Surrender to the Marquess

Will Lucian come to my chamber tonight? Sara wondered as they went into the inn. Or was last night enough for him? Perhaps he has sated his desire and his curiosity. Although he had seemed to imply a longer relationship in his words when they were dressing that morning. She hoped so, since her desire and curiosity were certainly not sated yet.

When they were settled in their rooms, which all led off a small upstairs parlour, Lucian ordered dinner, poured wine and settled at the head of the table. ‘We need to get this story straight. Where will we have come from tomorrow?’

‘Reading would have been a good place to have broken our journey from Sandbay,’ Sara suggested. ‘Then we have no need to leave too early tomorrow.’

‘Very well. Now then. Marguerite has been unwell—a severe attack of influenza that you could not shake off.’ His sister nodded. ‘I took her to Sandbay to recuperate and Sara befriended her and invited us to the house party. Just before we left we were joined by Farnsworth, who has been taking a holiday to recover from his injury. That can have happened just as it did, and in Lyons but, shall we say that I was there on business and you had accompanied me?’

‘So I have not seen Greg… Mr Farnsworth…for some time and I find myself surprised at how shaken I am by his accident,’ Marguerite chipped in. ‘Lucian has heaps of work for him, which is why he must accompany us, but I will keep checking to make sure he is not being overworked while he is still convalescent.’

‘And it will not occur to anyone that they need strict chaperonage because they never have before,’ Sara suggested, shrugging when Lucian raised his eyebrows at her. ‘And before we know where we are they have fallen in love.’

‘And so on and so forth,’ Lucian said. ‘And I will amaze everyone by yielding to my sister’s pleas to allow them to marry, even though she is not yet out. The company will think I have lost my mind. As well they might,’ he added grimly.

Gregory was fiddling with his eyepatch, presumably prey to nerves, or perhaps embarrassment. The bruise on his chin from Lucian’s punch the previous night was darkening.

‘How did Gregory acquire that bruise?’ Sara asked.

‘I am not used to having only one eye and I misjudge distances, Lady Sara. I could have tripped over last night,’ he suggested.

‘That will have to do,’ Lucian said impatiently. ‘Now remember, both of you, for the sake of Marguerite’s reputation, this has to deceive a number of people, some of whom are probably eagle-eyed matrons on the lookout for the slightest impropriety.’

*

Sara reminded him of those words when he slipped quietly into her bedchamber several hours later. ‘My lord, are you by any chance here to commit some slight impropriety?’

‘I sincerely hope so, given that I face at least a week of being on my best behaviour,’ Lucian said as he turned the key in the lock. Under-lit by the candle flame, his face had a stark, unearthly quality.

I could look at that face for ever, she thought. Desire is such a snare. I see him, I want him and I cannot seem to think bey

ond what is going to happen in this bed tonight.

Lucian shrugged off his robe and put down the candle, easy in his skin, relaxed about his nakedness. But there was nothing relaxed about the look in his eyes as he watched her waiting for him, nor could she be in any doubt that however long and tiring the day had been this man fully intended to make love to her now—and probably for half of the night.

Chapter Twelve

‘Darling!’ Lady Eldonstone, looking like a woman half her age, ran down the steps and reached the door of the chaise before the footman. She stood there while the man opened the door and let down the step, then seized Sara in a fierce hug the moment she emerged. ‘You look beautiful, darling, and do not take any notice of your father, or of Ashe. They are being ridiculous, the pair of them. You must be Lady Marguerite, welcome to Eldonstone. Have you had a good journey? Come along inside, both of you.’

‘Why must I take no notice of Papa and Ashe, Mata?’ Sara dug in her heels and stopped dead. ‘What are they being ridiculous about?’

‘Ashe went down to Sandbay to see you. I think he wants to plot a surprise birthday party for your father next month. He got back this morning saying that you were not there and had left mysteriously and that Mr Makepeace told him some cock-and-bull story about being worried because you left town with a Mr Dunton.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, you know what he and Nicholas are like, so primitive about that sort of thing, which when you consider that your father and I hardly had a conventional courtship and if you can convince me that Ashe was exactly as pure as the driven snow—although I am sure he would die if he heard his mother say so—is most unreasonable of them.’

‘Lady Eldonstone.’ Marguerite had stopped, too, and was listening, white-faced. ‘You have discovered that Sara is helping me to cover up my disgrace and, of course, you do not approve. I apologise, I will tell Lucian that we must leave immediately.’

‘Goodness, child, this is not about you at all. My ridiculous menfolk have come over all male and protective of Sara. I can only hope that your brother is impervious to insult or we may have a very exciting day in front of us.’

‘I believe you will find that the Marquess of Cannock is about as impervious to insult as Papa or Ashe are,’ Sara said, looking round. Yes, there they were, grim-faced on the terrace. She picked up her skirts and ran across the gravel to put herself between them and her lover.

‘Papa.’ She kissed his cheek and received a fierce hug in return. ‘Ashe. Where is Phyllida?’

‘I asked her to stay inside and distract the other guests,’ her brother said, glaring over her shoulder. ‘They are all round at the garden front.’

‘Distract them from what?’ Sara demanded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Lucian had handed over the reins of the curricle to a groom and that he and Gregory were walking across to them.

‘Us dealing with Cannock.’

‘Lucian does not require dealing with. He is a guest and my friend, as is his sister, and—Ashe!’

*