“Yes, I do, Now, I think I should put you to bed,” Arthur said.
Selina didn’t protest as he lifted her without apparent effort and carried her to the bed. After gently laying her down, he gathered the bedclothes. She had a strange memory of lying in bed under a curtain but supposed that must have been another dream. There was a flush of color in his cheeks and his lips were parted, breath coming quick and short. He bit at his lower lip, and she recognized the gesture.
Arthur had always done that when excited or anxious. Wanting to soothe him, she reached up and put her hand against his cheek. The hardline of the scar was beneath the heel of her hand. On impulse and with the last of her strength, she raised her head and kissed it. The kiss was gentle and lingering. When she pulled away, he was staring at her, his eyes locked upon hers. Impulsively, he kissed her lips.
Selina’s head spun as her eyes closed. Rapture flooded her and she wrapped her arms about his neck, one hand tangling into the dark curls. His lips were hot and firm, pressed against hers with an insistence that would not be denied. His scent filled her head. Reality and dreamscape collided and merged like the watercolor paint in the rain. The pillow embraced her head as she slowly fell back without losing contact with Arthur’s lips.
The weight of him pressing down on her was intensely exciting. She clung to his broad, powerful shoulders and marveled at the strength she felt in those solid muscles. She ran her hands down his back, spreading her fingers and exploring the slabs of muscle she found.
He was a veritable Hercules, a demi-god. She did not know that Englishmen could be proportioned so. As she explored him, he did the same to her. His hands glided from her shoulders, down her arms, pinning them to her sides. He took hold of her waist and then his touch moved back up until those unyielding hands rose up over the swell of her breasts.
Selina wanted to rip herself free of the fabric that separated her from her lover. Reunited after so long and with their former passion unquenched. No, Arthur had never shown this kind of fiery, insatiable need when they were young. Now he seemed hungry for her. Ravenous even. His lips sought hers ferociously. She lifted her head to pursue his kisses, biting at his lower lip and making him gasp. That sound made her squeak as a wave of intoxicating desire swept through her.
The idea that she had brought him to the point of weakness that he cried out was enough to make her dizzy.
Then he was pulling back, a look of shock on his face.
“Forgive me…Miss…forgive me. I do not know what came over me. I should not have…”
But the excitement had been too much for Selina. She smiled as sleep rolled over her.
CHAPTER6
Marcus stared down at the woman as she succumbed once more to sleep. Seeing the decanter and empty glass on the tray beside her, he snatched up both and poured himself a healthy measure. Standing, he tossed the wine back, running a hand through his hair and chewing his lower lip. It was a trait he had copied from his brother until it had become habit. That was in the days before their father had driven them to hate each other with his insane need to make them compete to prove themselves the most worthy of the Valebridge Dukedom.
Now I’ve done it. I have no idea who she is, but she seems to be hopelessly in love with Arthur. Can’t imagine why for the life of me. Sooner or later, she is going to realize I don’t know a thing about her and is going to smell a rat. And I have just taken advantage of her.
He resisted the urge to pour himself another glass, placing the decanter and glass on the bedside table and hurrying from the room. Gracie, the maid who had been assigned to watch over their visitor, was waiting in the passageway outside the room.
“Go back in please, Gracie, and watch over her. She is asleep again. Send for me if she wakes.”
Gracie curtsied and went into the room. Marcus strode away towards the main staircase. The sound of his assembled guests rose up from the Great Hall. They would be expecting to see him for the first time about now. Luke greeted him as he began to descend.
“There you are! What the deuce have you been doing? They are getting quite restive. Remember a good many had to be persuaded to accept this invitation,” he said anxiously.
“I’m well aware, Luke. I know what they call Valebridge behind my back.”
“Oh, you mean Villainsbridge?” Luke said with a grin, “droll, isn’t it?”
“Hardly. A symptom of the sickness my father allowed to fester. My name is worse than mud to these people.”
“How is your guest?” Luke asked.
“Sleeping again. No sign of the fever that I could see, but she’s weak.”
“Rest and sustenance are what she needs. Wine and dance are whatyouneed. Come, let us mingle,” Luke said jovially.
The two men descended the stairs to the ground floor and walked through the tall, open doors that separated the staircase from the imposing majesty of the Great Hall. The room was thronged with the great and the good of Sussex, Kent, and London. It glittered under the lights of candles and lamps, reflected from jewels and the gold which adorned the guests. Marcus forced a gracious smile as he began to move amongst his guests.
It was not easy but became progressively more so with the liberal imbibing of alcohol and the repeated practice of exchanging the same pleasantries dozens of times. Presently, the time came for music and dance. Marcus had done his duty and requested the hand of a number of eligible young women of good breeding and prominent family. He led the daughter of the Duke of Hargrave into the first dance.
He smiled politely at her and found things to compliment which earned him a blush and a smile in return. But he was not seeing her. His mind was full of the woman upstairs. Her body had been slender but with a strength belying that apparent frailty. The bruise on her cheek had darkened enough to reveal a small cut at its center.
If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn that was made by the stone of a ring. A backhand blow to the face, with the ring catching her cheekbone, would have made a bruise and wound like that. What blackguard would strike such a delicate creature.
One dance swiftly morphed into another, this time with the daughter of the Earl of Cheshunt. Then another young woman, whose name and rank Marcus promptly forgot, and another. During a break in the dancing, a buffet was provided at the far end of the Hall, carried to the groaning tables by servants carrying silver trays, most of whom had been hired especially for the evening to supplement the meager staff that Marcus maintained.
Luke found him as Marcus moved to the periphery of the room, offering him a cigarillo.
