Chapter Four

Attending this dinner party was a mistake.  Marcus had realized it from the very moment he walked in the door and allowed the butler to take his hat, but he also knew that he had not been able to refuse.  To turn down the invitation from Lady Radcliffe would have been not only an insult to Lord Radcliffe himself but to Candlewood as well.  Nicholas had stood by Marcus through some of the darkest times in his life.  It would not do to let him down.

No matter how much Marcus simply wanted to return to Cheltenham House and hide.

At this point in the evening, however, the possibility of staging an early departure was becoming more and more likely.  He had been ill after all and no one would fault him for claiming exhaustion or a bad leg unable to support his weight.  Except perhaps Radcliffe.  And Lady Julia.  And most certainly Candlewood.  Possibly even Hathaway as well, if the boring, bloody idiot was even here.

Then there was the little matter of his finding a wife.  During his stroll with Caroline through the park that morning, it had become abundantly clear to him that he knew very little about the way of things in society at present.  The basics had not changed, certainly, but there were details, however small, that could help or hinder his chances at making a successful match by the end of the season.  Details that he did not know and did not care to discover on his own.  They were bothersome and silly.  He was finished dealing with silly.  But Caro was not.  In fact, she thrived on it, so careful was she not to put a foot wrong socially.

Simply put, Caroline's advice and guidance was his best hope of securing a bride and proving, once and for all, that he was still a whole man.

Not that anyone had suggested otherwise, for they hadn't.  At least not to his face.  Behind his back, however, he knew that in addition to the questions surrounding his ability to perform sexually, there were whispers about his overall health and the future of the earldom and viscountcy.  There had been since the night he had appeared at the Devonmont musicale, leaning heavily on his cane and rather obviously only having partial sight.  Damn the lot of them, gossiping mongrels that they were.

In truth, his vision was no longer as awful as it had once been.  There had been a point, shortly after his arrival in Bath that both Dr. Hastings and Gibson had thought that between the numerous fevers and the massive bloodlettings he had endured Marcus would lose his sight completely.  Fortunately for him, that had not occurred.  Instead, little by little, as the stresses that had battered his broken and damaged body eased, he found that the blinding headaches that had once been his constant companions had all but disappeared.  As they had, his eyesight had improved as well.

There was some vision loss, particularly in his left eye, which, on occasion no longer focused properly, leaving things fuzzy and misshapen, as if he was looking at the world through a muddy piece of old glass.  Thankfully, that malady, too, seemed to be easing and often times, the loss of sight was merely a nuisance rather than the complete bother it had been before.

There was, unfortunately, little he could do about his leg however.  One of the idiot physicians, or charlatans as he privately referred to them, had attempted some absurd method of "trapping" the fever in his leg and then opening said leg at both ends to bleed it out of him.  Secretly, Marcus believed that whoever had done that particular damage was most likely attempting to kill him, though to what end, he did not know.  He had asked, of course, but neither his parents nor his sister would tell him anything.  If either Hastings or Gibson knew, they were not talking either.  Much to his great annoyance.

Beneath his evening clothes, along with the other scars he had gained from being bled, were several long slices that began near his hip.  They went around his backside and then down his front towards his cock.  There were similar slices about his ankle on the same leg.  According to Dr. Hastings, who had sutured the gruesome wounds before even attempting to move him to Bath, the so-called physician had done little more than slice into muscle and other tissue necessary for walking, and that, unfortunately, there was little Hastings, or anyone really, could do to correct.

So now, Marcus walked with a slight limp.  Or a more pronounced one if he was tired.  He did not need the cane all of the time and in fact, was often times able to move about without it.  However, when he was out at social functions such as this one, he felt more secure with the cane in his hand, knowing that if his leg did give out, he would still be able to find the safety of a chair before he collapsed into an inglorious heap on the carpets.  Not to mention that it made a handy means of escape if he was cornered by a matchmaking mama and her daughter that he did not wish to speak with any further.  A lame leg was a surprisingly effective romantic deterrent, much to his continued delight.

