M Is for Marquess Read online

“No, Emma.” Thea’s lungs constricted at the notion. “You promised you wouldn’t interfere. Please don’t make me regret sharing my feelings with you—feelings which have faded, I assure you.”

  The last part was a lie but better than the alternative. Of all her siblings, Thea felt closest to Emma, who was older by just a year. But Em had a tendency to think that she knew best for everyone and, as a result, could be a bit managing.

  Em gnawed on her lower lip. “I’m still convinced that the marquess was interested in you. For months, he was so attentive. I don’t understand his sudden departure.”

  Though her habit was to confide in her sister, Thea had kept one secret to herself: the kiss she’d shared with Tremont. After all, what woman wanted to divulge that she’d wantonly thrown herself into a gentleman’s arms, experienced moments of heavenly pleasure… only to be summarily rebuffed?

  Trying for an offhanded tone, she said, “Perhaps he had things to attend to at his estate.”

  “But to leave in the middle of the Season? And without a word to anyone? After the time he spent in your company,” Emma said with an indignant huff, “he could have at least sent a note.”

  Her sister did have a point. Since last Season, Tremont had been paying respects to Thea. Nothing that would raise eyebrows, just the occasional dance or turn around the ballroom. She’d found herself drawn to the enigmatic widower. Not merely because he was attractive—which he certainly was with his classical features and virile physique—but because she sensed in him a kindred spirit.

  On the surface, he was the perfect gentleman—The Angel, as the ton liked to call him. He didn’t gamble, drink much, or indulge in the other excesses common to men of his station. His manner was polite to the point of being devoid of any emotion. He favored austere fashions, his crisp cravat and gleaming boots as spotless as his reputation.

  Yet beneath all that masculine restraint, she sensed passion, potent and yearning.

  She’d never forget his first words to her. She’d just finished performing her favorite piano sonata at Emma’s engagement party, and guests had approached to offer accolades on her playing. The last in line had been a tall, broad-shouldered stranger. He’d looked to be in his mid-thirties, a man in his prime. The chandelier had glinted off the gold in his hair, cast shadows over a face of stark male beauty.

  “It began like a gentle rain,” he’d said, his deep voice lifting the hairs on her skin, “and ended like a thunderstorm. Thank you for reminding me of the human spirit. Of its passion and folly, its ability to endure.”

  Breathless awareness had gripped her. The fibers of her being tautened, quivering with the readiness of an instrument about to be plucked. A feeling she’d waited a lifetime for.

  Mesmerized by the intensity of his slate grey eyes, she’d whispered, “Thank you… um, who are you?”

  His slow, self-deprecating smile devastated her senses. “My manners aren’t usually this shoddy. Forgive me. Gabriel Ridgley, Marquess of Tremont, at your service.”

  And so her feverish infatuation had begun.

  For his part, he’d never actively encouraged her attachment, nor had he discouraged it. They’d talked, danced, strolled in the garden, all of it properly chaperoned. All of it friendly and polite. At times, she’d thought that they were about to turn a corner—that he might declare his feelings—only to have him withdraw, his eyes opaque as steel. As cool and impassive.

  Finally, she hadn’t been able to stand it any longer. For the first time in her life, she’d acted recklessly. She’d grabbed life by the horns—and been flung aside.

  “He doesn’t owe me anything.” Then, because it had to be said, “Please don’t meddle, Em. It’ll only make matters awkward if he and I cross paths in the future.”

  “Fine. You’re better off without him, if you ask me,” her sister declared. “Tremont always struck me as a bit of a cold fish.”

  If only his kiss had been cold, then she might have forgotten him more easily. But in those few precious moments before he’d rejected her, his lips had set fire to her blood, awakening dormant yearnings. Desires that now infused her dreams, made her toss restlessly in her bed...

  “And speaking of fish, he’s not the only one in the sea. Instead of moping, you ought to make the most of the remaining Season. Meet potential suitors. You’ve been so preoccupied with that blasted Tremont that you haven’t noticed anyone else.”

  Actually, Thea had noticed the handful of gentlemen who’d shown her attention… who might have even courted her, had she encouraged them. They were all substantially older than she was, widowers with heirs securely in place. Men who could afford to take on a fragile wife to be a companion in their dotage or an ornament in their drawing room. Men who would peck her on the cheek, pat her head, and send her off to her separate bedchamber.

