Chapter Eight
Marianne was the most beautiful woman at Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.
Bear could not quite believe his eyes when she emerged from the carriage, radiant in an emerald-green gown which hugged her curves in a way he found difficult to ignore.
But for all her enticing beauty, it was the warmth in her blue eyes that pleased him the most.
She had asked to see him. And here she was, pleased to see him.
Bear felt his shoulders relax and his back straighten as they walked together into the melee of the masquerade.
With Marianne at his side, her gloved hand inside his elbow, he could better contend with the sideways glances and ill-concealed murmurings which usually heralded his appearance in Society.
Tonight, he felt equal to whatever the ton might throw at him.
But he quickly saw that his bravado was in vain, for the critical grand dames of Society had become something quite different.
Beneath their masks, they laughed and chatted gaily, dancing with abandon and sparing little attention to any newcomers.
The masquerade had made them free. And the air of liberty—of rules suspended and fun afoot—proved to be contagious.
As the sound of a dozen violins permeated the warm air, Bear smiled down at his companion.
“I was very glad to receive your note.”
“I was very glad to receive your reply.” She lowered her eyelashes. “I behaved badly the last time we met. I must apologize, again.”
Bear wanted to take her in his arms and tell her she had no need to worry, but he contented himself with drawing her closer and patting her gloved hand. “I think we can put all that behind us now.”
His voice was firm, though privately he reflected that he still didn’t understand what had caused Marianne to react so strangely.
The lady paused, her eyes fixed on a row of shining lanterns strung from the trees.
“No, I need to explain.”
He pulled her away from the main path as a group of young men well into their cups staggered past. A drum roll sounded from the band stand, and someone shouted with approval.
“You don’t need to explain anything,” he breathed.
He meant it. The momentary feel of her body pressed against his was intoxicating. She smelled of something citrussy and fresh, so unlike the cloying fragrances worn in the Lyon’s Den.
“But I want to.” Behind her gold-edged mask, she held his gaze. “I want there to be no lies and nothing left unsaid between us. After all, we are due to marry in three days.”
How could he argue with that?
Marianne led him along what once might have been one of Vauxhall’s infamous dark walks, but now it was illuminated so brightly that Bear felt half dazzled.
The sounds of the orchestra faded as they moved further into the gardens and soon the heady scent of roses wound all around them.
Marianne tensed by his side and brought them to a halt.
They stood by an empty bench, but did not sit down.
“I am the niece of Lady Clementine Sedgewick,” she blurted.
Bear could only blink and wait for what was coming next.
“Clementine Sedgewick?” he repeated, when it became clear that Marianne’s announcement was over. “The name is familiar, but I cannot place her just now.”
Marianne looked nonplussed. “She is a great friend of Lady Amberley.” A beat passed. “One of the patronesses of Almack’s.”
“Oh.” Bear recalled offering Marianne the chance of a voucher and her dramatic recoil.
“Do you see what I am saying?” she asked somewhat desperately, her chin lifted toward him in the lamp light.
“I don’t think I do.” He turned to face her and took both of her hands in his. “But I am listening and I am trying. Forgive my ignorance. I really do know very little about London Society. Albeit, the name Clementine Sedgewick does ring a bell, the more I think on it.”
Was there some great scandal associated with Lady Sedgewick? he wondered.
Marianne half shook her head, her expression unreadable behind her mask. “In the Lyon’s Den, you said that you viewed connections as a curse. And I allowed you to believe that I had no family in the ton.”
Bear’s mind raced to join the dots. “You thought I would be displeased to learn about your aunt?”
Was that all it was?
“Yes.” Marianne exhaled in a rush. “Are you not?”
“No.” He fought an urge to swing her into the air. So great was his relief that he did not pause to properly examine this new information. “I care only about you, not your family.” He frowned slightly. “At least, I care only that you have little interest in Society connections.”
“I have no interest in Society connections,” she said stoutly. “They bring nothing but trouble.”
“And that is one of the many things that make us perfect for one another.” The piping melody of a flute drifted toward them, pure and sweet.
Just like Marianne. Benedict moved closer to her, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath.
Would she resist, or pull away? If she did, Benedict would immediately release her.