Still, overall, the leg was healing nicely, but there was one other concern, at least in Hastings' opinion.  And if Hastings was concerned, then so was Marcus.

The idiot who had sliced Marcus silly had cut a bit into the sensitive ballsac beneath Marcus' cock.  Though Hastings had stitched him up there as well - an uncomfortable, not to mention embarrassing procedure to be certain - there was some lingering doubt about Marcus' ability to father children.  He could still perform sexually, of course but getting a woman with child?  Well, that might be another matter all together.  While no one knew precisely how such things actually worked, Hastings had seen his fair share of previously fertile men no longer able to sire children after similar incidents. 

Hastings felt certain that as only a small part of Marcus had been damaged, children would most likely be possible, even with Marcus' age against him.  After all, many men well past their prime impregnated their wives.  Usually young wives, but still, they were able to get them with child.  But he wasn't completely certain.  No one could be.  Not even the great Dr. Hastings.

And that worried Marcus a great deal.

He did not want either the viscountcy or the earldom to fall into the hands of other, more distant family members, ones who weren't even Cheltenhams by blood but rather by marriage.  Unfortunately, his family line was not overly given to procreation in the first place, much to his chagrin.  He had also seen the consequences of such events first hand when Caroline's father William had died, and the disgusting Lewis Tollston had taken over the Redwing title.  That had lead to heartache all around.  Marcus did not want the same for his family.

Therefore, he needed a wife and quickly.  A young wife.  One above reproach so there would be no talk that the babe might not be his.  He did not want to be like Lord Oliver Saintwood, son of the Earl of Tottenshire.  Oliver, who was about Marcus' age, and his much younger wife, Patience, had just welcomed a baby boy into their household.  An heir, exactly as all men in Oliver's position wanted.  

However, it was rumored that the child was not actually Saintwood's, but rather that of Patience's rather youthful and dashingly handsome painting master, a man who had continued to tutor the young wife in the art of watercolors long after lessons should have ended.  When Marcus had seen the child for the first time a few days ago, there had been little doubt.  The child was not Oliver's.  Not that anyone would say such a thing, of course, but the truth of the matter was rather plain for all to see.

No, Marcus did not want that to be his lot in life as well, to be laughed at when his back was turned at White's or Brook's.  To be cuckolded before he was even forty.

That was why he had such a long list of requirements for his proposed bride.  When he had discussed them at length with Caroline earlier in the day, he could instantly tell that she had wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but dared not for fear of offending him.  Instead, she had patted his hand the way she always had in the past, particularly when he was being thickheaded about something, and informed him that she would do her best to sort through the women of ton to find him the perfect bride.

Now as he stood gazing at the throng of dancers on the floor before him, he wondered again if he could do this.  Could he pluck a young woman, likely one just barely out of the schoolroom, from the glitter and glamour of London and tuck her away in the country at Heatherton Abby?  Would she allow it?  Would she be happy with him?  Better yet, if he did so, would she still allow him in her bed at night?  Or would it be as he feared and she would soon seek out the son of a baron or some such to bring her pleasure and then claim the resulting babe was his?

If he were a whole man, this would not even be necessary.  Once, women practically fell over themselves to be with him, to lie in his bed and pleasure him repeatedly, as much as he demanded.  Several had begged him to get them with child - though that had largely been so that they might claim part of the Cheltenham fortune for themselves and not out of any great love for him.  Marcus was not stupid, after all.

What he had been, however, was a rake of the highest order, and he had taken a perverse delight in sampling all that was offered.  He was no bounder and did not dally with the innocent - well not unless they begged or better yet, stripped bare for him.  But the widows and older ladies, including some spinsters who knew what they were about?  They were easily fair game and he rarely deprived himself of whatever treats they offered him.  He was far too self-indulgent to do otherwise.