  Men who didn’t understand her at all.

  Yet the one man who did—who’d seemed to see to the vital, pulsing heart of her desires—didn’t want her. For weeks, the reasons for Tremont’s rejection kept her mind spinning like a top. Was it because her constitution seemed too weak? Was she too old? Not pretty enough? Perhaps it had been her kiss—too brazen or too inexperienced?

  Or maybe he’d never reciprocated her feelings at all. Maybe he’d seen her only as a platonic companion. Maybe his heart still belonged to Lady Sylvia, his departed wife whom everyone said had been a paragon of virtue…

  Stop it, Thea told herself firmly. The answer lay as out of reach as a mirage. Which meant she must cease obsessing over it or she would be driven to Bedlam.

  “If I meet anyone of interest, you will be the first to know.” She gave her sister a pleading look. “Now can we please drop the subject?”

  Emma huffed out a breath. “I only pester because I care, you know.”

  “I know.” Drawing her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, Thea forced a smile. “We’d better catch up to the girls.” By the camel house, two bold dandies were bowing before Rosie. “They’re getting more attention than the menagerie.”

  “That’s Quality for you,” Emma said, sighing. “They’re here to watch each other not the animals.”

  A lady sporting a full plumage of peacock feathers in her hat strolled by.

  Thea murmured, “How can you tell the difference?”

  Her sister laughed, dispelling any lingering tension.

  The next hour passed quickly given the distractions of the various displays. They met up with Strathaven and Violet, the latter chomping at the bit to see the kangaroos. The other girls wanted to go too; feeling the familiar fatigue creep over her like fog over the Thames, Thea scanned the bustling environs for a bench and proposed to wait there.

  “I’ll stay with you,” Emma said.

  “No, go and enjoy yourself. I’d like a few moments of quiet. Truly I would.”

  Emma looked ready to argue, but Strathaven put an arm around her waist. “Don’t fuss, love. Let Dorothea enjoy a respite from the mayhem. We won’t be gone long.”

  Thea gave her brother-in-law a grateful look.

  With a wink, he led Emma and the others away.

  Thea made her way to the seat. But a pair of ladies beat her to it, forcing her to look for another. She spied one in the distance; away from the main walk, the bench was set by a sparkling pond, partially hidden by a cluster of trees. Lured by the promise of solitude, she headed over.

  A few minutes later, she sat in the enveloping shade. The leaf-scented coolness was a balm to her senses, and she smiled at the frolics of the water fowl honking and flapping their wings, splashing diamonds across the water’s surface. Just as she began to relax, a boy’s voice cut through the calm.

  “Please, Mademoiselle Fournier, I cannot keep up.”

  “You do not wish to miss the feeding of the bears, do you?” The female voice bore a crisp French accent. “You must hurry, or we will miss it.”

  Shading her eyes, Thea spotted the pair: a small, tawny-haired boy, simply and expensively dressed, le
d by the arm by a woman whose drab gown and bonnet pronounced her as his governess. They were on the other side of the pond, heading toward the trees along the perimeter of the gardens.

  The child dug in his heels. “I do not think that this is the way to the bears. And what about Papa? He said he would be right back—”

  “Your papa will find us. You must listen to me. Allons-y.”

  The governess yanked impatiently at her charge’s arm, and the boy whimpered, “Stop, please, you’re hurting me!”

  Thea found herself on her feet, dashing over. “Pardon,” she said between breaths, “what is going on?”

  The governess’ head whipped in her direction. The woman was in her twenties, exceptionally pretty, with even features and a slim figure. Her dark shrewd eyes roved over Thea, and her expression smoothed like a sheet over a bed.

  “Nothing to concern you, mademoiselle,” she said.

  “Your treatment of this child concerns me.” Thea turned to the boy, whose blue-grey eyes took up much of his thin face. Freckles stood out against the paleness of his skin. Gentling her voice, she said, “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Y-yes, miss.”

  The boy’s quivering reply indicated that he wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot.

  “Are you being taken against your will?” she said.

