Lord of Intrigue (Inconvenient Brides #10)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

“For what is liberty but the unhampered course of the soul in its pursuit of happiness?”

Dante’s Divine Comedy

M arco was restless, pacing the small drawing room attached to his bedchamber. It was an elegant room, appointed in green and blue with landscapes of Scottish lochs and soaring mountains. He dropped into the ivory chaise lounge, leaning back into the green and blue tartan cushions, and admitted sleep would not arrive soon. Perhaps he should read through the copious notes Simon had left him about managing the barony’s holdings. His uncle must have invested great time and thought into the notes written in a simple, leather-bound notebook which was resting on the writing table under the window.

Marco dismissed this notion, too agitated to focus his thoughts and do that task any justice. After promising Simon he would consider the work with a view to the future, it did not seem the right time to tackle it.

Agree to stay in England? This is madness!

Remaining in this strange country was an impossibility. He had known this journey would be difficult, raising uncomfortable troubles from the past, but the addition of the creeping menace in the shadows had done nothing to make this island realm hospitable.

There were so many thoughts swirling around in his head, and it was difficult to pick which one to focus on. It was difficult to assimilate that there was a killer stalking him. Not merely someone who wished him ill, but someone who was taking an active interest in bringing about his death. What prompted a person to pursue such ghastly goals?

Another persistent problem, making sleep impossible despite the lateness of the hour, was the memory of Molly’s soft curves pressed against him, soft thighs bracketing his hips, and the taste of cinnamon lingering on his tongue to produce yearnings he was not familiar with. The desire to seek her out was ever-present, but he had reined in that desire with an iron fist. She was a young lady, and if he had no intention of remaining in England beyond sorting out what to do about impending duties to the title, he had no place spending time with her or encouraging the growing affinity between them.

He was tempted—she was tempting—but it was not the conduct of a gentleman of honor.

Reaching the peak of impatience, Marco jumped to his feet and stalked out to find something to do. The halls were wreathed in flickering shadows, dim sconces on the walls the only light to assist him in finding his way. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of its timbers settling in the late hours to punctuate the night as he reached the main staircase and descended. Upon reaching the ground level, he strode purposefully toward the library, flinging the door open with a flash of frustration—only to be met by the soft glow of an oil lamp and a yelp of surprise.

“Molly?”

She was seated in a wingback chair by the fireplace, dressed in a belted night robe which begged for his fingers to undo the knot and discover the details of her night rail. Was it thin like a shift? Would her dusky nipples be visible through the thin layer of cotton?

Maledizione! Control yourself!

“I … yes … it is me. I am reading.”

“And why are you not reading in your bedchamber?” He winced, realizing that the mention of a lady’s bedchamber was not the sort of discussion polite society engaged in. There was a lamentable lack of propriety between him and the young woman, when seduction must be avoided at all costs.

“Miss Dubois … my drawing room has been turned into her bedchamber because … because of all the unwed gentlemen in residence.”

“What of it?”

“She growls and yaps in her sleep like a—it is difficult to ignore.”

“You cannot be here!” he snapped in reply. He was not angry at her, but rather himself for the persistent wish to untie the belt that was all that lay between him and the sight of her feminine form. What would she look like without the compress of stays and multiple layers of clothing? It was galling that he continued to be so fascinated after the stern lecture he had administered to himself only minutes earlier.

She swallowed hard, putting her book down on an end table and rising to her feet. His gaze fell to her naked feet, so dainty on the rug where she now stood, and he groaned low in his throat in protest. Through the thick robe he could see her full, unbound breasts plumping the velvet fabric, while from the region of the belt, her hips flared to make him itch with longing to explore her hourglass form. A plait of rich brown hair was draped over her shoulder, diverting his thoughts to releasing that silky curtain to cascade over the pillow of his yet unvisited bed.

He knew well that at some point he needed to address their passionate kiss under the pale autumn sky, but this seemed the worst of times. The awareness that they were alone, past midnight, and unlikely to be interrupted, was causing his attraction for her to ratchet up to unmanageable heights. He had already lost his head once. He could not afford to do so again.

Before he lost his self-control, Marco turned to cross the room, so he stood far from temptation. When he turned, he found to his dismay that Molly had followed him as silent as a ghost.

“Are you angry with me? It is because … of what happened … earlier?”

“No, I am not angry with you. I am angry with myself for taking advantage.”

“Oh.” Her expression was that of disappointment, and he scowled.

It was likely that the kiss they had shared was the first she had received. Although passionate in her response, her inexperience had been obvious, and Marco realized he had just spoiled that moment for her.

Reaching out, he cupped her chin to lift her gaze back to his. Her eyes were magnificent in the reflected light. “I am sorry, mia bella . The … kiss was delightful, but it is inappropriate for me to take advantage of you so.”

“I enjoyed it very much,” she confessed in a husky voice that sent shocking sensation rushing through his veins.

“As did I. But I plan to return to Italy and you deserve a respectful courtship, which I cannot give you.”

“Why not? We like each other and … I could go to Italy.”

Marco shut his eyes, drawing in her cinnamon scent and seeking an answer that would not hurt her any further.

“You do not wish this, Molly. I am just a bear leader—a tutor—and you are a well-connected young lady. You must seek a man who can give you what you deserve.”

“But … I want you.”

“And I am greatly honored, but this is wrong. I am not the man for you. I do not desire this title or these obligations, but this is your home. Our flirtation must end, and I apologize for my part in it.”

Molly pulled away, her face dejected as she backed off from him. “The title cannot be discarded, I am afraid. Simon said you have a choice to learn about it now, or be forced to learn about it later, but learn about it you will have to do.”

