Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches

He could read nothing on her closed face. Her eyes were downcast, the thick lashes making half-moons on her cheeks. He could not tell if she was welcoming the touch of his hand or grimly enduring it.

‘Maria—I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. That you, of all people, should have had to go through that. What I said to you was harsh. I apologise for my tone. As you know, I was not in the best of moods when we came upon the rabble. My temper had been well tested earlier, and I stood very near the edge of losing it entirely.’ A slight, crooked smile curved his lips. ‘Am I forgiven?’

Maria nodded her acceptance of his apology, but the expression on her face remained impassive.

‘If you’re thinking of what happened earlier, forget it. It is behind us now.’

‘Perhaps my memory is clearer than yours. Perhaps I cannot forget as easily as you. I can still see that fire, imagine those poor people who must have been—’

‘Don’t, Maria. Don’t torture yourself this way. Violence is only one aspect of life.’

‘I don’t agree.’

‘Yes, you do. Violence has always been hidden from you. It has been done by people far from sight. Now you have been made aware of it, and it will not go away.’

‘Do you really think the Seigneur, and perhaps his family, perished in the fire?’

‘It looks bad, I’ll admit. But in the absence of any conclusive evidence to the contrary, why not believe that at worst the Seigneur and his family may have been hurt, and afterwards managed to escape?’

‘That,’ Maria said, ‘is what I want to believe.’ But there was no hope in her voice. ‘I also want to believe things have not changed at Chateau Feroc. I pray my aunt and Constance are all right. When I remember how I laughed on leaving, of the joy I felt because I was going home—to Gravely.’ She looked at Charles, unable to hide the guilt she felt and the self-disgust.

‘Why do you look like that?’

‘Because I am ashamed of myself. I ran away and left them to face a terrible fate. How could I?’

‘You don’t know that anything has happened to them. Besides, it was their choice to stay.’

‘I should not have left them. My aunt took me in when my father died. There was no one else, you see. I was under an obligation to stay and help.’

‘The way I see it, you had no alternative but to leave. Colonel Winston was most insistent that you left France while it was still possible. And besides, I had travelled a long way to fetch you. I would have been none too pleased to find my journey had been in vain.’

Realising that he still retained her hand in his, self-consciously Maria withdrew it, and immediately mourned its loss, its strength. Suddenly she was aware of his proximity and what it was doing to her. When she gazed into the pair of penetrating pale blue eyes levelled on her, her heart turned over.

Charles stood up and looked at the food she had left untouched. ‘I see you have not eaten. You should eat something.’

‘I haven’t much of an appetite at the moment.’

‘Then a glass of wine.’

‘No—I …’

‘I insist.’ Charles poured some of the wine from the decanter into two goblets and handed one to Maria. She took it reluctantly and sipped it slowly. He sat opposite, watching her, and he sensed rather than saw her relaxation of tension.

‘Feeling better?’

She nodded. ‘When do you hope to reach Calais?’

‘Tomorrow—hopefully before dark, which means an early start. I can only hope we get there without incident. Before I went to Chateau Feroc, I wrote to Colonel Winston informing him of when we hope to reach Dover—providing everything goes to plan. He will make provision for you after that—unless things change.’ She gave him an enquiring look, but he did not enlarge on this, for it was his dearest hope that after taking one look at Winston, she would send him packing. ‘I have made my own arrangements. We shall part company at Dover, but I will not be at ease until I am assured you are taken care of.’

Charles looked at her now. ‘I suppose you are looking forward to meeting your betrothed again after all these years, Maria.’

The unexpectedness of his words took her by surprise. ‘I—I am apprehensive—not knowing what to expect. It has been a long time.’

‘Are you afraid?’

Maria met his steady gaze. ‘I suppose I am—in a way. My dread of meeting Henry again actually intensified rather than abated as time went on,’ she confessed quietly. ‘You know as well as I that my father was a man of keen intuitive intellect and he was adamant in his belief that Henry would make me a good husband—and I will do all I can to honour his memory.’

‘I know you will, and if you decide you cannot go through with it, I’m sure your father would understand.’

