AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There just wasn’t any comparison. She could not bear the thought of seeing Marcus married to someone else when she could have been married to him herself.
‘And we have to be aware of the fact that, since you don’t take the pill and I haven’t been using any form of contraception, you might already have conceived my child,’ Marcus reminded her. ‘I know how much you love children, Lucy, but I don’t think you’d want to be a single mother—and I certainly wouldn’t allow you to bring up my child without me being a part of its life. It would be far more practical for us to get married.’
Practical! She didn’t want practical. She wanted undying love, and promises that she would be showered with kisses day and night.
But Marcus didn’t love her, Lucy reminded herself sternly. Just as Nick hadn’t loved her—and look what had happened there.
She couldn’t marry him. And she couldn’t not marry him.
She hadn’t loved Nick, had she? But she did love Marcus—and besides, Marcus was a completely different man from Nick. Marcus had stated unequivocally that their marriage would be a permanent commitment, and that meant it would be exactly that. And she wanted that. She wanted it so very badly. She wanted to wake up every morning in a bed she shared with him, she wanted to conceive his children, and she wanted to grow old with him.
Love could grow, couldn’t it? And Marcus did want her. Unlike Nick, Marcus wanted to have sex with her. Unlike Nick, Marcus enjoyed having sex with her—he had said so.
‘Marcus, if we were to…to become a couple, don’t you think that people might think it rather odd and ask questions?’
‘Why should they? And if they do I shall simply tell them that I had always planned to marry you, and that since Blayne beat me to it first time round I’m making sure I don’t lose you to anyone else.’
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. If only that was the truth.
‘So, are you willing to accept my proposal? I promise you that I think a marriage between us will work very well, Lucy, and I shall certainly do everything within my power to ensure that it does.’
‘I don’t know. I’m so confused…’
Marcus sounded more as though he were chairing a business meeting than proposing to her. But then to him no doubt their marriage was a kind of business arrangement, she thought sadly.
‘Perhaps I should take you back to bed,’ Marcus murmured softly. ‘That might help make up your mind.’
Her insides melted, then somehow she was nodding her head, and Marcus was saying coolly, ‘Good, so it’s agreed, then. We won’t say anything official until I’ve had a chance to speak to your father—and besides, I’d prefer us to wait until we return to London to choose your ring. There is a family betrothal ring—so astoundingly ugly, according to my mother, that she threatened not to marry my father unless he allowed her to choose something for herself—but personally, I think that for an engaged couple to opt for a ring of their own choosing invests it with something more personal and shared than the passing-down of a family ring—’
‘I agree with you.’ Lucy stopped him dizzily. Was this really happening? Was she really sitting here over breakfast with Marcus, talking about their marriage and her engagement ring, having just spent a wonderful night in bed with him?
‘We’re virtually in October now,’ Marcus continued. ‘My birthday is in early December, so I’d like to be married before the end of November if possible. Just a small affair—if that’s all right with you?’
‘Oh, yes. Of course. A simple register office ceremony…’
‘No.’ Marcus shook his head, silencing her. ‘No, I’d prefer a church service, Lucy. After all, I think we’re both agreed that we are making a lifetime commitment to one another—I certainly view our marriage as a permanent commitment. Since you and Blayne didn’t marry in church, there is, in my opinion, no moral or legal reason why we should not do so. And even if the actual wedding has to be in a register office I’d like a church blessing, if possible. I imagine the Brompton Oratory would be the best choice. You’ll want to be married from your parents’ London home, and since that is in Knightsbridge…’
Lucy stared at him. The Oratory was the church of choice for lots of society brides and their mothers, and very grand.
Marcus was looking at his watch.
‘It’s nearly eleven now, and we’re meeting Beatrice at twelve-thirty in Palma to have lunch with her. So that only leaves us half an hour to get ready—besides which, I’d better give her a ring and remind her. She’s got possibly the worst memory of anyone I know.’
They both stood up, and then on some impulse she didn’t want to investigate too closely Lucy put her hand on Marcus’s arm and tugged at the sleeve of his robe, so that he bent his head towards her. Raising herself up on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his and kissed him softly.
She could feel the rigidity of his muscles, and her face burned as she released him and stepped back from him.
Marcus watched her through narrowed eyes. It was one thing for her to want him, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about the intensity with which he wanted her back. It would suit his purposes very nicely for her to lose control in his arms, but he certainly did not want his own self-control to be breached—and he didn’t like having to admit that it could be—especially not by Lucy.
Even so, he couldn’t afford to risk alienating her at this stage by appearing to reject her.