“I do not know what I wish to do about it, and it would not be fair to give you any expectations when I am not in a position to make any promises. The danger that lurks in this home has me distracted, not to mention my dishonorable behavior in the garden.” He winced, realizing he had done it again. Spoiling her first kiss with regrets and apologies. But what was he to do? He sincerely wished there was a simple resolution to the strange conundrum he was buried in. A title he did not care to have. Menace still lurking in this house of suicide when he had thought the matter settled with the death of Lady Blackwood. A tempting and courageous beauty who fired his blood in unexpected ways. Had he inadvertently committed some cardinal sin to find himself entering the first circle of hell?

“You are a captivating young woman, but you must forget what has happened between us. It cannot happen again.” With that, he withdrew from the room with what dignity he could muster after wronging her so. He could have handled it with more finesse, but it was the best he could do while his thoughts were in turmoil and he had no straightforward path mapped out for how to reconcile his obligations to this Blackwood title. He had resisted coming to England, and his instinct to stay away was proving correct.

Madeline’s advice had been terrible! Encouraging her to speak from her heart? All she had done was ruin the enjoyable flirtation between them by rushing to talk of commitment. They had only met the day before—what had she been thinking? That a single glorious kiss—the first she had ever received—was going to make a sophisticated gentleman of Florence fall head over heels with a gently bred, almost-spinster from the English countryside?

There was no doubt she was an idiot of magnificent proportions!

Stuff, stuff, stuff, stuff!

She wished to howl her frustration at the heavens, but that would hardly help. Instead, she kicked a doorframe with her slippered foot so she could vent her frustration without drawing any curious ears from servants who might be on duty. Then muttered a curse at the resulting pain. Pain which proved she truly was an idiot!

If she were honest, Madeline’s advice had been to spend time with her gentleman and allow things to take their course. But they had both been surprised when he had entered the library, so the discussion had been anything but natural.

She had promised herself not to get her hopes up about a match, knowing from their meeting with Simon that Marco had no intention of remaining in England, so she should have enjoyed their flirtation as a welcome respite from her mourning and boredom. Instead, she had spoken to her friend this morning about contriving a courtship. What had she thought? That she would provide the enticement the gentleman needed to decide his place was here as the future heir to the Blackwood title? Apparently, she had exaggerated notions of her personal charms. It was mortifying to discover she was more like her irritating chaperon than she would care to admit.

Walking back over to the chair where she had been reading, Molly flopped down to stare at the ceiling. Their kiss had been sublime. She could still feel the hardness of his body pinning her to the ground, and the smell of his shaving soap lingered in the air. Following him across the room had been a bid to solicit a second kiss.

Like a clinging wallflower.

She had lost all semblance of common sense to pursue him so. A woman was meant to be alluring. To allow the man to chase her. Her only justification was that she could feel the magnetic pull between them, and she wished to prod it along, but her efforts were clumsy at best.

“But I am not willing to give up,” she whispered into the night. Despite his reservations, Marco made her feel beautiful, and his interest in her was obvious. And some of her efforts had worked out, after all. She had contrived to get them alone and been rewarded with a passionate kiss. And their botched interaction here in the library had caught them both off guard. Perhaps patience was in order. Marco had declared he was struggling with the unanticipated demands, and being stalked by a killer had to be unsettling. She had had time to assimilate all the violent events in this house, while he had just arrived to be greeted by not one, but two potentially lethal incidents, and he had been in England less than two days!

Her optimism trickled back. There was still a possibility that Marco could remain in England, and all signs were that he did find her appealing. Perhaps the kiss had set them off balance, and she merely needed to return to her plan to learn more about him. Allow a friendship to grow.

Soothed, she rose to her feet, taking up her oil lamp and her book to return to her chambers.

She grimaced. Her and Miss Dubois’s chambers now. Her chaperon had had her own room in the servants’ quarters, but since her promotion a few days earlier, she had moved in to Molly’s drawing room.

Which made Molly feel like a child with a nursemaid. A nasty, niggling nursemaid who compared her unfavorably to a violent murderess at every opportunity.

To be fair, Miss Dubois does not know the baroness was a killer. At least, I do not think she knows that.

Molly reached her rooms, turning the handle to Miss Dubois’s room as quietly as she could to swing the door open where she found the French poodle sitting up in her bed. Her companion pushed the curling hair from her face, rubbing bleary eyes. “Where ’ave you been?”

“I could not sleep, so I went to fetch a book.” One advantage she had ferreted out from this unwanted partnership was that Claudette Dubois was a heavy sleeper. It was unusual for her to awaken in the middle of the night.

“You must ah-waken me to … accompagne ?”

“Accompany.”

The poodle nodded. “ Oui , I must accompany you. Lady Blackwood was a weedow, so zis sort of zing was not necessary.” Miss Dubois waved at her new bedroom with disdain, making her feelings about the arrangement clear.

“Ah, but as a widow, she did not require a companion. Are you not pleased with your promotion to paid companion?”

Miss Dubois’s distaste was palpable at the question. “But a lady’z maid to a baronezz!”

“That is true,” Molly replied in a sympathetic tone which she did not feel in the least. Poor Miss Dubois! The horrors of her descent from serving an elegant viper like Lady Blackwood, to being promoted to serve unfashionable Molly from the country. The sheer tragedy of it all!

Molly decided she had had enough. Smiling pleasantly, she bade her chaperon to return to sleep with an assurance she would remain in her bedchamber. Fortunately, she had the book to keep her company or she would toss all night thinking about that devastating kiss she had shared with Marco this morning. If only she could ignore the noise emitted by her sleeping watchdog in the next room.