‘You needn’t try to assuage my feelings, Charles. I’ve realised for a long time the limited possibility of my marrying Henry. So please spare me your concern. There really is no need. In days from now I may decide to take a different path from what my father intended.’

‘It is you that looks concerned, Maria. Will it disappoint you to walk away?’

‘In a way. You see, at Chateau Feroc there were times when I was afraid. It seemed that everyone I had been close to had died—my parents, my brother who died in infancy, my maternal grandparents, who drowned when their ship went down in a storm in the English Channel—and there was no one at the chateau I felt really close to. In the early days I pinned all my hopes on Henry.

‘When I came to France, knowing that he was waiting for me, my heart and soul longed for the years to pass so he would come and take me home. But as I grew older my feelings changed. He wrote seldom—the content forced—as though he wrote out of duty. I became apprehensive and even afraid of him. Determining his character for myself is vital in making a prudent choice before we speak our vows. Whatever his faults, I am committed to seeing him—whatever may come from it.’

‘It could be the end—or the beginning of something.’ Maria looked at him steadily. ‘Yes, it could.’ She was wearing the woollen dress she had worn when she had left Chateau Feroc, which she had unfastened at the neck. Her face glowed in the light of the lamp, and her black hair falling loose about her shoulders gleamed with flickering blue lights. With a rush of emotion Charles thought that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. At the end of two days, he was captivated by her. She seemed to have taken up occupation in his mind. She was an intoxicating combination of beauty, an exhilarating intelligence and disarming common sense.

And if she severed all ties with Henry Winston, so much the better.

Chapter Four

Stretching his legs out before him, Charles leant his head against the high back of the chair to enjoy more leisurely what had become his favourite pastime since going to Chateau Feroc—watching Maria. She could not guess the depth of torture she put him through, for beneath his calm facade and silken words, he burned with a consuming desire for her. Last night he had sat sleepless in his chair while visions of her in all manner of disarray—laughing, angry as she had been in the coach earlier, sleeping or awake, but always paramount in his imagination—floated teasingly in and out through the shadowed fringes of his mind, enslaving his thoughts like some impish sprite with dark luminous eyes, leading him into fantasies no virginal maid could even imagine. He was ever conscious of her and painfully aware that she was a woman, and he wanted her.

The silence lengthened and drew out and filled slowly with sounds of the inn, and the monotonous fluttering of a large moth that had found its way in and was battering its wings against the glass of the oil lamp.

Maria dragged her eyes away from the window and looked at Charles’s relaxed, unguarded face in the flickering light. His mouth was firm and unexpectedly sensitive. She looked at his hand holding the glass—slender and long-fingered, a hand possessed of an unexpected strength and an equally unexpected gentleness. Just being with him was beginning to cause her moments of painful confusion, yet just as often pleasure that lightened her heart and made it soar—and made her forget Henry.

‘Why don’t you like Henry?’ she asked quietly.

Charles looked at her and shrugged. ‘There are many reasons,’ he repeated quietly, wondering how she would react were he to tell her the true nature of her betrothed—that he was utterly vicious and corrupt, rotten to the core, and without principle and honour, and the only reason he wanted Maria to return to England was because, if anything were to happen to her, he would lose sight of her fortune.

‘Why? What has he done to you?’

‘Nothing to me personally,’ he replied at length.

‘Then has he done something to someone else?’ she asked, wondering why he looked so disconcerted. ‘Is that why you dislike him?’

‘If he has, then that is his affair.’

‘And you’re not going to tell me.’ She sighed deeply, sensing his reluctance and decided not to press him. She would find out the true nature of her betrothed in due course. ‘Don’t worry, Charles. Whatever he is or whatever he has done, I shall find out for myself soon enough.’

‘I’m very much afraid you will,’ he said softly.

Not for the first time, Maria felt at a loss to understand him. Suddenly his presence was vaguely threatening. Whenever he stopped playing her escort he became a passionate companion, a predator set on unsettling her equilibrium, or a dark mysterious stranger. She didn’t know whether he was a spy, although she was certain he was involved in some shady business, and that visiting his French relatives was only a cover-up. But that was his affair and she wouldn’t pry. Pushing her hair off her forehead, she glanced out of the window.

