Chapter Fourteen
When Elise finally stepped from the stairwell, Marcus had to remember to breathe.
Pleasure rippled through him at seeing she had worn her hair loose.
Her creamy skin, luminous against the soft brown of the modest gown borrowed for this occasion, radiated a sensuality, which revived the memory of their earlier lovemaking.
Low bodice met high waist, emphasizing the curve of her breasts.
The dress hung loosely around her slim body, transforming her into an ethereal creature drifting toward him.
She stopped beside him and smiled at his son.
Marcus watched Kiernan's acute scrutiny of her as introductions were made.
She extended a hand as graciously as any duchess.
“Madam.” Kiernan took her hand and brought it to his lips.
Her face lit with enchantment and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief that her misgivings seemed to have evaporated.
“Why, sir,” she said, “I believe you are a heartbreaker.”
Kiernan blinked in surprise.
“You didn't tell me he was such a rogue, Marcus. I wager the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”
Marcus smiled. “Kiernan is very much his own man.”
Her expression softened. “Perhaps, but that raven's hair and those eyes…”
Memory of similar words spoken to him by her upon their first meeting stole over Marcus.
“They must be your mother's eyes.” She smiled at Kiernan.
Marcus snapped back to the present.
Cameron joined them, his raised brow testament that he had overheard the comment. Marcus looked from his son to Elise. It hadn't occurred to him she might speak of Jenna. He had never spoken to her of his wife, and she had no idea of Kiernan's sensitivity concerning his mother.
Kiernan angled his head. “You are correct, madam. I did, indeed, inherit those traits from my mother.”
“I see,” Elise nodded. “But there's more.” A corner of her mouth twitched upwards. “She imparted something of herself to you. A piece of her soul, perhaps.” Kiernan looked genuinely shaken and Elise's smile turned gentle. “It is heartening that you carry her with you.”
He looked hopelessly at his father but was doomed to find no solace there, for Marcus was as surprised as he.
“Well, now, Kiernan,” Cameron's deep voice broke in, “what do you think of your father's future bride?” He gave Kiernan a crack on the back and winked at Elise.
Marcus noted the blush that crept up her cheek and wondered at a woman who could be so bold one moment, then so reticent the next.
* * *
The following day, Father Whyte arrived. Winnie announced the priest's arrival. Had it been Marcus, Elise would have taken the sgian dubh from the wall in the great hall and put it through his heart. That would be a more merciful end than the one he would suffer if his foolishness got them married.
Father Whyte asked if all were well with the wedding arrangements. “A week is a short time to prepare a wedding feast.”
“A week?” Elise replied, then remembered Marcus saying the wedding would take place soon. He hadn't said how soon.
What if you did go through with the marriage, a quiet voice asked?
Then Price would go free, and Amelia and Steven wouldn't have recompense.
But how many more would suffer as a result of Price?
She had lost the two most important people in her life.
Now she would lose Marcus. All because of her stepfather.
But it wasn't so simple. If Marcus—or worse, someone else—discovered the truth, he would pay dearly.
In the end, Elise had seen to Father Whyte's comfort in the small abbey located on the southeast edge of Brahan Seer. Guilt piled higher at the realization that he was enthusiastic about the marriage. Why couldn't he have been one of those pinched-nose priests who believe rank shouldn't mix?
That night when Elise appeared in the great hall and started toward the kitchen, Marcus intercepted her and seated her beside him at the table.
“Winnie is expecting me.” She tried to rise.
Marcus laid a firm hand on her shoulder. “Nae. She is not.”
Elise glanced at the kitchen door.
“'Tis the way of things,” he said. “You will have duties enough after we wed.”
After we wed. Her stomach did a flip. Time was running out and she had found no answer as to how she would safely and successfully slip away unnoticed.
There remained only one answer; she had to tell Marcus she wouldn't marry him.
When all was said and done, he was a good man.
Once she demanded to be allowed to return home, he wouldn't keep her prisoner.
Kiernan seated himself beside her. She was surrounded.
Elise listened as he talked of school, friends, and the upcoming season in London.
Everything, she thought, except the one thing that must be in the forefront of his mind.
How would she respond? What would she say to this keen young man if he questioned her about her past?
Kiernan's gaze turned intense. Her heart rate accelerated.
Had she missed something in the conversation?
“I do believe,” he said, “the ton will be set on its ear by my father's new marchioness.”
“Marchioness?” Elise repeated.
Kiernan nodded.
Marchioness… Marchioness—the wife of a marquess.
