Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
“The path we have embarked on is so strange.”
Dante’s Divine Comedy
M arco faced a towering white marble wall carved with images. He stared at his reflection in the polished finish, and his reflection moved with a life of its own, gesturing to him as if to question his past choices and consider the future. And as he stood there, attempting to make sense of his gesticulating self, Marco became aware of a heavy weight upon his back.
Realizing he was carrying the stones of his indecision, he peered about to find an exit from this in-between place. He did not belong here because he had every intention of reaching a decision and earning his place at Molly’s side. With great relief, he noted that there was a narrow pathway leading toward a cliff, and he hurried in that direction, eager to leave and find the gates to paradise ? —
Marco awoke with a start, disoriented at first until he realized he was in his new bedchamber. Smaller than the one that had been damaged in the fire, but pleasantly appointed. He rolled over to find that morning had arrived and groaned. He supposed he should be comforted that the landscape of his dreams had shifted from hell to purgatory, apparently a sign that his worries had evolved from when danger had lurked in the shadows, but it was disturbing, nevertheless. Thankfully, there were several guards posted downstairs at the baron’s insistence.
The marble wall had confirmed that he had not yet earned his place as Molly’s husband, and he knew he should arise and find a path to earn his own esteem after he had disappointed her too many times with his indecision.
A knock on the door signaled that the baron’s valet had arrived to assist him in preparing for his day, so Marco got out of bed to wash and dress.
An hour later, after having breakfasted with the baron who had been in fine spirits regarding the resolution of the MacNaby situation, Marco had gone to the baron’s study to sit at the desk and peruse Simon’s notebooks about the estates once more.
It would not be such a terrible thing to pursue a new life here. Notes about the tenants and their lives had turned out to be thought-provoking, as their day in Elmstead had proved. It was a difficult thing to let go of the life one had had, the goals one had envisioned, but Florence was a long sea journey away and he must consider his place here in England.
Perhaps before he tried to solve the problem of his worthiness to offer for Molly, he might take a small step regarding the barony to carve out his role here in London. Something to take ownership as the baron’s representative.
Staring at the notebooks, he tried to think about what he could possibly do to take charge. No tenants were due to sign their leases until the following year, so there was nothing there to negotiate, and rent would be collected by the stewards, so no action was required from him. The same with the servants and their wages?—
A knock on the door interrupted his reverie, and he called out with permission to enter.
Duncan came in, slight smudges under his eyes after their late night returning, but it was comforting to see him.
“The coffee you requested, sir.”
The head footman was neatly dressed despite his fatigue, apparently undisturbed by their nocturnal rescue attempt, with his livery in perfect condition. It was dark blue, with blue and green tartan just visible within the lining of his coat. He was carrying a large silver tray with a tall, tapered coffeepot and cups, crossing the room to set them down. Marco vaguely recalled he had requested a tray in the breakfast room. Rubbing his weary eyes, he savored the heavy aroma of rich coffee with great pleasure, his mouth watering in anticipation. Rising to pour himself a cup, he watched as Duncan made to depart and was suddenly hit with a flash of inspiration.
He could grab the reins of this new role with a relatively small, but important, decision. Perhaps he should clear it with his uncle John, but perhaps not. Perhaps he must make this decision on his own and address any concerns with the baron after the fact. Would it not raise his confidence about his place here in England if he acted like his own man?
“Duncan, I would like to discuss something with you.”
The footman stopped. “Sir?”
“Close the door, please.”
Duncan complied, then returned to the desk where Marco gestured for him to take a seat before returning to his own. The servant was nonplussed, unsure of himself, as he perched on the edge of an armchair.
“I was impressed with your mettle last night, Duncan.”
“Thank you, sir. Miss Carter is well-liked belowstairs, and it did not seem right what Mr. MacNaby did … Not that I am entirely clear on what he did, but, in regard to Miss Carter.”
Marco nodded, appreciating that the servant was in an awkward position. But it had not been expected when he offered his assistance the night before, or led them to the gamekeeper’s cottage so they might arm themselves. Duncan was an honorable man who had proved he could be relied on.
“How long have you been in the baron’s household?”
The footman cleared his throat. “More than ten years, sir.”
“And how would you feel about a promotion to the role of butler?”
Duncan’s eyes widened in surprise. “I … Are you certain I am qualified, sir?”