‘It is late. I think I would like to go to bed.’ She got to her feet, smoothing her skirts. ‘You—have a room that is comfortable?’ she asked awkwardly.

‘It is—adequate.’ Standing up and noting her sudden discomfiture, he was encouraged by it. ‘At least I have a bed to sleep in tonight,’ he murmured with a slanted, meaningful smile. He crossed to the door where he turned to find she had followed him. He raised a brow.

‘I—I thought I’d lock the door.’

‘Very wise.’

‘I—don’t want a repetition of last night,’ she said desperately. ‘I didn’t see any undesirable characters when we arrived, but I’m not taking any chances.’ A roguish gleam suddenly entered Charles’s eyes and with a touch of alarm Maria recognised her amorous companion of the night before.

‘If you are afraid, I would be willing to—’

‘No,’ Maria was quick to reply in alarm, knowing he was about to suggest that he stayed. ‘That would not be wise.’

Uttering a regretful sigh, he said, ‘Then no doubt I shall find warmer companionship in other parts of the inn.’

Maria’s eyes shot to his. The idea that he might seek out solace from one of the tavern wenches upset her and filled her with a fierce jealousy. An image of his long, muscular body stretched out alongside one of those women made her heart sink sickeningly. She was surprised to realise that she could not bear the thought of him making love to another woman, even though she was still officially betrothed to another man. Her cheeks flamed with the conflict that raged within her.

As if reading her thoughts, Maria watched Charles’s gaze turn warm and sensual and she was aware of how close they were standing. Suddenly his manner bore an odd touch of threatening boldness as his gaze dwelt on her face.

‘Worry not, Maria, the only woman I yearn to be close to is here now. You must find the subterfuge of travelling halfway across France as my wife strange—and dressed in such plain attire—used as you are to wearing elegant clothes and jewels.’

‘It is no great sacrifice,’ she replied softly, relieved that he had set her mind at rest. ‘As for jewels, my aunt was forever telling me that I was too young to wear them. When I reach Gravely I shall have rubies and diamonds enough. Whether I wear them is a different matter.’

Charles looked at her from beneath lowered lids. ‘Diamonds—for you? No. I think pearls would suit you better. They are less harsh—soft, soothing to the touch. Nothing vulgar—small, creamy ones.’

‘You—you make them sound nice,’ Maria said. ‘But if I marry Henry, he might like me in diamonds.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of Henry,’ Charles said. ‘I was thinking of you. I would like to attach some pearls here—’ he reached out and almost touched her ear ‘—and more—there.’ He picked up her hand and laid it at her throat, close to the valley made by her breasts.

Maria’s heart stirred, for it was an oddly sensuous and erotic gesture—far more so than if he had touched her himself. There was a silence as he continued to gaze down at her flushed face and time stood still.

‘Please don’t look at me like that,’ Maria whispered, her voice quavering. ‘It makes me excessively uneasy.’

He smiled. The light of the lamp behind her fell upon his face and hers in shadow, and the soft wavering flame threw an aureole about her, glinting on the long ripples of her black hair and outlining her small head.

‘You are very lovely. Has anyone ever told you that?’

She shook her head. At Chateau Feroc she had been drilled in the habits of strict decorum and not, as some might think, given the beautiful chateau and the Count’s fabulous wealth, in the glittering, fashionable world in which flattery and flirtation were commonplace.

‘Maria,’ Charles teased, gently touching her cheek with the back of his hand, ‘you are blushing.’

‘And I think you are quite mad.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ he whispered, and, bending his head, he pressed his lips to her forehead, placing his hands around her upper arms and drawing her against his chest, holding her as if he knew she would struggle if he tried to do more than that. ‘When we set out on this journey, you were not in my plans, Maria.’

‘Oh, please,’ she implored helplessly. ‘I don’t know what you want of me. Please don’t do this.’

He took her chin between his thumb and his forefinger and lifted it, forcing her to meet his steady gaze as he quietly said, ‘A kiss would not go amiss.’

‘Nevertheless, I think you should proceed with caution.’

‘A little kiss here and there is quite harmless.’