  “I am his governess,” the Frenchwoman snapped. “You are interfering in business that does not concern you. Come, Frederick, we must go.”

  Thea tensed as the boy resisted, pulling against the other’s grip.

  “I want Papa,” he said, his lower lip trembling. “He told us to wait whilst he went to purchase tickets for the camel rides.”

  “We are leaving now.” The governess twisted his arm, and he cried out.

  “Stop hurting him!” With a desperate lunge, Thea grabbed onto the governess’ arm, managing to shake the other’s grip off the boy. She pushed the child behind her, shielding him as best she could.

  Desperation lit the Frenchwoman’s eyes. She shoved her hand into the side of her skirts, removing a glinting object. Stunned, Thea found herself staring at the barrel of a small pistol.

  “Give him to me,” the governess said.

  Thea could feel the child shaking behind her skirts—or was it her own limbs quivering?

  “You’ll have to shoot me first.” She hated how winded she sounded, the shortness of her breath. Keep calm, breathe slowly … “If that pistol goes off, everyone will hear,” she managed. “You won’t get away.”

  The woman leveled her weapon. “This is your last warning—”

  “Frederick!” The masculine roar came from a distance. “Where are you?”

  “Papa!” the boy shouted. “Over here!”

  Thea kept her gaze on the governess. Panic flared in the other’s dark eyes, her knuckles bone-white against the gun. Thea braced, her heart thudding in her ears—

  The governess turned and raced toward the trees. Dazed, Thea stared after the retreating figure. Something white fluttered from the dark skirts, landing on the grass, but the woman took no notice. She continued running, reaching the copse at the perimeter of the gardens and vanishing into the dense brush.

  Thea took the few steps over to the fallen object. Bent to pick it up. It was an ordinary white handkerchief, the initials “M. F.” embroidered prominently at the center.

  “Frederick! Are you all right?”

  At the familiar deep male voice, Thea jerked around. Her disordered breath hitched further. Tremont? For an instant, their gazes locked; she saw her own shock reflected in those tempestuous grey depths.

  Then he looked back to the boy. Was that… his son?

  “I’m fine, Papa,” Frederick said in a trembling voice.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” The marquess’ features set into foreboding lines. “I told you to stay put. Where’s Mademoiselle Fournier?”

  “She wanted m-me to see the bears. I didn’t want to.” Frederick’s eyes welled.

  Coming to her senses, Thea blurted, “It wasn’t his fault. The governess was trying to abduct him. She had a pistol.”

  “What?” Tremont’s voice turned dangerously hushed.

  “She ran off in that direction.” Thea pointed toward the trees—and realized she still held the governess’ handkerchief. “She dropped this.”

  He took it from her, his jaw tightening. His muscles bunched beneath the blue superfine of his jacket. “Stay here with Frederick,” he said tersely. “I’ll take a look—”

  “Papa, I don’t feel well…”

  Thea’s gaze flew to Frederick. An alarming flush had crept over the boy’s face. He weaved unsteadily on his feet, and Tremont caught him before he hit the ground. Cradled in his father’s arms, the boy gasped, his head turning to one side, eyes rolling back in his head. His thin limbs began to shake.

  Chapter Three

  “Hang in there.” Gabriel walled off his inner chaos, keeping his voice calm and steady even though he knew his son couldn’t hear him. He held on tightly to Freddy’s small, jerking body. “It’ll be over soon, I promise.”

  “What can I do?” Thea’s gentle voice reached him. She’d knelt on Freddy’s other side. Beneath the brim of her bonnet, her hazel eyes were bright with worry.

  “There’s nothing to do but wait,” Gabriel said tersely.

  Silently, she kept vigil with him, holding Freddy’s hand. His thudding pulse measured the passing seconds. This fit is lasting too long. Why the devil hasn’t it stopped?

  An eternity dragged by before the shaking finally ceased.

  “P-papa?” Freddy mumbled, his lashes fluttering.

  Relief scalded Gabriel’s insides. “I’m here. Rest. You’ve had another spell.”

  A feeble moan broke from Freddy’s lips, his chest rising and falling on shallow breaths.