“I would say you have experience managing the footmen, and have likely assisted MacNaby with the silver and china. You must know our merchants. And I could speak with our man of business to obtain any training you feel you might be lacking. The Duke of Halmesbury would likely be willing for you to spend a few weeks with his own butler, if you feel it necessary.”
The footman hesitated, likely to think about accepting the prestigious position, but Marco noticed a glint of excitement in his blue eyes. The promotion would be a significant increase in status, responsibilities, and wages, and Marco patiently allowed the servant to consider the ramifications of accepting the post.
“Yes. I would greatly appreciate the opportunity, Mr. Scott.”
Marco nodded. “The role is yours. I shall prepare a note to summon our man of business to finalize the details.”
Duncan rose to his feet. “Thank you, Mr. Scott. You will not regret this.” He dropped a bow and left the room, but despite his stoicism, Marco caught the flicker of a smile playing on his lips as he exited into the hall.
Sipping on his coffee, Marco located a page and quill in the drawer of the walnut desk and jotted a note to summon the agent who dealt with their business affairs that Simon had detailed in the notebooks. It was high time he meet him, and he requested a meeting for the following morning before folding it up and ringing for a footman to deliver the letter.
That action behind him, Marco experienced the swell of confidence. Of a man who had finally accepted the role thrust upon him and begun to make it his own. He would fill the boots of his uncle Simon, and his next step would be to correct an oversight. Simon had made a mistake that Marco was aware of, and he was going to address it to provide relief to the wronged individual. With decisiveness in his step, he headed to the second floor to fix his uncle’s egregious error in judgment.
Approaching the door to Molly’s chambers, he paused at the berating of a plaintive French voice. Pressing his ear to the door, he eavesdropped without shame because he suspected he was about to uncover the perfect cue to enter.
“You could ’ave got me in great trouble, disappearing like zat! It could affect my chances to get a position in ze future.”
As Marco had suspected, Miss Dubois’s tears from the day before had not been about her worries for Molly’s safety, but rather for her own prospects. His skin crawled with irritation. The chaperon was an obnoxious shrew.
“I assure you, I was not trying to inconvenience you.” Molly’s tone was dry, responding with her polite English manners, which made him smile. He was sure she wished to put the servant in her place, but the constraints of her situation, along with her gracious character, forced her to keep the peace. How awkward would it be if she were to quarrel with her shadow? Molly might have defeated a pistol-waving madman with a convincing argument, but she had yet a dragon to slay. And it would be he who slayed this particular dragon on behalf of the woman he … shutting his lids for a moment, Marco finally confessed the truth to himself … the woman he loved. The admission was unexpectedly freeing.
“Very selfish of you, truly! So inconsidérate !”
Reaching the limits of his patience, Marco chose that moment to knock on the door. Silence fell inside the room. After a few seconds, the handle turned and Miss Dubois’s pretty but sharp face appeared through the crack.
“Meester Scott? May I be of azzistance to you?”
His lips spread into a polite smile. “I wish to speak with you and Miss Carter. Will you join me in the hall?”
The chaperon was nonplussed, but swung the door open to reveal Molly, who was dressed but her hair hung free. Her face lit up with hope and, for the first time, he accepted her admiration without reservation.
They had not completed preparing Molly for her day, but Marco gestured for them to exit the servant’s temporary bedchamber, and threw a quick wink to the beautiful woman who haunted his dreams.
They stepped out into the corridor, Marco’s gaze running appreciatively over the silky curtain of hair falling down Molly’s back. Soon her locks would be spread out over his pillow as he—he quickly cleared his thoughts before they ran away with him.
“Miss Dubois, I am delighted to inform you that your services as a paid companion are no longer required. Miss Carter has graciously accepted the role of the future Lady Blackwood, so her need for chaperoning has diminished. You shall return to your duties as lady’s maid, and you can speak with Mr. Campbell about moving your things back into your old room.”
Molly and Miss Dubois both dropped their jaws at the same time.
“Mees Carter ees to marry ze baron? An’ please forgive me—who ees zis Meester Campbell?”
Marco smiled, offering his arm to Molly, who took hold of it with a grin spread from cheek to cheek, her eyes incandescent with joy. “That is incorrect. Miss Carter is to marry me. I think she will do the Blackwood title proud in the years to come.”
Miss Dubois blinked in surprise, her dismay clear as she likely considered the ramifications of the tirades she had directed at her mistress when she had believed Molly to be inconsequential. He noted from the corner of his eye that Molly was biting her lower lip as if to contain her elation.