That, however, had been the old Marcus, the one with the unblemished body of an Adonis and a devil-may-care smile that let everyone know he simply didn't give a damn what they thought of him.  That he would do exactly as he pleased for as long as he wished.  He had his friends, including Caroline, and his family.  There was plenty of time to settle down later, when he was older.  After spending his youth as a sickly boy, he reveled in his health, thinking nothing could bring him low again.

How wrong he had been.  How very, very wrong. 

Unbidden, he felt the old anger rise in him again, tingeing the world before him red and making his vision cloud.  It was always like this when he was angry, this infernal red gaze and the loss of his precious vision and control.  He should leave; he knew that he should, preferably before he hurt himself or someone else.  Before he said something he would regret, insult his hosts or worse, Candlewood, one of his few true friends.

Then he felt a small, warm hand on his arm and looked down from his nearly six foot two height to see the much smaller Lady Caroline beside him.  She was fairly glowing with something akin to pleasure and in that moment, all he wanted was to devour her.  It was that need that froze him where he stood, made him wonder once more what he was doing.

"Lord Breckenright, perhaps you would be so kind as to smile a bit more.  Or at least cease baring your teeth at everyone.  I'm afraid that all of your glowering is chasing away any prospective brides who might be in attendance."  She said the words so sweetly and with such a gentle smile.  Yet he was not fooled, the note of iron threading beneath them hard and fast.

Marcus' first reaction was to snap and snarl, the way he had done in Bath whenever anyone suggested that he might not be behaving at his proper best.  This, however, was Caroline and he did not wish to be rude to her.  He would never hurt her, at least not on purpose.  She was his friend and had always been - even when he did not deserve her regard.  Which, now that he thought upon the matter, had been rather often.  He did not wish to add another transgression to his list of sins where she was concerned.

"I shall endeavor to do better, my lady," he ground out through clenched teeth.  "But this is not easy for me."

"And you believe that it is any easier for me?  You think I enjoy being here?" she retorted, a sweet smile still pasted on her face.  If he looked closer, however, he could see the strain in her eyes and hear it in her voice.  "I have been pawed at by no less than three men this evening, each of them eager to 'unlock the lady of mystery' to quote at least one line of rubbish that I have been fed this evening.  Two other men have suggested that I might make them a suitable mate.  Not to bed me, mind you, for they simply won't give up their mistresses but because I am in possession of a fortune and their families are in want of it."

Truthfully, Marcus had not given much thought to what someone like Caroline must endure during these balls and parties.  He was under no illusion that most men were gentlemen.  He had been one such rakehell after all and knew that for the most part, the only thing men like him desired was to get under a woman's skirt.  However, he did not think that many men would be so bold as to state their intentions to a lady so directly.  Then again, after a scant three years removed from London, he was coming to learn that there was much different that he had not anticipated.

"Caro, I'm sorry."  The words were whispered so softly that Caroline almost missed them entirely.

"Do not be.  I have come to accept it."  She continued to stare straight ahead, unblinking, as if he had not even spoken, not wanting the dragons lining the far wall of Lady Radcliffe's elegantly appointed ballroom to know that Marcus had momentarily slipped up and referred to her by her Christian name.  "However, I believe it is time that we being your campaign to find a wife.  Dance with me."

Marcus could hear the first strains of a waltz beginning and immediately, he was whisked back in time to the evening of Caroline's come out ball and the night they had first waltzed together.  It had been, in his opinion, a slightly overdone affair, but he could readily admit that she had looked so beautiful that night, far more beautiful than his best friend had any right to.

She was just as lovely tonight he decided, in a shimmering amethyst gown that picked up the highlights in her dark hair, turning it more sable than copper.  The gown's skirt was covered in a shimmering silver netted lace or some such thing.  He was not exactly current with what was in the first stare of ladies' fashion.  A small piece of golden lace edged the bottom of the frock, so pale that it blended into the amethyst silk seamlessly.  A necklace of diamonds about her slender throat made her shine all the more brightly and set off the silvery hued feather in her hair in just the right fashion.  Her feet, what he could see of them, appeared to be clad in silver slippers encrusted with crystals designed to catch the light as she moved.