But instead, she relaxed into his arms, resting her head lightly onto his broad chest.
Benedict’s heart soared higher than the flute.
“There are many things,” she whispered in agreement.
Bear smiled. “A love of the outdoors. Galloping horses. Adventure,” he began to list them out.
“Eating apples straight from the tree,” Marianne added.
He chuckled into her hair. “Do you like gardens, Marianne? I believe you must, given your idea to come here.”
She had stiffened. He felt a wave of reserve wash over her. But before he could issue a confused and fumbling apology, Marianne spoke.
“I have great fondness for gardens of all shapes and sizes. They are essential to one’s sense of well-being, I believe.”
“I too.” It was on the tip of Bear’s tongue to tell her about his ambitious plans for restoring the formal gardens of The Towers, but he sensed she had not yet finished.
“There is something else that I need to explain to you. Something that you will no doubt hear, soon enough. Especially as your father is the Duke of Alton.”
Bear wanted to say that whatever his father heard was of no interest to him, but Marianne was carefully sitting down on the bench and indicating that he should do the same.
“I have no interest in gossip,” he said again, rather irritated by the need to repeat himself.
Marianne silenced him utterly by holding a gentle finger to his lips.
“You must allow me to say this.” She removed her mask, and he thought that she had never looked more beautiful. “And I want to see your face when I do.”
Spellbound by her blue eyes and wonderful proximity, he could only nod and quickly pull away his own mask.
“When I was married for the first time, my husband, Victor, believed that I had an improper relationship with our gardener.”
Bear blinked as he processed this. “I am sure there was nothing improper about it.”
She smiled but looked down at the grass beneath their feet rather than meet his eye. “It is kind and gentlemanly of you to say so. Victor, in contrast, was not a gentleman. He allowed others to hear his suspicions.”
“He spread rumors about his own wife?” Bear’s voice rose incredulously.
Marianne inclined her head. “He was displeased that I had not effected a grand entrance to Society for him. In his mind, I deserved to be punished for that. Furthermore, he had nothing left to gain by my unblemished reputation.”
“You are very calm about it all.” Bear flattened his hands on his knees to prevent them curling into fists as anger rose in his belly. “If the man were still alive, I should take him to task.”
Marianne gave a little laugh. “But if Victor were still alive, I would not be sitting with you now.”
“That’s true.” He didn’t allow himself to vocalize the words that came to mind, that he was glad the man was dead. Instead, he gently stroked a finger down Marianne’s porcelain cheek.
“Your father will hear of this once we are married,” she said breathlessly. “My disgrace will become yours.”
“I do not care.” He put his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face toward his. “All I care about is you, Marianne. You and Toby. I believe the three of us can be happy together.”
Her tears sparkled in the lamplight before she blinked them away.
“Happy tears,” she explained. “You already make me happy, Benedict.”
A warm feeling took root in his chest and slowly spread through the rest of his body.
“As you do me,” he breathed. She was so close, her body so warm against his, that it was the most natural thing in the world to lower his head and drop a gentle kiss on her lips.
For a brief moment he tasted the sweetness of her before reality staked a hold on his thoughts and he pulled away. “Forgive me.”
Marianne’s response was to tug lightly on his cravat until once again his lips met with hers.
This time, their kiss was urgent and deliberate.
Marianne’s hands crept around his neck and he found himself caressing the sides of her silken gown until he was spanning her slender waist. She leaned against him, the warm undulations of her feminine body pressing on the hard lines of his chest. Bear lost all consciousness of where they were and who might come across them, all he could think about was the woman in his arms and how good she felt there; how right it was to place his lips on hers and feel their hearts beating together.
Marianne was the first to come to her senses. She lowered her face to his shoulder as their breathing steadied. When she looked up, she flushed becomingly.
“I probably should not have done that.”
“I’m very glad you did,” he growled.
“It is a shame we are in such a public place.”
A surge of desire made Bear contemplate a foray into the dark bushes to find somewhere they might lay down in soft grass with little chance of being discovered.
“Do not tempt me to find a solution.” He smiled ruefully to mask the very physical longing which rampaged through his body.