  “Thea! We’ve been looking all over—Lord Tremont?” The Duchess of Strathaven approached, followed by her husband and sisters. Her gaze landed on Freddy’s prone figure. “Heavens, what is going on?”

  “This is Lord Frederick, Tremont’s son. He isn’t feeling well,” Thea said, her manner blessedly discreet. “We must get him to safety as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll get the carriage.” Strathaven paused, frowning. “Tremont, when did you return to Town? Where are you staying?”

  To fund much-needed improvements to his country estate, Gabriel had sold his townhouse in London a while back. Strathaven, being his business partner and friend, knew about his financial circumstances. In fact, it was thanks to the duke’s brilliant investment schemes that Gabriel had made significant strides toward recovering his fortune in the last year.

  “I’ve taken rooms at Mivart’s. We were only to stay for the weekend.” His chest tightened. “It is Frederick’s birthday, you see, and he wanted to see the gardens.”

  “A hotel’s no place for a convalescence. You’ll come stay with us.” Strathaven’s ducal tone brooked no refusal. “I’ll send for my personal physician to see to your boy.”

  “I don’t wish to inconvenience—”

  To Gabriel’s consternation, Strathaven’s broad back was already fading into the distance.

  “Don’t mind him. His Grace likes to have the last word,” the duchess said.

  “I’m s-sorry to cause trouble,” Freddy said. “Please don’t be angry, Papa.”

  “I am not angry.” Not at you.

  Thea smiled, giving his son’s hand a squeeze. “It’s no trouble at all. In fact, we would welcome the company.”

  “I’m not much company, miss,” Freddy mumbled.

  The forlorn admission made Gabriel want to punch something. It was damnably true. Frederick’s affliction made him unable to tolerate stimulation of any kind. When Sylvia had been alive, she’d made sure that their son remained in secluded and tranquil environments, keeping him safe from the world.

  Yet Gabriel had exposed the boy to danger by bringing him to a public place—and by failing to prote
ct him. Anger blazed as he thought of Mademoiselle Fournier. Why had the governess tried to kidnap his son? Possibilities proliferated… he pushed them aside.

  Time to hunt the bitch down later. Get Freddy to safety first.

  “Well, it is difficult to be good company when one hasn’t been properly introduced.” Thea was smiling at Frederick. “I’m Dorothea Kent.”

  Christ, three months away from her and nothing has changed, Gabriel thought savagely. Just the sound of her voice, one bloody glance at her coral pink lips and shining hair, and he was filled with need. With the desire to do unspeakable things to her. To possess her completely.

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Kent,” Freddy said shyly.

  “Would you like to meet the rest of my family?” she asked.

  Freddy gave a tentative nod. As she introduced her sisters and niece, the poor lad blushed, stammering out his hellos. One could hardly blame him. It required all of Gabriel’s discipline to keep his gaze vigilantly scanning the field for signs of threat. Even so, his senses hungrily absorbed Thea. Her honeysuckle scent curled into his nostrils, unleashing a ravening need.

  The potent mix of danger and desire made him ready to fight, to fuck. For him, those base urges had always been two sides of the same coin, feeding off one another. When her gaze met his, softly inquiring, lust punched him in the gut.

  Strathaven arrived soon thereafter with a spacious equipage, and they all bundled aboard, Gabriel carrying his son. Thea took the seat beside him. At every dip in the road, her body brushed with innocent sensuality against his, and he clenched his jaw against the sweet torture.

  It’s not going to happen, you bastard. Get used to that fact.

  Once, pursued by enemies through the crooked streets of Marseilles, he’d taken to the rooftops, leaping from one tiled surface to another. On the last jump, he’d nearly missed. The same sensations assailed him now. The desperate bid to regain balance, the instinct to hold on. The need to resist a greater force—because you knew what would happen if you didn’t.

  ***

  Tremont paced before the fireplace like a caged lion. To Thea, who watched him discreetly from a nearby curricle chair, the plush green and gold backdrop of the sitting room furthered the illusion of him being some exotic beast of prey prowling jungle territory, his muscles sleek and rippling beneath his coat. Seated on an adjacent settee, Emma and Strathaven made attempts at conversation as they all waited for Dr. Abernathy to finish the examination of Lord Frederick.