Marissa spun round, her already warm cheeks flaming in embarrassment at seeing him so soon after Diane’s improper references to him.
‘Look at you,’ he exclaimed. ‘Your colour is up, you are positively flushed. Are you sure you are not running a fever?’
Marcus took a hasty step towards her and Marissa’s temper snapped. ‘No, my lord, I am not running a fever. And I was not aware that I had to seek your permission before going out. I am, naturally, extremely grateful for your assistance this morning, but that does not give you the right to order my comings and goings.’
Jackson, who must have heard voices, came through the green baize door and hastily withdrew again.
‘I am not your little sister, my lord.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Marissa, come into the study – the whole household can hear you.’ Marcus took her hand to lead her into the room and inadvertently touched her bandaged wrist.
‘Ouch! There is no need to manhandle me, my lord.’
Gently, but firmly, Marcus propelled her through the study door and closed it behind them. ‘What is the matter with you, Marissa? And, please – ’ as she opened her mouth ‘ – will you stop calling me my lord every second sentence?’
Marissa paced across the Turkey rug in front of Marcus’s desk. She could hardly tell him that the source of her irritation was a conversation she had just had with his mistress – or, if Madame de Rostan was to be believed, his ex-mistress. ‘Oh, I do not know. It has been a horrid day. No one wants my company, you all have something better to do. And then my father arrives, and now you are shouting at me. I think I will go home to Norfolk.’ She shut her mouth abruptly on the lament. I must sound just as young and silly as Nicci in one of her tantrums.
The next moment she was in Marcus’s arms. He was smiling down into her face, clearly amused by her outburst, his blue eyes sparkling like the sun on the waves.
‘You are laughing at me,’ she said indignantly. If she had had any space to do so she would have stamped her foot, but he was so close, holding her so tightly, that she could not. ‘Marcus, that is not fair. I feel so miserable.’ And she gave up struggling and buried her face in the fine wool of his coat. It was so very comforting, being held against his chest, warm and reassuring, yet with a hard strength that excited her strangely.
He had stopped laughing, and his breath stirred the fine hair at her temple. ‘Poor Marissa. Poor darling.’ Her heart leapt at the endearment. ‘You are having a miserable time, are you not?’
‘I am all right,’ she said faintly. ‘I am just being silly.’
‘No, I keep forgetting that you must feel so alone. You have been used to being protected and cherished by Charles.’ She was so close that the words seemed to echo in his chest. Was she imagining it, the constraint in his voice as he spoke of her late husband? If only he knew the truth. But she could never tell him.
Marissa put her hands on Marcus’s chest and pushed him away slightly. ‘That part of my life is gone. I must put it behind me, stop dwelling on it. I was being foolish just now. I am tired and my father upset me. You were right; I should not have gone out.’
‘Marissa, look at me.’ When she did he said, ‘Marissa, if you mean it, if you can put the past behind you, will you make a future with me? Marry me, Marissa.’
For one long moment she looked at him, unable to speak, overwhelmed by the rush of love for him, by the sensation of joy that he too might love her. But, no, she could not do it, could not promise herself in marriage when she could not be a proper wife to him.
He must have seen the doubt in her expression. ‘It would be an entirely suitable match – you are young, beautiful, educated. You are already the perfect chatelaine for Southwood Hall, you have proved that. My cousin made a wise choice.’ Marissa threw up one hand as if to ward off the words. ‘No, wait, Marissa, do not dismiss the suggestion too hastily. There are great bene
fits for both of us in this suggestion.’
‘You do me great honour, my lord, but I cannot agree to marry you, as I told you once before. Thank you for your flattering offer, but let us speak no more of it.’ Marissa turned from him and took a hasty step towards the door, fighting down the impulse to throw herself into his arms and tell him how much she loved him and wanted to be his wife. But it was because she loved him that she could not assent and blight his life by tying him to a woman who could not share his bed or bear his children.
If she thought her words would rebuff him she was wrong. ‘Wait, Marissa – I will not take no for an answer unless you will tell me why. Surely we are good enough friends, you and I, for you to give me an explanation?’
Marissa turned, cornered. How could she explain, even if she could find the words for the fear and the pain she had always encountered whenever Charles demanded that she do her wifely duty? Marissa bit her lip, avoiding Marcus’s searching gaze as he stood patiently but implacably waiting. She could not give him a reason for saying no, so finally she said, ‘Yes, very well, if you insist. I will marry you, Marcus.’
The coldness of her words seemed to take him aback and she saw the animation in his face freeze into formality. He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. ‘Thank you, Marissa. I am honoured by your acceptance. I shall do everything in my power to make you happy. I know our friends will be delighted for us.’
‘Oh, please, no, Marcus, do not tell anyone, not yet. Can we not keep it our secret for a little while, at least until I have become more accustomed to the idea?’ Until I can think of an excuse to change my mind that you will accept.
‘Of course, if that is your wish. I am yours to command, as always. Now, will you not go and rest?’ He made no move to touch her, let alone kiss her as she had both hoped and dreaded.
Without another word Marissa slipped out the door and fled upstairs.
The next week was Derby week and, in the flurry of activity as the household prepared to move down to Epsom for the races, Marissa managed to avoid being alone with Marcus. She swung wildly between elation at the thought of marrying the man she loved and utter despair when she realised that she could not go through with it.
Unable to sleep, she paced her room into the small hours, frantically seeking for a way out. How could she have been so stupid to allow herself to be cornered into saying yes? Now she could think of a dozen reasons for turning him down: unfortunately all had eluded her at that critical moment when he had pressed her to be his wife. And whereas they were all perfectly acceptable reasons for refusing him in the first place, none of them were convincing excuses for going back on her word after the passage of several days. And the longer it went on, the more impossible it became.
Whenever she caught Marcus’s eye she saw a question in it, but would only smile and shake her head slightly. Heaven knows what he thought her reasons were for wanting to keep their betrothal a secret, but she made sure they were never alone for him to press the point. Her appetite waned until even Nicci, usually so preoccupied with her own concerns, noticed that she had lost weight. Pressed by Jane to eat more, Marissa murmured vaguely about the heat and the noise of London, assuring her that all would be well in the peace of the countryside.
Marcus had taken a lodge within five miles of Epsom racecourse for a week and they set out, Nicci in a high state of excitement, on the Wednesday morning. They intended to attend the Derby on the Thursday then spend the rest of the time rusticating before another flurry of balls and parties.