, I think I’ll perhaps go for a walk, to ah, clear my head.” He scrambled to his feet. “You don’t mind, do you? I’ll return shortly.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Feeling brazen, she let her gaze jog down the length of his body, pausing at the hardened outline of his shaft in his breeches. “I’ll resume work on my drawing.” No, she might not sketch him naked on this one, but on the next, she absolutely would. He was too beautiful not to.
With dark color dusting his cheekbones, Oliver left their picnic spot, and Marjorie frowned. Too much more of that and she’d go tip over tail for him. Nothing except disaster and heartache waited for her at the end of that line, for he wanted a parcel of property more than an actual duchess.
So why did she wish to throw caution to the proverbial wind and encourage him anyway?