Nobility, Marcus was nobility? Elise's mind raced.
What rank was a marquess? Baron, viscount, earl, marquis—marquess—she abruptly felt as though a thick fog had enveloped her brain.
If Marcus was a marquess, then Cameron—she nearly choked.
Marcus was a high nobleman, and she was an accused murderess—a wanted criminal with a bounty on her head.
“Have I said something?” Kiernan demanded in a low whisper.
Elise's attention jerked back to the young man.
“I meant no offense,” he went on. “Your forthright manner will be a breath of fresh air for London's tainted society.”
“Of course,” she responded in a whisper.
His brow furrowed in concern.
Elise shook her head. “Forgive me. The excitement of the wedding—and London…” she let her voice trail off.
Kiernan hesitated, then smiled in polite acceptance.
Supper ended. Elise waited until Marcus had joined his father and son near the hearth before slipping from the hall.
“Where are ye off to?” Winnie inquired as she hurried through the kitchen.
“I am in need of fresh air.”
Winnie gave a grunt of understanding as Elise passed out into the night. She hurried across the compound and down the lane to the abbey. Father Whyte hadn't appeared for the evening meal and she prayed he wasn't already abed.
Elise entered the chapel to find him kneeling before the candlelit altar. She stopped, intending to make a quiet retreat, but he twisted and looked at her over his shoulder. The smile on his face died when their gazes met.
“What's wrong, child?” He rose and started down the aisle toward her.
Elise hurried forward, meeting him halfway. “Father,” she said without preamble, “if I ask a question, you are obligated to tell the truth, aren't you?”
“Aye.”
“What is Marcus's rank?”
“Rank?”
“Title—rank,” she answered impatiently.
“He is the Marquess of Ashlund.”
Her heart beat faster. “What is a marquess?”
“In this case, he is the son of a duke.”
“A—” Her head reeled. “So Cameron really is a…”
“A duke,” Father Whyte confirmed.
Elise collapsed onto a pew.
“Madam!” He caught her hand and fell to his knees before her. “Are you ill?”
“My God,” she whispered. “My God.” She looked at him. “This is… no mistake?”
He looked confused.
“There's no possibility Marcus will not follow his father's footsteps?”
“Marcus is the only son. He will one day be the Duke of Ashlund.”
“My God,” she repeated. Then, abruptly looking at the priest, she said, “If I cry off, Marcus couldn't force the wedding?” Would he—could he—actually force her to stay?
“Nae,” the priest answered slowly. “He could not force you.”
“Father, can you tell me why he hid his identity from me?”
“Hid his identity? I dinna' see, exactly—” He frowned. “You knew nothing of his rank?”
She shook her head.
“But everyone knows. Perhaps he assumed you knew.”
“He cannot stop me from changing my mind about the marriage—can he? I left once before and he brought me back.”
Father Whyte looked surprised. “He is a powerful man. I hadn't considered such possibilities, but I suppose he could do almost anything.” The priest hesitated. “My child…”
Elise's heart pounded. “Good Lord, what?”
“In society's eyes, you and Marcus are married. The wedding vows are a mere formality. You have been through a proper courtship.” He didn't acknowledge her unladylike snort. “Everyone assumes—” He stopped. She frowned and he added, “That you already live as husband and wife.”
A jolt of embarrassment warmed her cheeks. She'd been a virgin when Robert married her. The possibility of intimacy outside the marriage bed hadn't occurred to her. But then, she hadn't considered the possibility of intimacy at all after Robert.
“Of course,” Father Whyte added, “if they are wrong…”
Elise laughed again, this time with bitterness. “You won't find redemption for me there, Father.”
“You needn't worry. You are to be wed. As I said, 'tis a formality.”
“A formality which carries the weight of the law.”
“True.”
“And I am free to go?” she insisted.
“Your reputation would be ruined.”
“Bah! I don't care a fig for my reputation.”
“It would be a terrible scandal for Marcus, as well.”
“Would it?” she said with asperity, but guilt surfaced amongst the anger.
A mental picture flashed of the next big headlines in the London Sunday Times, “The Duke Who Married a Murderess.” The fact it was a lie wouldn't matter.
“The announcements have already reached the papers,” Father Whyte said.
“Announcements?” Elise echoed, then said, “But of course.”
“Come,” Father Whyte's expression softened, “there has been some mistake. Marcus is a good man. Surely, you will listen to his explanation.”
“What explanation?” asked Marcus from the rear of the church.
Elise surged to her feet. “Lord Ashlund. Good of you to join us.”
* * *