She was lithe and graceful, her breasts small yet somehow perfect.  At least he thought they were.  She was not as curvy as was the fashion for women at the moment, but he didn't care.  He never had.  Her hair was thick and shining, a sable-brown waterfall that, in his youth, he had often imagined himself touching, toying with the ends to see if it was truly as silky as it appeared.

To him, Caroline had never looked lovelier and yet so completely unattainable at the same time.  The old Marcus would have simply taken her hand and whisked her away for a night of pleasure, certain that at her age, she was no longer an innocent. The new Marcus, however, held himself back.  He remembered his promise to Candlewood, to leave Caroline be and not damage her reputation with the very hint that he might be toying with her affections and not serious about finding a young wife.

If he could choose his own bride, however?  If he could select a lady based on what he desired?  If he had still been whole and the matter of his family's estates not in question?  He would have chosen Caroline.  Even if she did not care for him as he cared for her.

Yet it was she who had sought him out tonight in this over-flowing, stuffy ballroom.  She was the one who had appeared at his side as if by magic just when he needed her the most.  Maybe she did feel something for him after all?  Maybe there was a part of her that remembered their youth together and still cared for him?

What could it hurt to find out?  After all, she was technically finding him a wife.  She had promised to help him sort out the matter, help him navigate society.  That was what he would tell Candlewood if the man asked, anyway.  Honestly, the duke was no better than an old maid these days, what with his poking and prying into other people's business.

One dance, Marcus decided as he offered her his hand, noting that her dance card already had a name penciled in for this particular set, not that he much cared who the man was.  Few would dare cross him in public, especially not in Radcliffe's home.  Whoever the man was who had claimed this waltz would have to go seek out another woman to waltz with.  For the moment, Caroline was his.  

One dance, he thought, and that would be enough so that neither of them would be harmed socially.  One dance and he would know whether or not she still desired him.  Whether or not he could successfully hide his desire for her.  He had to.  He had promised.  And he did not break his promises.  At least not any longer.

Caroline could almost see Marcus wrestling with indecision after her suggestion that they dance.  He did not want to, probably because he was afraid of tripping over his own two feet or perhaps because he still needed his cane for stability.  Dancing with what was essentially a third appendage might be a bit difficult but not insurmountable.

However he seemed to come to a decision and silently led her out onto the dance floor, his cane thumping softly in time with their footsteps.  As he did so, she prayed that Baron Rockville did not seek her out to claim his dance, for it was his name that was written on her dance card for this waltz.  The man had been relentlessly pestering her all season about how he might win the hand of Caroline's friend, Lady Jane.  Caroline had informed the baron repeatedly that it was not possible, but he didn't listen to a word she said.  Instead he continued to insist that a match between him and Jane was what Jane's late mother, Lady Catronia Ashford, would have wanted.

Somehow, Caroline doubted that, but she could not make the man see sense, go away and leave her alone, at least not without causing a scene.  Thus, she was stuck with his very much unwanted attentions.  Not to mention his often-wandering, groping hands.  For a man who professed to want one woman in particular, Rockville didn't seem to be all that choosy about whose backside he fondled.

Now that Caroline was in Marcus' arms, however, all thoughts of Rockville flew from her mind and instead, she concentrated on the heat of his body and the way he held her - as if he treasured her above all things and beyond measure.  Which she knew he did not, but it was still nice to dream.

During his stay in Bath, Marcus had regained the strength he had lost while ill, his muscles so powerful now that they strained against the rather tight cut of his jacket.  Even his dark blue satin waistcoat and his black evening trousers seemed a bit too tight.  As if they had been made for a less robust man.

