Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
P ercy paced the garden. It was well past midnight, and Lady Marina hadn't appeared. It was time for him to admit the truth to himself: she wasn't coming.
In a fit of pique, Percy kicked at a pebble in a very un-duke-like manner. Why hadn't she come? Surely, she had to have felt it too, the all-encompassing energy that had pervaded the oddly magical dance they had shared. He couldn't be the only one—could he?
Percy scowled and wanted to kick the pebble again, but held back, considering that he was not a boy of six but rather a man of six and twenty. Doing it once had been all the immaturity he could reasonably allot himself for the evening.
Still, though, Lady Marina's absence rankled. Percy was not an inveterate rake by any means—of the four of his friends, Seth was the most rakish, and even he was not half as bad as some of the roués of the ton —but neither was he some blushing schoolboy. Waltzing wasn't supposed to make him feel enamored and breathless. That was a reaction meant to be restricted for sheltered debutantes who had spent their lives in the most secluded of backwater villages.
Yet, tonight, waltzing with Lady Marina…Percy had felt enamored and breathless.
It was almost certainly an aftereffect of their extremely enjoyable interlude in his bedchamber. She'd surprised him, showing up there. When was the last time a woman had surprised him? Maybe that was the crux of her appeal—the mere novelty of offering something unexpected. Yet that thought didn't sit quite as comfortably as Percy might have hoped.
Percy put his hands on his hips and glared up at the moon as if it might offer answers about beguiling and damnably intriguing young ladies. Why hadn't she come to the garden? It was a missed opportunity, is what it was. The full moon made the shadows dreamy, and the whole effect was very romantic, which was the kind of nonsense young ladies liked, was it not?
Percy ran his hands through his hair. Enough. Any more of this and he'd officially have to categorize his mood as a snit, and dukes did not have snits.
Dukes, Percy thought firmly, made plans.
His plan was this: rather than skulking around his own garden, wondering about the motives of a woman who had, for whatever reason, gotten under his skin, he was going to ask her what she was about. He was going to get firm answers.
An idea occurred to him, and a wicked grin spread across Percy's face. What was good for the gander was good for the goose, wasn't that the saying? Lady Marina had appeared at his bedchamber to have her say—maybe it was time for him to appear in her boudoir so he could speak his peace.
Oh yes, Percy thought, beginning to cross back to the house with long strides. He liked this plan quite a bit, indeed.
It had been years since Percy had tried to sneak through Haddington Estate. After all, one rarely had to bother with surreptitious movements around one's own house. But Percy had grown up here and had spent enough time as a boy attempting to slip about undetected—usually to pilfer sweets though occasionally, as he'd gotten older, to sneak out and down to the village to flirt with the barmaids at the inn—that taking up the habit now was as easy as putting on an old, well-worn coat. His feet were silent as he avoided the creaky third stair on the west staircase and slipped down the carpeting of the guest wing. When he approached Lady Marina's door, he felt a surge of triumph at the thin band of light that crept out from under the jamb. Good—she was awake. Still, he kept his knock cautious, just in case. Besides, it was better not to attract any attention when he was on his way to what Percy fervently hoped would become an illicit liaison of a type.
"Come in," came Lady Marina's quick reply, quiet and somewhat surprised, but not sounding as though she'd been roused from slumber.
Percy slipped through the door and closed it noiselessly behind him. Lady Marina was curled up in an armchair by the banked fire, wearing her nightgown with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, bare feet tucked up underneath her. Her hair was pulled into a long, loose plait for sleeping. She looked entirely unpretentious, utterly mundane, and yet, for whatever reason, the sight of her like this sent a bolt of lust lancing through Percy. He admired her, lit softly by firelight, for the few seconds before she turned and saw it was him.
As soon as she did, she leapt to her feet, instantly on guard. It was a rather elegant jump, all told, and put Percy distinctly in mind of a startled cat. He smothered his laugh. She would almost certainly not appreciate that comparison.
"What are you doing here?" Lady Marina hissed. "You can't be in here!" Her eyes were wide with surprise, which Percy found perversely satisfying. Turnabout was fair play, after all.
