Page 43 of Tempting the Marquess

Chapter8

“Damn and blast!”

Biting her lip, Samantha surveyed the three-inch gash she’d just made in the back of her bedchamber chair. It seemed that some early morning knife-throwing practice would not help her nerves after all. Usually she could hit the center of a cushion at forty paces, but at the moment, Westminster might be too small a target.

William had been gone just four days, and she couldn’t bearit.

How the wives and parents and families of soldiers did this every day, she didn’t know. They were certainly braver and far more stoic than she. Not knowing exactly where William was, if the guards around him were the very best, if he’d even found Colonel Lord Langley, consumed her days. At night, her dreams were feverish as she remembered the ecstasies of their night together in his bedchamber.

Not for a moment, especially after her first lackluster experience with a man, could she ever have imagined passion to feel like that. It hadn’t just been good, it had been cataclysmic. The way he’d kissed her. Touched her. Teased and sucked and taken her. Each time had somehow been better and more intense. Especially the last one. Lord above, the wicked things he’d whispered in her ear, and the shockingly intoxicating pleasure-pain when he’d stretched her inner walls with his hugely swollen cock at that different angle. It had been so erotic, and as she’d screamed herself hoarse into her pillow, almost too much. Fortunately, he’d at last been spent, and after removing the sponge from her sore and sensitive core, William had been so gentle with her, holding her close and stroking herhair.

And he’d asked her to wait forhim.

As always, that odd mix of joy and doubt twisted her stomach, and Samantha paced the room, unable to be still. As she well knew from past experience, words meant little. Even from a man of honor like William. Asking her to wait and avoid other men wasn’t the same as proposing. And even though his staff had treated her with rather astonishing respect and cordiality the following morning as they’d fetched her a hot bath and brand-new clothing and breakfast, then sent her on her way in an unmarked carriage to protect her privacy, they probably weren’t expecting to ever see her again.

A knock sounded. “Lady Samantha, breakfast is ready downstairs. I think his lordship will join you in a bit, but her ladyship is stillabed.”

“Thank you,” she called back through the door to themaid.

She wasn’t really hungry at all; in fact, eating had been a chore since William had gone. But spending an hour with her father had become quite a pleasant activity.

Tugging on her favorite comfortable slippers, she then smoothed her lemon-striped day dress, and made her way to the dining room. Ugh. On another day her stomach would have been growling in delight at the display of coddled eggs and bacon and toasted bread with preserves, but today it made her nauseous.

After staring at the warming trays for a long moment, she finally selected a single rasher of bacon and a slice of toast and currant jam, and took her plate to the table.

“What a tiny helping, m’dear. Food not to your liking? Do I need to have a stern word withCook?”

She smiled as her father entered the dining room, his cravat askew, waistcoat buttoned incorrectly and the beginnings of a brandy flush already tinting his cheeks. “Good morning, Papa. No, no, I’m just not so hungry today.”

“Ah, I know what the problem is. Hint of nerves before an outing with young Standish, eh? Excellent prospects there, what a clever girl you are. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if you brought him up to scratch, even.”

Samantha burst into tears.

Giving her an appalled look, her father ambled closer and instead of sitting at the head of the table, he sat down beside her. “Here now, what are the tears for?” he said, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. “Did the two of you have a spat? Never mind, he’ll come around.”

“No, it is much worse,” she said, sniffling, “Oh, Papa, I don’t know what todo.”

The earl scratched his head, then leaned across to the sideboard for his ever-present brandy bottle. He splashed a generous portion into her tea cup, but the sight of the curdling beverage made her stomach rebel further, and she swiftly pressed a napkin to her mouth to quell her churning stomach.

“I think it best that you tell me everything, Samantha. At once. Don’t like seeing you like this. Not one littlebit.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” he asked softly. “Of all the people in the world, I am the one you can trust. And I’m not at all shockable. Seen it all in my life, indeed Ihave.”

She managed a watery smile. “I know, Papa. But if I say…you mustn’t tell anyone. Not any of your friends, even Mother. Swearit.”

“This sounds serious,” said Claremont, and he took a swig of brandy straight from the bottle.

“Swear.”

“Of course, m’dear. Now tell me before my buttons pop. I’m not wearing the right waistcoat for long-winded confessions today.”

Samantha took a deep breath. Even with her father it felt wrong to say anything, but if she didn’t tell someone, she would be in Bedlam before the week was out. “Lord Standish has gone to France.”

“France? Why the devil would he go there? People doing all sorts of silly things. In my opinion, there is only one reason to go to France, and that is to restock your cellar, but there are gents who will bring it right to your door, so no reason at all really.”

“He’s gone on a special mission. To bring home Colonel Lord Robert Langley, you know, the Duke of Southby’s brother. The colonel was wounded in Paris!”