It made Caroline shiver with desire to wonder what sort of power lurked beneath the fine fabrics, but then she chastised herself silently.  He needed a proper wife.  Not her.  She needed to put an end to this manner of thought immediately before she went too far, deep into a place where she would only suffer heartache and pain.

Whatever woman was lucky enough to lie beside him at night would have the pleasure of discovering the secrets of Marcus' divinely masculine body.  Not Caroline.  Then, briefly, she wondered if Marcus and his bride would ever make love in the light.  Caroline knew of the scars from the bloodlettings that dotted his body.  Would he be comfortable enough around his young wife - whoever she might end up being - to reveal all of himself to her?

A part of Caroline hoped so, for she wanted Marcus to know a true and complete love.  On the other hand, his scarred body would most likely frighten a virginal young lady, one who had only seen his handsome face and not what lay beneath his clothes.  Damn the unknown girl for her silliness, she thought bitterly.  He would not frighten her, Caroline raged silently in her mind.  Those scars never could and they never would.  She was stronger than that.

Not that Marcus was aware of Caroline's intimate knowledge of his naked body, of course.  She had made certain that everyone from the Cheltenhams to Dr. Hastings and Gibson kept her secret.  In fact, she had begged them all to do it - both for her sake and his.  For some reason, they had all agreed, though Gibson at least, did not like it one bit.

As far as Caroline knew, she was the only female in all of England who knew the truth of Marcus' body.  Well, perhaps there had been others in Bath, but she did not want to think about that possibility.  She preferred imagining that small part of Marcus belonged to her and her alone.  That she understood and accepted him where no other woman would.

Which was of course patently foolish.  Yet, for the moment, Caroline allowed herself to dream once more.  She had so few opportunities to do so.  Then they began to waltz and all of her senses were filled with Marcus.  It was both pleasure and torture.

Around her, Lady Radcliffe's intimate ballroom swirled in a mass of pale cream mixed with splashes of pale yellow and green tinged with a bit of light blue as the silk damask wallpaper blended nicely with the vases of flowers that filled the room.  Julia Radcliffe was every bit the perfect hostess, just as Caroline had heard, and for a moment, Caroline longed to be a true part of the woman's inner circle.  To have real and lasting friends rather than just the casual acquaintances that passed for friendship in her life.

It was, she reflected sadly, a very lonely way to live.

Then again, if she had friends, she would be forced to betray their confidences when she wrote her columns, a breach of trust that she truly despised.  No, it was better to keep her distance and be The Mystery that the ton loved so much rather than form an actual friendship with someone other than Jane.  It was simply easier that way.  Then Marcus smiled at her as he tightened his grip and she forgot to breathe for a moment.

Lord, he was handsome, probably more so now than he had been when he was younger.  His brandy-hued eyes were clear now, not hazy with too much drink as they had sometimes been seven years ago.  His knuckles were bruised but she knew that came from sparring at Gentleman Jackson's rather than from fisticuffs with some unknown man in a gaming hell.  Not the way it had been before.

His dark hair was a bit too long for current fashion, but she knew he wore it in that style to hide the small scar at the back of his neck.  That particular blemish wasn't from being bled but rather from falling off his father's stallion, Thunder, when Selby had dared a rather foxed Marcus to ride the beast stark naked through the center of London.

Thankfully the willful creature had bucked an inebriated Marcus off within mere moments, but not before the infernal man had shed his clothes, leaving his neck bare to the sharp bite of a rock that cut hard into his flesh as he landed on the ground.  Much to Marcus' embarrassment - and his friends' great glee - the resulting injury needed to be stitched up a bit, prompting a great deal of ribbing about the young viscount not being able to hold his drink.

Caroline herself had not witnessed the event but she had heard all about it in the ladies retiring room at Almack's shortly after it had occurred.  It seemed that Lord Selby was extremely foolish and had not keep his mouth shut, as was proper.  Gossip had it that the too-eager-to-impress lord had also thoroughly enjoyed shocking the Widow Stratham with his rather bawdy tale.

