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‘That will not be necessary, thank you. And there is no need to wait up for my return. I am quite capable of unsaddling Tempest and I would not keep you from your bed.’
‘Yes, my lady, thank you.’
Marissa walked the mare quietly across the cobbles and past the front of the Dower House. It would never do to wake Jane. Once they were through the wood she eased out the reins and Tempest, with a toss of her head, settled into a canter that sent the wind through her long mane. The cloak flew out behind Marissa and she shook her hair free to catch the wind too. It felt as though she and the horse were one, flying over the moonlit turf of the parkland, cutting diagonally across the front of Southwood Hall. The big house lay silent and still, lit only by the dim lights of the watchman’s lanterns.
In the master bedroom Marcus lay, hands behind his head, and gazed up at the plaster moulding of the ceiling overhead. He hadn’t moved for the last half hour and he was restless, yet unable to either get up or settle. Sleep was eluding him for some reason and he found his mind turning again to the thought of Marissa, cold and angry, so very attractive in the clinging riding habit.
He grinned ruefully to himself, reflecting that enforced celibacy was doing nothing for his equilibrium. He and Diane had amicably ended their liaison over two years ago and since then there had been a number of charming entanglements of which, thankfully, his sister knew nothing. But those too had ended when he had left Jamaica and the provocative presence of Marissa only served to highlight his lack of intimate female companionship.
It was no good, he had to get up and do some work. There were some suitably soporific estate accounts he had promised his agent he would look at. As he crossed the room he heard, faintly, the sound of hoof-beats on turf.
Poachers? Smugglers? Marcus threw back the curtains and looked out on the park, so bathed in silver light that it seemed almost as bright as day. A grey horse was cantering across his view, its mane flying. On its back was a slim figure, cloak streaming behind it, a mass of hair swept back by the breeze.
It was Marissa. There was no mistaking the rider despite, he realised with a shock, the fact that she was riding astride and clad in breeches.
‘What the devil?’ He stared at the wild creature who had Marissa’s form yet who could not, surely, be the same controlled, proper young widow who had spoken so coldly to him earlier that day. As he watched she turned the horse’s head towards the coast road and dropped her hands. The mare responded immediately, breaking into a gallop that swept them out of his sight in less than a minute.
His astonishment turned to nagging disquiet. What had prompted this wild ride? Had her despair finally over-mastered her control? He remembered again her tears in the Long Gallery, the almost too-casual way she had said she did not care where she spent her time. It obviously made no difference to the depths of her misery whether she was in Norfolk or in London; she was still in hell.
The image of that cold expanse of sea beyond the dunes was suddenly very vivid in his mind. Marcus tried to tell himself he was overreacting, but even as he told himself he was an over-imaginative fool he was tugging on breeches and boots, shrugging into a shirt.
He ran down the stairs, across the hall and out through the front door, startling
the dozing watchman as he snored in his hooded chair. Marcus pounded into the stableyard and flung open the door of the stall that housed his hunter. He had thrown the saddle over the startled animal, tightened the girth and reached for the bridle when Peters emerged, hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep.
‘My lord? What is wrong?’
‘Nothing. Go back to bed. I have a fancy to ride.’
The groom wisely refrained from commenting on either the time or his dishevelled appearance and went back up to his rooms with a muttered, ‘My lord.’
Marcus swung up into the saddle without putting his foot in the stirrup and was urging the big chestnut hunter into a canter before it had even cleared the stableyard arch. The park was empty when he reached it, but he guessed where Marissa was headed and urged the horse into a flat gallop, headlong down the driveway to the sea.
On the beach Marissa sat for a moment, breathed in the cool sea air and watched the moonlight lay a path of silver across the waves. The light breeze stirred her hair, but it was not cold. The sea would be, she knew, but it was irresistible, and so shallow, even on the rising tide, that it would be safe to swim.
She dismounted, tied Tempest to a branch and pulled off her clothes, leaving them in a heap on the cloak. The breeze caressed her naked body and she stretched luxuriously, then walked slowly down the beach, kicking the fine sand, letting it run between her bare toes.
The water struck cold but she did not hesitate, wading out, relishing the chill kiss on her heated skin. The beach shelved very gradually that even after wading several hundred yards the water did not quite reach her waist. The moon was so big, so beautiful that she held her face up to its light and just stood relishing the tranquillity, the freedom, the aloneness.
The chestnut hunter breasted the dunes at the gallop, plunging as it scrambled down the far slope. Marcus reined in hard, making it rear, unsettling Tempest who had fallen into a half-doze.
Marcus swung down, dropped the reins and scanned the expanse of sea. There she was, standing like a naiad in the moonlight. Her hair cascaded down her bare back, black against the alabaster of her skin. As he watched, transfixed, she raised her hands and lifted the mass of dark curls off her neck, exposing the whole of her naked form before letting her hair drop once more.
She was beautiful, lovely beyond the imaginings he had striven so hard to control. Her slender waist, the curve of her hip rising from the lapping waves, took his breath away. Then she moved swiftly, disappearing into the water with barely a ripple.
Urgently Marcus ripped off his shirt, tore off his boots and breeches and plunged into the water. The shallowness forced him to run, not swim, and he felt as though he were being dragged back with every stride. The cold water splashed up his back and chest as he pushed on, conscious of nothing but the need to reach her before she sank from sight below the grey waves.
Frustrated by the impeding water Marcus plunged into a running dive, struck out strongly to where he had last glimpsed Marissa, praying through clenched teeth that she had not already sunk beyond his reach. Half blinded by the salt in his eyes he surged forward, cutting through the water with powerful overarm strokes. His search succeeded better than he could have hoped as, with startling suddenness, he collided with a body.
Chapter Twelve
Marissa floated tranquilly on her back, her fingers gently fanning the water to keep her in position. The wind must be getting up because she could hear splashing, although her ears were under water which muffled everything.
She had perhaps two seconds warning as she floated serenely, her face to the moon. The surface of the sea rocked in a sudden swell, sending little waves across her face. Before she could react, before she could feel fear, a hard body crashed into hers. The breath knocked from her lungs, she was pushed under the surface of the sea. Water flooded her nostrils, stung her eyes, filled her ears. Her bare behind grazed the rippled sand of the sea bottom and the shallowness took some of the panic away.
She curled her legs underneath her, found her footing and stood up, coughing and spluttering as she took in air. She looked round urgently for whatever it was that had rammed her, suddenly afraid again. The local people had tales of sharks in these waters which she had always dismissed as fantasy – now she was not so sure.
But it was not a shark who seized her from behind. Strong arms clamped themselves around her waist and she was lifted bodily from the water. Pressed against hard, cold flesh Marissa kicked, screamed and dug in her elbows. With a muffled curse her assailant dropped her. Her feet hit the bottom, she dug in her toes and spun round to face him.
