“Well, I cannot tolerate anyone in my house whose loyalty is not primarily to me. To us.”
“Do you think this person, whoever they are, would harm anyone, Valentine? Surely not.”
Valentine thought it possible, but he didn’t want to alarm Marissa anymore, so he shook his head and said he didn’t think so. But as he held her soft, warm body to his, he knew that it was very important to persuade Von Hautt to tell him the truth before the wedding.
If anything were to happen to Marissa…
“What is it?” she asked, looking up at him with wide, dark eyes. “Valentine you’re trembling!”
He caught her searching hands, holding them firmly in his. “Did I tell you how much I love you?” he said earnestly. “And how much I’m looking forward to you being my wife?”
“Have I told you how much I’m looking forward to being your wife? And how much, how very much, I love you?”
Their kiss was full of wild passion, almost as if they were afraid it might be their last, and a raging desire caught hold of them. There was no time to do more than lock the door, and then Valentine lowered her down onto the sofa and began to undress her, kissing every inch of flesh as if it was newly discovered.
Marissa, lost in the touch and feel and taste of him, felt the first dizzying tug of completion as he used his fingers and lips on her, before thrusting deep, not slow and gentle this time but urgently, roughly. They both groaned at the end, clutching each other, gasping for breath.
For the first time Marissa understood the fragility and pain of love, as well as the pleasure. What if she were to lose Valentine? Guilt over her doubts filled her. It would serve her right if she did lose him.
“Marissa, what is it?” he murmured, and she realized she was clinging to him far too tightly.
“Nothing,” she said, with a smile that didn’t quite remove the worry in his eyes. “Everything is perfect, Valentine. How could it be otherwise?”
But he knew her too well and he sensed the doubts that she did not dare to speak aloud. Marissa prayed she could find some peace within herself before her wedding day arrived.
Chapter 33
London was warm, and dusty with the rush of traffic through the busier parts of the city, while the quieter squares drowsed in the sunshine, their parks and gardens a place for sitting and strolling and enjoying the shade. Valentine had brought his own equipage and he and his brother went directly to their London house in Mayfair, while Marissa and Lady Bethany returned to the Rotherhild house in Chelsea.
“You are very quiet, my dear,” said Marissa’s grandmother. “Are you worried that your parents will not like your intended? I’m sure they will heartily approve of him.”
“But it is their approval I’m afraid of, Grandmamma! He is exactly the sort of man they will love, and therefore the sort of man I always swore I would never, never marry.”
Lady Bethany chuckled. “I see what you mean. Well, all is not lost yet. Perhaps we will discover some dreadful flaw in his character that will set them against him, and then you can elope with him.”
The idea had its merits, and Marissa found herself considering it seriously. But no, how could she? They were to be married in the village church near Abbey Thorne Manor before her close friends and family, it was all settled—in Valentine’s mind, anyway, she thought disloyally.
“Marissa?” her grandmother repeated for the third time, beginning to look worried. But it was too late to tell her what was really going on in her mind. The door was opening to them and her father, Professor Rotherhild, was coming downstairs.
“Marissa, there you are,” he said, a bundle of papers under his arm, looking as if he’d just stepped off a windswept moor. Tall and thin, he was the opposite of her mother, who was short and plump.
“Yes, Father, here I am.”
“Mama-in-law,” he added, with a brief nod to Lady Bethany, who nodded back.
“Father, I wonder if I might speak to you and Mama? I have something to tell you.” Marissa decided there was no time like the present to share her news.
“Do you?” He looked down at his notes, then longingly toward the sanctuary of his study, before sighing. “Very well. Your mother is in the back sitting room. We will join her there.”
Lady Bethany rolled her eyes, but Marissa refused to feel any upset at her father’s obvious lack of interest. When they entered the small, cozy sitting room, her mother looked up with a warm smile, her graying dark hair tied back in an untidy knot, her clothing covered by an apron as she sorted some dried plant specimens.
“Marissa!” She held out her hand, and Marissa hurried over to kiss her cheek and receive a hug. Lady Bethany followed, and when her daughter asked if Marissa had worn her out in Surrey, assured her that she was perfectly well, better than she’d felt for years in fact.
“Humph,” the professor said, but everyone ignored him.
“I have something to tell you both,” Marissa announced, hands tightly clasped. “I am to be married.”
Their faces fell, just for a moment, as if they were not pleased. But the next moment they were smiling, putting on a good show for her sake, and her father came to clasp her in an awkward embrace, saying with false heartiness, “Well done, Marissa. I’m sure you and young George will be very happy together.”