‘A little kiss here and there is dangerous,’ she countered, thoroughly convinced of that premise where he was concerned.

She turned her head away. The powerful force of sensual persuasion that he was capable of launching against her could reap devastating results. She must guard her heart. She was very susceptible. But when he placed a finger against her cheek and brought her face back to his, when his eyes delved into hers, he all but burned her heart inside out, and touched at its tender core.

‘Have you ever been kissed, Maria?’

She shook her head, her breath coming quickly from between her softly parted lips. ‘No, of course I haven’t.’

His lips quirked. ‘Then perhaps it’s time you were.’ A wicked gleam entered his eyes. ‘It won’t hurt. I promise.’

Maria’s entire body started to tremble as his lips began to descend to hers, and she sought to forestall what her heart knew was inevitable by reasoning with him. ‘Please, Charles. I am betrothed to another. Do you forget so easily?’

‘Would that I could, but with a little gentle persuasion I might succeed in making you forget.’ He laughed softly at her appalled expression. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Maria. Your betrothed will never know.’

His warm breath stirred her hair and warmed her cheek. ‘Don’t—I cannot do this.’

‘Yes, Maria, you can.’

His lips brushed back and forth across her lips, and Maria shivered with the waves of tension shooting through her. The instant he felt her trembling response, Charles’s arm tightened, supporting her. She did not struggle or utter one word of protest. Perhaps she knew it would do little good to do either. She stood entirely still. His hand curved round her nape, sensually stroking it. He began trailing scorching kisses down her neck and back to her lips.

‘Don’t be afraid. I’ll stop whenever you tell me to.’

Imprisoned by his protective embrace and seduced by his mouth and caressing hands, being totally ignorant of such matters and not knowing what to expect, Maria helplessly raised her head to fully receive his kiss.

The sweet offering of her mouth wrung a groan from Charles and his lips seized hers in a kiss of melting hunger. His tongue traced a hot line between her lips, coaxing, urging them to part, and then insisting. Even though she was braced for it, the shock of his parted lips on hers was indescribable sweetness. She touched her tongue to his lips, and when she felt him shudder, instinct told her she was doing something right. The moment she yielded he deepened his kiss.

Too naïve and inexperienced to hide her feelings, her body jerked convulsively with the primitive sensations jarring through her entire body, and she surrendered mindlessly to the splendour of the pagan kiss. It was deep and, when Charles finally pulled his mouth from hers an eternity later, feeling almost bereft, Maria surfaced slightly from the sensual place where he had sent her. She forced her eyelids open and looked at him, the confusion she felt and her sudden awakening to the desires of her body in their soft depths.

But with the cold onrush of reality the passionate spell was broken and Maria pulled back in his arms. ‘No, Charles, I cannot.’

He pulled her back and looked down at her, letting his eyes sweep the flushed cheeks and the roundness of her breasts rising and falling beneath her dress. ‘Then speak a lie, Maria, and say you want no part of me.’

Though her mouth opened, no words formed, and she could only stare up at him, helplessly caught in the web of her own desire. Again he placed his lips on hers to possess their softness leisurely and languidly. He met no resistance and, with a low moan, Maria let him gather her to him, their mouths melded in warm communion, turning and devouring, until their needs became a greedy search for more. His hand slipped to her breast, caressing and kneading its swelling firmness, and the white-hot heat that shot through her was a sudden shock that made her catch her breath and drag her mouth from his.

‘Charles, we cannot do this,’ she whispered in desperation, tearing herself from his arms, shaken to the core of her being. ‘You haven’t enough honour and decency to stop yourself kissing another man’s future wife.’

Charles’s jaw tightened. ‘So much the worse for you,’ he said grimly. ‘At all events, when the two of you finally meet up, he will see that he has lost you.’

‘That will be for me to decide, not you, although I am touched by your concern—if that is what it is. If the chivalrous feelings you possess towards me are indeed genuine, then you may prove it simply by not taking advantage of my vulnerable and defenceless state by kissing me again. What am I to think—only that you are soliciting me for my favours?’