"You invited me in," he said, knowing his equanimous tone would drive her mad.
Indeed, she made a low, exasperated noise in the back of her throat. "I thought you were the maid!" she said.
"Does your maid often come by in the dead of night?" Percy asked.
"Not often," shot back Lady Marina. "But gentlemen never do, so that seemed even less likely."
It really was so terrible of Percy that he was pleased, down to his very core, that gentlemen did not come to Lady Marina's room. He knew she no doubt had intended him to feel ashamed of his own behavior. He did not, not in the slightest.
"Well, then," he said. "I am honored to be the first."
She scowled at him, which also pleased him in a deep, abiding way. He was even more pleased when she propped her hands on her hips in an annoyed fashion.
It wasn't just the twisted delight that Percy seemed to derive from irritating her, though of course it was that, too. But this position afforded Percy a spectacular view. Lady Marina's nightgown was a simple, conservative item made of soft white cotton. It was the kind of maidenly garment that Percy had never expected to find appealing—in his occasional liaisons, he preferred the kind of lace-trimmed nightwear that a saucy widow might don, or, better yet, no clothing at all. But when Lady Marina stood in front of the low glow of the banked fire, her well-worn nightgown turned translucent, hinting alluringly at the curves of her body.
Yes , Percy thought as he looked his fill. Coming here had been a very good idea.
Lady Marina followed the line of his gaze and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders with a truly very entertaining squawk of indignation.
"What are you even doing here?" she asked, shuffling away from the fire so her form was in the shadows. Pity, that. "You absolutely cannot be here."
"You never came to the garden," Percy said, giving her a playfully wounded look, which made her sigh as if seeking patience. God, it was fun to wind her up. He couldn't remember ever having fun with a woman like this before. Usually his flirtations—or seductions, if things went that far—were more businesslike, more about a mutually beneficial arrangement of pleasure.
"Some men," Lady Marina said dryly, "would take that hint." She'd retrieved her dressing gown from where it had been draped over a chaise and wrapped it around herself. Percy watched that oddly beguiling white nightgown disappear with a pang of disappointment.
"Most men lack conviction," said Percy cheerfully. "Fortunately for you, I am not one of them."
"Oh, yes," drawled Marina. "I feel most blessed in that regard." Then, however, her expression grew serious. She bit her lip, which made Percy think about her mouth, which made it hard to listen to what she was saying instead of thinking about kissing her, but he persevered. "Truly, though, Your Grace, you can't be here. My cousin thinks there's something going on between us."
"There is something going on between us," Percy said. "Also, for the love of God, don't Your Grace me while we're having an illicit rendezvous. It ruins the mood."
Lady Marina rolled her eyes so grandly that even in the dim lighting, Percy could make it out easily. "My cousin, who is insisting that I marry within the year, thinks there is something between us, Your Grace ," she said with emphasis. "He thinks I should use your supposed…attraction in order to lure you to the altar." She frowned. "Or trap. I do believe he implied that I should attempt to trap you."
Her expression was so serious, her brow furrowed and mouth pursed. Percy was just the tiniest bit charmed by it. "That's why you didn't come meet me?" Handily, this explanation also satisfied his pride.
"Yes!" Lady Marina exclaimed, then quieted her voice again, seeming to recall the need for discretion. "Yes. I mean, we cannot continue this—this—whatever it is we're doing. We couldn't before, and we certainly can't now. That's what I was coming to tell you. But then Martin cornered me and told me to, oh, I don't know, ensnare you, so obviously he had been watching, so I couldn't slip off to the garden, because what if he was watching again?"
This little speech was somewhat less well-refined than the one she'd given this afternoon, and something about the anxious way that Lady Marina was stumbling over her words made something about her language register.
Her cousin was insisting she marry. He had cornered her. He was watching her. Clearly, she was being pressured, was under some form of duress. Yet despite that pressure, she hadn't tried to lure him into a position that would allow her or her cousin to press for marriage. Instead, she'd told him the truth almost immediately.
Looking at her now, Percy didn't think she only seemed cross. She seemed a little bit scared, as well. Suddenly Percy felt as serious as Lady Marina looked.