That was the old Marcus.  Before the fevers and the years away in Bath.

The handsome, dashing man now holding her in his powerful arms was a new Marcus.  Dare she even think it, a better one?  One who knew the value of life after almost having it snatched away.  He deserved the best wife she - and Lady X of course - could procure for him.

"What are you thinking, my lady?" he asked as he pulled them both into a slow turn, mindful of his leg.  "For I can discern by the sparkle in your eyes that your mind is in motion and most likely elsewhere.  It does not bode well for a man when he cannot hold the attention of the beautiful woman in his arms."  There was a seductive look in his eyes and for a moment, Caroline imagined that he was thinking of her and her alone.  Then she chased the wayward thought from her mind as quickly as it had come.  Marcus was a man and, very probably, a man who had been without a woman in his bed for a very long time.  Any woman in his arms would be tempting to him.  Even her.

Looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes, she gave him a smile that she knew she would eventually regret.  Yet she could not seem to stop herself either.  "Nothing of consequence, my lord."  Then she sighed contentedly, relaxing into his embrace for the briefest of moments.  Then she would pull away.  She promised herself that she would.  "I am merely thinking of how lovely the night is."

"You do not think it beastly hot?  Overly stuffy?"  There was a teasing glint in his eyes and Caroline knew he was up to his old mischievous ways.  Though she hoped not to the extreme extent he used to be renowned for.

She tilted her head slightly, deciding for the moment to play whatever game Marcus had in mind.  One night.  One moment.  One dance.  What could it hurt?  "It is a bit stifling, now that you mention it, my lord."  She slid the palm of her hand down his back, knowing that she was playing with fire.  Not enough to be scandalous, but enough so that he felt the movement and could interpret it however he wished.  Were she bold enough, she would move it lower still.  Yet she did not.  She should not be toying with him like this.  She risked too much.

Marcus, however, seemed more than willing to allow her to behave like a wanton for in what seemed like the briefest of moments, he had skillfully waltzed them over to the open French doors where sheer white curtains billowed softly in the sweet night air.  Then, seemingly before anyone was the wiser, he had them outside and sequestered into the darkness of the terrace of Sinclair House.

"Better?" he asked when he had pulled her deeper into the night, back into a far corner of the terrace where the balustrade curved to an end and no light penetrated the inky blackness.  In the darkness, she saw the flash of his teeth and the glitter of his eyes, letting her know that he was just as affected as she was.  Lord, she wanted him.  So much.  So very, very much.  She always had.

"Better," she agreed quietly, resting her hand against the cool stone behind her so that she might steady herself and her emotions.  Now that she was out in the brisk night air, she came back to herself, painfully aware of the folly she had just indulged in.  "But really, Marc, we should go back inside.  You need a wife, a proper one to quote you directly, and being caught out with me will do nothing to advance your chances of a good match.  At least not with the right sort of young ladies."

Unwilling to release Caroline now that he finally had her in his arms, Marcus allowed himself one moment of indulgence, one moment where her lovely body was pressed into his.  He allowed himself to imaging stripping the lush fabric of her gown from her body and kissing his way down the silky column of her throat.  And lower still, right to the very heart of her.  He did so enjoy tasting a woman intimately.

He had wanted to do just that seven years ago when her father had died.  He had planned to marry her, to give her safety and security.  Except that her uncle, Lewis Tollston, the new Viscount Redwing, had refused Marcus' suit without giving a reason.  Even now, he still did not know why.

Technically, Caroline had been of age to wed without consent back then, but her dowry, as well as the unentailed funds and property left to her by her father was in somewhat of a limbo.  He hadn't wanted to harm her chances of receiving all that her father had left to her.  After all, Marcus was not yet Evanston.  He was merely Breckenright, and he was still busy righting the estate after years of mismanagement at the hands of a distant cousin.  The very same cousin who had died without an heir, leaving the title and all of its complications to Marcus.

