Janice Preston - Mary And The Marquis

Mary fussed about, a tremor in her hands as she straightened the covers on the bed, aware he watched her every move. He looked sinfully attractive, his black hair tousled and his dark eyes, under their heavy lids, appraising her. He had pushed the covers down almost to his waist and she pulled them higher. The top of his nightshirt lay unbuttoned, a sprinkling of dark hair just visible. She had seen him naked, whilst helping the doctor, and her blood quickened as she visualised his muscled chest, sprinkled with dark hair, glistening with sweat.

For goodness’ sake! He’s been shot and you’re here to nurse him. What sort of a strumpet are you? She was ashamed of her physical reaction even as, contrarily, she relished the slow build of anticipation deep inside. What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt, she told herself.

‘Why are you here? Not that I have any objection to a beautiful woman in my bedchamber, you understand, but...where is everyone else?’

‘In bed, asleep, my lord. The doctor was here; he removed the bullet from your leg...’

‘Hmmph, I remember.’ He grimaced, stifling a moan, as he stirred under the bedcovers. ‘What a butcher...never felt such pain. But that doesn’t explain...’

‘The doctor said we are to sit with you, my lord, in case you develop signs of fever. Ellen will take over at midnight and then Mrs Lindley will relieve her later on. I am taking the first shift.’

‘With no chaperon? You are brave, my dear. Many a lady’s reputation has been ruined for less.’

‘I am a widow, my lord. My presence here is no different to Ellen, or to Mrs Lindley for that matter. And, might I point out, you are in no fit state to ravish anyone?’

‘But I wouldn’t be imagining ravishing Ellen or Mrs Lindley, now, would I? But a comely young widow—well, this is an unexpected turn of the cards.’

In the flickering light of the candle, Mary recognised the glint of admiration in Rothley’s dark eyes as he looked her up and down. Resentment slid through her veins. It seemed as soon as a man learned she was a widow, his interest quickened. And he’s not mistaken, is he? She felt the heat build in her cheeks as she recalled her earlier thoughts. She stiffened, stepping away from the bed.

A low chuckle sounded. ‘There is no need to retreat. As you acutely observed, I am in no state to take advantage of anyone. At least, not at present,’ he added, with a grin. ‘It is possibly a touch late for formality, but I should introduce myself. Rothley, at your service.’

His attempt at a bow was no more than a bob of his chin as he lay in the bed and Mary bit back a smile at the absurdity. She relaxed. He was right. Despite his provocative words, he was no danger to her. Yet. And she would be long gone before he could make any serious attempt at seduction. She feared a Lord Rothley, in full health and vigour, might very well prove irresistible, despite her antipathy towards rakes in general.

‘I know who you are, my lord. You introduced yourself when we met in the woods.’

He frowned. ‘The woods, you say? What...?’ His brow cleared. ‘Yes. I remember now...vaguely. I owe you my gratitude for your help today.’

His lids drifted shut and he was silent. Mary approached the bed again and was about to sit in the chair by its side when he shifted in the bed. A moan, soon cut short, alerted Mary. She leaned closer and put her hand to his forehead. Still cool, but a touch clammy.

Rothley opened his eyes and regarded her ruefully.

‘Never mind your reputation, this won’t do mine any good at all,’ he said, with a lopsided grin. ‘Here am I, in my bedchamber with a beautiful woman for company, and the only moans to be heard are my own.’

Mary laughed at his disgruntled tone. ‘You must console yourself, my lord, with the knowledge there is nobody within hearing distance, even were you to entertain a bevy of beauties within these four walls.’

‘Indeed,’ he murmured, capturing her gaze, his fine lips curving. ‘My expertise would be for the sole appreciation of the recipient, would it not?’

One dark brow lifted. He’s testing me, she realised, a slow blush heating her skin, unable—or unwilling? her inner voice teased—to tear her eyes from his. As she froze, his gaze focused and intensified. His eyes gleamed and his sensuous lips curved as Mary, still bent over him, remained transfixed, her pulse racing as his masculine scent assailed her senses and pervaded her very being. She felt as she imagined a mouse must when confronted by a crouching cat, fearful of twitching the tiniest muscle lest it prove the wrong move: the move that would trigger the pounce. Every nerve of her being quivered, every sense was on heightened alert. The stillness of the house weighed heavily, the only sounds the soft crackle of the fire and the ticking of the clock.

The slow movement of his hand broke the enchantment for a brief moment, before he enmeshed her further in his spell. His finger touched lightly at her temple, trailed a path down the side of her face and followed the line of her jaw to her chin. It then lifted to caress her mouth, tracing the width of her trembling lower lip. Mary’s lids fluttered closed as his hand cupped her chin and urged her closer, ever closer. His breath whispered across her sensitised lips as he feathered a kiss across her mouth. Desire snaked through her as his hand slid round to cradle her head. The moist heat of his lips as they moved against hers was an impossible temptation. Without volition, Mary’s hand lifted to his cheek and she leaned into the kiss, lost in the moment, her whole body awakening and responding, every nerve tingling, anticipation flowing from a tiny pinpoint deep inside until it flooded every vein in her body. She trembled, the craving for more near overwhelming her, until the distant sound of a door banging roused her from her trance and, with a gasp of horror, she wrenched her lips from his. She scrambled away, her face aflame, her hands flying to her cheeks in a vain attempt to cover her shame.

‘My lord...’ she gasped.

The heat in those ebony eyes was undeniable. He smiled at her: a slow, seductive smile that set her quivering with desire. Her heart was pounding and she could feel the pulse jump in her neck. How had he captivated her so very quickly? How had one kiss resurrected those feelings she had thought dead and buried long since?

She stiffened, angry and ashamed that she had become so mesmerised by the touch of this stranger’s lips that she had responded in a way no decent woman should. And she was furious she was now unable to conceal her embarrassment. Why should she make such a fuss over a stolen kiss that was no doubt a mere passing fancy to a rake such as he? She dragged in a deep breath to steady her nerves. It would test her ingenuity to its limit, but she must disabuse him of any notion she might be available for any sort of dalliance. Taking a moment, she smoothed her hands down her skirts. She then looked him in the eye, raising her brows in a way she hoped would make her appear unconcerned.

‘Well,’ she said, willing her voice to remain light and unconcerned, ‘I cannot pretend you did not catch me off guard, or I would not have allowed that to happen. However, although your kiss was pleasant enough, my lord, I shall be obliged if you will restrain your...more basic urges in the future. I have no wish to be constantly on my guard if I am to assist in nursing you over the next week or so. As a gentleman, I am sure you will accede to my wishes.’

‘Ah...but can you be certain I am a gentleman?’

Mary raised her chin. ‘I make no doubt you were raised as such,’ she said, ‘and, no matter what direction your life has taken since then, I would urge you to remember that. I am here to nurse you, Lord Rothley, and that is all.’