Lucy exhaled in shock as Marcus reached for her and drew her back into his arms.
How and when had Marcus’s hands slipped inside her robe to her naked skin? she wondered blissfully, when she suddenly realised that the sensation of his mouth on hers wasn’t the only sensual pleasure she was experiencing.
Instinctively she moved closer to him, and discovered to her delight that he was aroused and hard. She made a small sound of female pleasure and approval as she pressed even closer—and then reluctantly she remembered Beatrice.
‘You said we should get ready to meet your sister,’ she reminded him, the words semi-mumbled beneath the increasing passion of his kiss.
‘To hell with Beatrice,’ she heard him respond thickly, but he started to release her, giving her one last hard kiss as he did so, acknowledging, ‘Yes, you’re right. We’d better make a move.’
She was going to marry Marcus. She still couldn’t take it in.
They had arrived in Palma five minutes earlier, having been driven there by the hotel’s chauffeur service.
‘I thought we’d be going to Beatrice’s villa to discuss the party,’ Lucy commented.
‘Beatrice suggested we meet up for lunch instead,’ Marcus answered. ‘The restaurant’s just down here.’
Lucy knew Palma quite well, and the restaurant in front of them was one that was patronised by wealthy locals and visitors alike. Knowing how elegantly and expensively Marcus’s elder sister dressed, Lucy had decided to wear something a little bit more formal than she would normally have chosen—and now that she had seen where they were to have lunch she was glad of that fact. Her linen skirt with its row of pretty eyelet details just above the hem, teamed with a white strappy top worn under a crunchy cotton-linen asymmetrically styled cardigan-type jacket, had been a good choice; virtually every other woman in the restaurant seemed to be wearing a combination of very stylish linens and cottons, in that smart way that continental women seemed to be able to adopt so easily.
‘Beatrice obviously hasn’t arrived yet, but we may as well go straight to our table and wait for her there—unless you want a drink in the bar first?’ Marcus suggested.
‘No, let’s go straight to the table,’ Lucy told him. She didn’t want him thinking that she couldn’t get through half a day without an alcoholic drink, especially when it wasn’t true. Coffee, now—well, that was different.
They had been waiting for about five minutes when the restaurant door opened and Marcus’s sister came hurrying in. Tall and dark-haired, like Marcus, she was wearing black linen pants and an oatmeal-
coloured cotton top, her hair drawn back off her face, her large Oliver’s People sunglasses perched on top of her head.
‘Marcus!’ she exclaimed as she hurried over and kissed him. ‘I am so sorry I’m late. And Lucy—how very kind of you to give up your time like this.’
‘We haven’t ordered anything yet, Bea. Would you like something to drink?’ Marcus asked, as the waiter drew out her chair for her.
‘Oh, yes—a spritzer, please. I’m driving. That’s why I was late. I couldn’t find anywhere to park. What’s the weather like at home? When I spoke to Mother the other day she said it was raining. I’m going to have to stay out here until half term, and the wretched plumber says now that he can’t get the tiles we ordered, which means that when Boffy and Izzy come out for their half term break we’ll only have one bathroom.’
Lucy already knew that—contrary to her rather formidable appearance—Beatrice was something of a ‘dizzy brunette’, but it still bemused her to hear Beatrice expressing such sentiments when the only reason Lucy was here was so that they could talk about George’s surprise birthday party without him knowing.
‘I can definitely recommend the food here, Lucy,’ Beatrice told her. ‘Especially the fish. Although perhaps not the bouillabaisse—it is rather an acquired taste.’
The menus arrived, and while Marcus and Beatrice talked, or rather Beatrice talked and Marcus listened, Lucy studied hers.
‘Have you had any thoughts about George’s party, Beatrice?’ Lucy asked, once the waiter had taken their orders.
‘What? Oh, not really. George wants something small—just a few family and friends. He has this thing about castles, and he did wonder if we might hire one somewhere. What do you think?’
‘Well, that’s certainly possible,’ Lucy agreed, mentally rolling her eyes.
Their food had arrived, and Lucy eyed her plate hungrily. It must be all the sex she was having that was giving her such a good appetite, she decided, and then went bright red as the thought of sex and appetite somehow led to thoughts of those two elements combined together, and all the ways that Marcus might satisfy her hunger for him.
‘Goodness, Lucy, you look quite flushed. Are you all right? It is warm in here. I think we can talk more about George’s party once I’m back in London. After all, I’ve got until next year, and right now these wretched workmen have got me in such a state I can’t think about anything else.’