Should something ill befall him, especially given his previous poor health, he wanted to make certain that Caroline was settled and could take care of herself.  He did not want her cast into the streets, though he doubted that his parents would allow that fate to befall her, especially if she was his wife.  Still, she was also his best friend and he wanted to make certain she would be cared for.

It had never occurred to him that Redwing would whisk her away to Northumbria.  Or that she would be gone for nearly four years.  It had also never crossed his mind that he might fall ill again and nearly be sliced to ribbons.  Or that he might have to recover in Bath, far away from this family and friends so that there would be no gossip, no fortune seekers banging down the doors ready to inflict more injury upon his body, hoping that he would die and leave them all that was unentailed in his estate.

Not a single one of those thoughts had crossed his mind.  Perhaps they should have.

Now?  Well, now it was too late.  His time with Caroline had passed, no matter how much his body protested otherwise - and one part in particular was protesting very strenuously.  Oddly enough, that cheered him, made him think that a family - especially an heir - was still possible.  But that was for later.  For tomorrow.  For tonight, for this one moment, he could hold sweet, lovely Caroline in his arms and pretend that it was seven years earlier.  Pretend that all was right in both his world and hers.

"I know what I need, Caro," he whispered, feeling free to use her nickname, cloaked as they were in the darkness.  "And I promise you that I will at least meet the ladies you select, even if I choose not to court them.  But for this moment, for tonight, let us simply be the people we once were."

Settling into his arms once more, Caroline drew in the sharp, musky male scent of him.  She had missed this, the closeness they had once shared and not merely the physical, even though Marcus touching her at all had been a rare occurrence indeed.  Nor had they ever been physical, at least not in the way she would have liked.  But they had been close in their own way, even the dictates of society truly unable to keep them apart for long.

"Promise me, Marc," she insisted as she nestled against him, turning a bit so that her back was to his front, relishing the way his arms tightened around her as she pressed against him, unable to help herself.  Not proper, certainly, but she loved the way it felt to be held this manner.  "I want your word that you will take this wife hunt seriously.  I want you to be happy with your bride.  Not miserable."

"Caroline.  Stop."  Marcus did not want to discuss this wife business any longer.  He was still on edge, the anger over not being able to choose the bride he wanted still bubbling inside of him, not gone but merely contained.  "I have given you my word and I shall stick to it.  Tomorrow.  When the sun is up again and the annoyances of town life have returned.  For now, however, let us simply be.  As we used to be."

She wanted to protest again, to make certain that he knew she only wanted what was best for him.  However, she could also feel the tightness in his muscles, the way his arms clenched hard around her, pulling her tightly - almost too tightly, really - to his chest.  However, she also knew from experience that Marcus was stubborn and that she needed to simply let him be.  He had given her his word and he would abide by it.  Perhaps not strictly to the letter as she would like, but in some fashion.  It would have to be enough.  It was all of the concession he was willing to give her, at least for now.

Caroline had no idea how long they remained silently entwined in each other's arms, the night slowly deepening around them, the sound of night creatures scurrying about in the mews beyond the sprawling gardens of Sinclair House.  All she knew was that for the first time since her uncle had dragged her off to Northumbria, she was content.  She was, dare she even think it, happy.

Adjusting her body against Marcus' she soon became aware of the hard length of him pressing against her bottom.  Damn it.  This was not supposed to happen.  He was not supposed to want her.  Then again, she did not know precisely how she hoped to prevent him from desiring her either.  If she knew that, finding him a wife would be so much simpler she supposed.

"Marc."  Her near-breathless voice was thick with an emotion she dared not examine too closely.  "Are you...?  That is to say, do you...?"  For the first time in her life, she was embarrassed around her old friend.  Then again, this was the first time she had felt this particular part of him in such close proximity to her person.

