She wanted him so much that when his tongue invaded her mouth she opened to him, welcoming the intimacy. Her hands tangled in his hair and, as they did so, a picture of Claudia flickered against her closed lids.
Antonia stiffened in his arms. It was as though she could taste the other woman on his lips and it repelled her. With a gasp, she wrenched herself free of him.
‘My God, Antonia.’ Marcus found it difficult to control his breathing. He ran his hand through his disordered hair in some attempt at control. ‘How can you claim we do not suit? I have never known a woman respond so, with such passion, to my touch.’
; ‘And you have known so many, Your Grace,’ she retorted.
So that was what it was all about. Damn Claudia. This was what he feared would happen when she had turned up uninvited and against his wishes. He had implored her to be discreet, not flaunt their past, brief, relationship. But he should have known that the slightest hint of competition would drive Claudia to a display of ownership as provocative as it was indiscreet.
‘lf this is about Claudia,’ he began, with fatal misjudgement.
‘About Claudia? You have the effrontery to invite your mistress to your home at the very time you make me a proposal and you wonder that I reject you? I had a better opinion of your understanding than that. Did you really expect me to ignore your relationship with that… that strumpet?’
Heavy rain drops began to fall, plopping weightily on the dusty earth. Antonia brushed them away from her face, clearly too angry to seek shelter.
‘Strumpet? That is fine language for a lady to use. And Claudia Reed is not my mistress, if we must speak plainly of such things.’ His eyes were narrowed in the failing light, but he could still see the angry glitter in hers through the rain that now lashed down on them.
‘Do not lie to me.’
‘How dare you doubt my word?’ His voice echoed the thunder above. Of course she can doubt it, you idiot, the voice of common-sense told him, shouting to be heard above his anger at his own behaviour, Claudia’s actions, his irrational hurt at Antonia’s mistrust. Anger was still winning, he realised, groping for the words to make this right.
‘I dare because I speak the truth. I cannot deny the evidence of my own eyes.’ As soon as she uttered the words he saw her wince. She had not meant to say that.
‘What evidence? What are you speaking of?’ The water was running down their faces now, her mass of hair was sodden.
‘Don’t stand there glaring at me like some furious river god,’ she threw at him wildly. ‘I saw you this afternoon. I saw you behind the summerhouse with your… That woman. You sent me a message that was nothing but lies.’
‘Those who creep about spying should expect to see unpalatable sights, Antonia.’ He was damned if he was going to stumble though an explanation of how badly he had handled things.
‘You do not deny it, then?’ she demanded.
‘I am not going to justify myself to you, Antonia. If you are not prepared to take my word, then you are quite correct: we would not suit.’ He bowed stiffly, clapped his hat back on his sodden head and strode to where his horse sheltered miserably under the tree. He did not look back, she did not speak.
The heavy rainstorm of the night before had ruined all but the most sheltered roses in the Dower House gardens. Antonia lifted up the water-weighted branches to try and find some buds fit for cutting and grimaced in distaste as the pulpy petals clung to her hands.
The storm had cleared the air. The morning had dawned bright and fresh and a slight breeze was fast drying the gravel paths. Antonia had resolved to keep herself occupied, but her mind felt numb. Her thoughts flickered to the events of the day before, then flinched away as though she had touched a burn. She could not bear to think of Marcus and of what she had lost by spurning him. But if I had pretended I had seen nothing, accepted him despite it, I would have lost my self-respect.
At the sound of a horse in the lane beyond the high quick-thorn hedge she dropped the basket. ‘Marcus?’ she said out loud as the hoof beats slowed and the rider turned into the carriageway of the Dower House.
It was… Not Marcus. Antonia squinted against the bright sunlight, then the silhouetted rider became clearer. The man was shorter than Marcus, his hair a neatly-barbered brown and the horse he was riding obviously a hired hack. Jeremy Blake.
Antonia bent to right the basket and retrieve the scissors and the tumbled roses. By the time she was ready to face a visitor, she had composed herself and he had dismounted and was waiting politely for her to notice him, the reins looped over his arm.
‘Mr Blake, what a pleasure to see you again. I must thank you for your letter. We are looking forward greatly to meeting Sir Josiah and Lady Finch. May I offer you refreshment?’
The maid had heard them, she realised, as the front door opened. ‘Jane, please show Mr Blake where he can leave his horse and then bring some refreshment to the drawing-room.’
Antonia went in, put the basket of roses on the hall table and studied her reflection in the glass. How was it possible to feel so unhappy and yet for it not to show on her face? True, there were dark smudges under her lashes and she was paler than usual, but she looked quite composed in her fresh sprigged muslin, her hair tied back in a simple ribbon. Pride, she supposed.
She went in search of Donna and found her, as she had expected, sewing in the small parlour. ‘Mr Blake is here. I have told Jane to take refreshments to the drawing-room.’
Donna laid aside her work and patted her already immaculate hair into place. She approved of Mr Blake, Antonia knew. She often remarked on what a most well-mannered and well-bred young man he was. The unspoken sub-text to that was, Although not, of course, such a catch as the Duke would be…
They both did their best to make him welcome, Antonia because she was glad of the distraction and Donna, she suspected, because she thought he might make Marcus jealous.
He sat, flicking up the tails of what looked like a new riding coat, crossed his legs, took a sip of Canary from the glass at his side and smiled at them both. ‘I am charged with messages. Sir Josiah wishes me to say how obliged he is at the expedition with which you have instructed your man of business to proceed and Lady Finch asked me to present her compliments and to hope that you both will call upon her at Rye End Hall at your earliest convenience.’