Seeing a deep hurt underlying the anger in her flashing eyes, his anger melted. Lifting his hand, he tenderly brushed a dark lock of hair off her cheek. ‘I am not trying to pry into what your feelings might be, and I am not soliciting you for your favours, Maria. It’s just that after being alone with you for two days now and getting to know you better—you’re like a potent wine that has gone to my head. I just cannot bear to see you in the thrall of a man who is unworthy of you—a man who aspires to be your husband.’

‘I am not in Henry’s thrall, Charles—never that. To the man I marry I shall gladly yield all I have to give—as well as all the love and devotion and passion I am capable of feeling. In return I shall want from my husband love, honour—and fidelity. But whatever happens, I will make up my own mind in the end.’

‘I know you will, and I hope your decision will be the right one. And now I think you should go to bed. And don’t forget to lock your door.’ He turned in the open doorway and looked back, a smile curving his lips. ‘Sweet dreams, Maria.’

Walking away from Maria’s room the smile remained on Charles’s lips. The kiss had proved what he suspected, that she had not the least idea of the mechanics of sexual intimacy between men and women. The suffocating prudery of her life at Chateau Feroc under the stern, autocratic eye of the Countess had kept her in complete ignorance of such matters. He had seen it reflected in the shocked and appalled expression on her face when he told her he was going to kiss her, and he had sensed it in her body’s lack of response when he had.

But he was encouraged by the fact that her lips had answered his kiss. They had been soft and sweet and pliable beneath his own, and he would have liked to stay and educate her further, but seducing Maria Monkton was not in his immediate plans. For the time being, somehow he would have to cool the lust gnawing at his very being and try to forget how soft and sweet she had felt in his arms, to ignore the fact that she had set her hooks into him, and to control the strong attraction that seemed to bind his heart and mind to Maria.

Maria stared at the closed door in a waking dream. How was it possible that after just two days Charles Osbourne could stir feelings she had never felt before? She was fearful of what might happen if he came to her again and seeked to finish what he had started. She had escaped this moment—not entirely unscathed, but nevertheless with her virtue still intact. That state, however, was most tenuous and would not withstand another persuasive, unrelenting assault.

His kiss, his forceful persuasiveness, had been her downfall. He had known full well what he was doing to her, and the memory of what she had experienced in his arms made her plight all the more unbearable and she feared she was destined to remember his embrace for the rest of her life.

And Henry? She had given no thought to him while allowing her mind to dwell on romantic thoughts about another man. Her emotions were torn asunder, and she could find no peace in the depths of her thoughts. What her heart yearned for went against everything she deemed honourable, and yet she had no control over it.

Maria awoke to the sound of someone knocking on the door. Still drowsy with slumber, it took her a moment to remember where she was. When the knocking came again, startled, immediately she was out of bed, her heart slamming into her ribs, her knees turning to jelly. Pushing back her hair, she padded across the room.

‘Who is it?’

‘Charles.’

Maria stared at the door, reluctant to open it, reluctant to look Charles in the eyes after what had happened last night.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, hearing the tiredness in her voice.

‘You—you startled me. I didn’t expect you …’

‘Really,’ he mocked from the other side of the door. ‘Whom did you expect? It’s late, Maria. If you remember, I told you I wanted to make an early start.’

‘I’ll get dressed. I’ll be down in a moment.’

Charles was already doing full justice to his breakfast when she arrived downstairs. He raised his brows when she slipped into the chair across from him, his expression oddly impassive.

‘You slept well?’ he enquired coolly.

‘Eventually,’ Maria answered quietly, focusing her attention on the food the innkeeper’s wife placed in front of her and pouring coffee into a mug. She took a sip of the steaming beverage gratefully. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I was more tired than I thought.’

Charles wished he could have let her rest a little longer. But there was no help for it. They must press on if they were to reach Calais that day.

‘You can sleep in the coach. I promise not to wake you,’ he teased gently.

Maria trembled at the gentle confidence she heard in his smiling voice.

As she climbed into the coach for the final stage of their journey, she found herself alone once more with this man who was beginning to have such a powerful effect on her. She had become a bewildered young woman with an added problem and an upbringing that convinced her that what she had let happen and enjoyed with Charles was unforgivable.