"Yes, Caro," he admitted with only a hint of humor and he tightened his grip on her, fixing her body more firmly against his.  Allowing her to feel the entire long and hard length of him.  "I want you.  Very much."

Turning in his arms, she looked up at him with wide eyes.  She needed to push him away this very instant, to make him believe that this was a horrible mistake.  No matter that her body clearly thought otherwise.  "No.  This is not right.  I am your friend and you need a wife.  We cannot."

"At this precise moment, my dear, I do not care, for I say that we can."  His gaze was hungry on hers and she could see the way his eyes rested on her lips and then lower, taking in the slope of her breasts.  Wanting.  Needing.  Desiring.  She could see him mentally undressing her.  She wanted it.  Oh, how she wanted it.  She wanted him.

She wanted his lips on hers, the press of him against her, the feeling of his tongue darting out to tangle with hers.  She wanted to taste him and discover if he was spicy, as she suspected, or if he was sweet and yet tart like the lemon drops she loved so much.

There was a hunger growing inside of her for this man and she could no longer ignore it.  At least not if she wanted to keep her sanity.

For one glorious moment, Caroline's mind went blank and she tilted her head back in anticipation of Marcus' kiss.  She felt his warm breath tickle her cheek as he drew her closer, the solid press of his chest against her breasts and the press of his hard cock into her softness of her body.  To the precise place where they would fit together perfectly.  The place where she could take him inside of her body and allow him to give her pleasure.  She could imagine it, oh so vividly.  And she wanted it with a raw hunger that terrified her.

It was that last image that shocked her back to the present, especially when she realized just how close they were to the verge of disaster.  His hands were beneath her gown, sliding up her silk stocking-clad legs.  In a moment, he would have the fall of his trousers undone, pressing his erect cock inside of her.  She had to put an end to this, for she feared that he was too far gone with desire to end this game himself.

"No.  Marcus, stop."  She pressed against his chest and when that didn't work, beat her fists against the hard plane of his muscles.  She did not hurt him; she could not.  However she did snare his attention.  She could see the desire in his eyes and much as it pained her, she knew she had to be the one to put a stop to this madness.

"No?"  There was a deep measure of hurt in his eyes, one she desperately wished to erase.  "But you want this.  So do I.  I want you, Caro.  All of you."

Shaking her head, she pushed back against his embrace and, surprisingly, he let her go.  She immediately felt cold, as if a part of her had been ripped away.  "No, Marc.  I don't.  We are friends.  Nothing more.  I am a spinster and I allowed my physical needs to get away from me.  That is all.  It would have been the same had it been another man."

That was all it took for Marcus' anger, which had been simmering just below the surface, to ignite once more.  "Any other man, Caro?" he sneered at her, the icy wall of rage crashing back down again, effectively killing whatever passion had been simmering between them.  "Like Candlewood?  Or even Selby?"

The idea of Caroline with another man made Marcus sick with jealousy.  But clearly she felt him interchangeable with any other male body.  Probably even his friends.

"Marc, don't," she pleaded and he could see the look of contrition on her face, though it changed nothing.  "Do not make this an ugly thing.  We are friends.  Or at least we were.  But that is all.  We were never meant to be lovers and we are both fooling ourselves to think otherwise. We are merely letting our physical needs drive something that we both know should not happen.  You need to save yourself now for your wife.  Becoming involved with me, even for a brief affair, would damage your chances of finding the kind of wife you desire."

When she saw the look of raw pain mixed with pure rage cross his face, she wanted to take her words back, to pull him to her and tell him that she had not meant it.  That she loved him more than her own life and would be his forever if only he would ask.

She did not.  Instead, she crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at him, praying her message was received. 

It was.  Without another word, Marcus spun on his heel and stalked off into the night, his cane nowhere to be found and his limp more pronounced than ever.  As was his anger.