“And Duncan Campbell, the head footman, has been promoted to the position of butler this morning. He now manages all servants in this household, hence his new address as Mr. Campbell.”
“Yes, sir.” The chaperon dropped a curtsy.
“Miss Carter, will you join me in the formal drawing room?”
Molly nodded, and he led her down the hall before noting the sound of pattering feet—Miss Dubois was following them. Coming to a stop, he glanced back. “It is a private meeting.”
Miss Dubois’s face fell. “You conduct ze meeting alone, sir?”
“I believe when two people are betrothed, the proprieties are relaxed. Is this not the way of British society?”
“I … eh … it depends on ze family, sir.”
“Then I absolve you of your duties, and his lordship will confirm my wishes. We may call on you for the sake of modesty if there is a public event to attend, but I think that unlikely.”
The servant’s face creased into lines of worry—evidently worrying about her own reputation if she was in proximity to such circumstances. “But, sir … it could take weeks to marry, non ?”
He thought about this for a moment, making up his mind. “I do not believe so. I believe Miss Carter and I shall take our vows immediately. Why would any gentleman wait when such a magnificent beauty hastens the … velocità ?” He glanced at Molly for a translation.
“Velocity.”
“When such a magnificent beauty hastens the velocity of one’s pulse?”
Miss Dubois frowned in what appeared to be genuine confusion. He supposed Molly was not what the upper-crust would consider a diamond of the first water, not being an English rose or a proper miss. But she was lively and attractive with a deep-seated courage that would put even hardened warriors to shame.
“Be sure to move your things, Miss Dubois. Miss Carter should have her drawing room back, so she might prepare for a wedding.”
He felt Molly bouncing on her toes, her arm hooked through his, and he suppressed a smile at her obvious excitement and led her away. Turning the corner, he glanced back to ensure that the servant had returned to her chamber and then hurried Molly to the door of his temporary bedchamber. Once they were inside, he quickly locked the door so they would not be disturbed.
“That was … splendid!” Molly exclaimed in a low voice, aware she could not alert any servants to her being in Marco’s bedchamber, and brimming with joy. “Did you mean it?”
He swung around to face her as she released his arm, the heat in his black eyes causing her to shiver as if she had contracted a fever. He reached up to cradle her chin with his hand, angling her face up so he might steal a kiss.
“Every word,” he whispered.
“You were magnificent! I have never seen Miss Dubois speechless before. She forgot herself to such a degree, she even frowned despite Lady Blackwood’s edict against emotions!”
Marco’s brow furrowed in incomprehension. But Molly did not wish to describe the late Lady Blackwood’s reign of endless stoicism. Not when there was a wedding to discuss! How strange to think she would one day fill the shoes of the dead baroness, something she had not considered in her clumsy pursuit of the fine gentleman who had captured every iota of her esteem.
“I think your companion might have just discovered that treating someone as inferior can have lasting consequences if they unexpectedly elevate their position. It pays to treat everyone with respect.”
“What made you reach a decision?” Her voice was breathless, but she was feeling overcome by the past few minutes. Listening to Marco put Claudette Dubois in her place had been pure bliss. She supposed the time of stepping on eggshells had finally passed, and she had regained her free will. Once she wed, she would never need to answer to others again. And what a husband she was gaining!
Marco stared down at her, the pad of his thumb softly caressing the line of her jaw back and forth, as if enthralled—by her!
“You. I confess that reading Simon’s notebooks helped, and I found myself intrigued by the work he had done to improve the estates. The potential that exists grew my interest. But the primary motive for considering it—was you.”
“Me?”
“You are brave and strong and clever, Molly Carter. I would have no other, mia bella . With you at my side”—he paused, running a fingertip over the curve of her cheek—“ troverò l’ingresso al paradiso ?”
She licked her lips, which had gone dry at such beautiful words. “I shall find the entrance to paradise.”
“Sì.”
Molly’s heart thumped, beating against her ribs as if to escape the confines of her earthly form as they locked gazes, and he slowly lowered his head. Their mouths fastened together, his velvet tongue delving to find hers with a growl of approval and Molly let him. Floods of sensation surged like a tidal wave to sweep down into her lower belly, where desire blossomed to make her intimate core pulse and swell with anticipation. Marco pillaged her mouth like a marauding pirate, and she wanted it. All of it. His passion unleashed.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him as if she were drowning and he was her one hope of surviving the lurching waves of desire coursing through her quivering form. He flexed in response to her touch until he yanked away to reveal his cheeks were flushed with ardor—ardor for her!