"Marina," he said, keeping his voice level and calm. "Take a deep breath." He paused while she did, then offered her a reassuring smile. "You don't need to worry about me—I promise you that the only way I will marry is if I want to do so. Do you understand?" Marina still looked somewhat doubtful, but she nodded. "Good," Percy said, taking a step closer to her. "I am, however, a bit worried about you—do you need me to have words with your cousin?"
He wanted to wipe that fretful look from her face. He did not succeed.
"No!" burst out Marina. "God, no," she whispered urgently. "That is absolutely the worst thing you could do. If you speak with him, he'll think I told you what he said—"
"You did tell me what he said."
"—and he'll take that as a confirmation that there is something going on between us—"
"Again, there actually is."
"—and then he'll become even more insistent that we wed!"
As they'd spoken, Percy had taken slow steps forward and now he was within reach of her. He took her hand in his. "Marina," he said, once more forsaking her title. "Packley can't do anything to us."
The look she gave him was frankly pitying. "No," she corrected. "He can't do anything to you ."
That was…distressingly true. Percy frowned to himself and ran his thumb over the backs of Marina's knuckles. Her breath hitched just the slightest bit, offering confirmation that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And he wanted her quite desperately.
The reminder of the ways in which her situation was that much more precarious than his should have served as a good enough reason for him to retreat. The very mention of matrimony, no matter that Lady Marina wasn't being honest about her situation, should have sent Percy running for the hills. It should have served as just one more reason that men like him oughtn't interfere with unmarried ladies.
Instead, though, he felt the urge to protect her by drawing her close instead of by pushing her away. He didn't need the complication, he didn't need the trouble, he didn't need the chaos that would almost certainly ensue. Still, he didn't let her go.
"I'll protect you," he said, kissing the back of her hand.
She sighed and leaned her body in towards him, not enough to touch, but close enough that he could just detect the soft floral scent of the soap she'd used to wash her hair.
"You can't," she said softly, sounding regretful. "You can't protect me from the kind of gossip that would ensue if I were caught with a man in my bedchamber. Nothing can keep that kind of ruin in check."
Something can , Percy thought, his mind offering the possibility before he could stop it. But no, no. He was not prepared to think of the one, very permanent way a man could protect a lady whose reputation had been compromised.
"We won't get caught," he said instead. A strand of hair had come loose from her plait; Percy wound it around his finger. Soft, so soft. He wanted to know how soft the rest of her was, wanted to caress her skin, wanted to plunder her mouth with his.
She sighed again, the movement bringing her closer. "Your Grace," she said.
"Percy," he insisted. "Call me Percy."
It seemed, suddenly, of the utmost importance that she do so. He didn't know why. His previous paramours had used his title—Haddington—to denote their familiarity. He could not abide it if Marina did the same.
"Percy," she said. It sounded twice as good as he'd thought it would—at least twice as good. "It's not that I don't want to. I am looking out for you, as well—"
Percy took two swift steps forward as he placed a hand on Marina's waist, guiding her until her back was pressed against the post of the bed. It's not that I don't want to . She wanted it, too. She'd said it. All her practical considerations fell away at the articulation of that want .
"You want me," he said. It was half statement, half question. He wanted to hear her say it again. He needed to hear her say it again. Needed to hear her say that she wanted him , Percy, not a possible connection to a duke. The realization was jarring. How long had it been since Percy had wished to feel separate from his title? He brought a hand to her face.
"Say it, Marina."
She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, just for a moment, her expression torn between torment and pleasure. "Lord knows why," she muttered, half to herself. "But yes, I do."
Something awakened in Percy, something hungry and protective. "Well then, my lovely," he said, moving his hand from her face down, over the stubborn jut of her jaw and along the curve of her slender throat, keeping his touch light, teasing.
"I must insist that you stop trying to protect me. I can care for myself, you know; I'm a man, full grown. But I do wonder—" He slipped his hand down further, not quite approaching the curve of her breast, but close enough to make her think of it. He toyed with the end of her plait, tied with a scrap of flannel. "When is the last time someone took care of you?"