“I cannot yet claim you as my bride but … how do you say this … Dipingerò il tuo corpo con la mia lingua .”
Molly nearly swooned, not quite sure what it meant but fully prepared to learn. “I wish to paint you with my tongue?”
“Sì.”
His husky whisper made her giddy at the promise of great pleasure to be had. The growing heat between her legs swelled, bursting into flames to roar through her veins.
“When?” she squeaked in amazement.
His sculpted lips curled into a wicked smile that reached deep into the organ pounding in her chest with sweet, sweet emotions.
“Ora.”
With her brain liquefying in her befuddled head, it took a second for Molly to translate the word for … now?
“Zooks! When I awoke this morning, I did not know what mood I would find you in. Now you are suggesting—” Molly glanced to his bed that dominated the room, and fairly lost her breath at the thought of what he was proposing. After her terrifying experience the day before, she wished to begin living. To exit the cage of expectations and take hold of life with both hands.
She turned back and nodded in muted supplication.
It was all the invitation he needed as his mouth descended to possess hers again. This time, she kissed back, tangling her tongue with his as his fingers worked over her back. She vaguely realized he was unfastening her bodice, but she was far too fascinated by the smell of his shaving soap, the olive-toned smoothness of his shaven cheek, and the feel of his hard body to do more than moan and press against him in imploring turmoil. He continued to kiss her as he wordlessly stripped her of her gown, her stays, her shift while continuing to kiss and nuzzle and nip until she was a mindless puddle of raging heat.
Suddenly he pulled away, and Molly became cognizant that she was entirely naked, her clothing pooled at her feet as Marco unwound his cravat, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and shrugged out of his coat. She should have been mortified, but her attention was riveted to the masculine form being revealed. Next, he kicked off his boots to stand in his stockings. When he finally tugged his shirt from his buckskins and lifted it over his head, she gasped in awe at the flat abdomen and muscular form revealed.
She had tried to imagine what he might look like without his clothes, but because of her inexperience, it had been a hazy imagining at best. She barely had time to process such masculine perfection when he pulled her back into his embrace. Their skin came into contact as she rubbed her cheek against the crisp curls matting the expanse of his chest, her mewling escaping in throaty approval as his hands ran down her back in sweeping caresses. Molly raised her head in anticipation of a kiss, but his lips instead trailed down the slope of her breast until she felt the nerve-tingling sensation of his tongue swirling the hardened bud at the tip. She keened softly, arching back in sensuous delight. It was all the invitation he needed to stroke the delicate flesh with a flickering tongue until all thoughts had been washed away in a vortex of passion.
Reaching down, he lifted her into his powerful arms and strode over to the bed, where he lowered her onto the counterpane and joined her, coming to rest between her knees. His mouth found hers briefly before returning to lap at the turgid nipple, hard and pleading as she arched up in a mindless plea. Then he moved to the other breast which he cupped and plumped with a hot palm and fingers, lifting it to swirl his tongue again and again until the pleasure racked through her in uncontrollable waves.
Molly thought this was what he meant by painting her with his tongue, squeaking in alarm when his smoldering mouth began to descend, causing her belly to ripple in reaction until he finally arrived at the curls that shielded her womanhood.
Her eyes shot open as she suddenly realized what he had truly meant, his hot breath tickling at her crease until she was gyrating in an attempt to relieve the tingling thrill building between her legs when a large palm ran down her midriff to where his face now rested.
A blunt fingertip ran over the seam of her womanhood, causing her to jump and gasp in elated reaction. It passed again, before he slipped it between the folds and she was sure she would pass out in heady delight.
That tip discovered the very center of her pleasure, spreading her nectar as he explored with an enthralled expression. Waves of pleasure built at the sweep of his circling finger, and she found herself rising to a hitherto unknown realm when she felt his mouth descend so he could lap at her with fervent interest. The sensitive nub he had been caressing burst into flames, and she threw up her hand to bite at her fist, emitting a muffled shriek as she reached for the heavens themselves. A white flash of heat exploded throughout her entire body as she entered the paradise Marco had spoken of.
Marco groaned, rolling off her and onto his back to pant with a smug air as Molly attempted to catch her own breath. She was feeling rather smug herself, eyeing the straining falls of his buckskins—tangible evidence of his lustful passion for her.
“We need to say our vows,” he eventually declared in whispered frustration.
Molly bit her lip in aroused trepidation. If this was a prelude to their wedding night, heaven help her!