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; ‘Is he breakfasting in his chamber?’
‘Why, no, my lady, he is in the morning room…’
‘Then I shall go up.’ She was clearly in no mood to be kept waiting. ‘You need not announce me, Jackson.’
Marcus turned and strode back to the morning room. He still had not come to terms with last night, had no idea what he was going to say to Marissa and had no desire to try until he had thought this through.
Marcus looked up as the doors opened and Jackson, looking uncharacteristically flustered, announced, ‘The Countess of Longminster, my lord.’
‘I am not at home, Jackson.’
Marissa swept past the butler. ‘I doubt I am hallucinating you. Thank you, Jackson. I can pour myself some chocolate.’
Without risking a glance at Marcus Jackson effaced himself, closing the doors behind him.
‘Good morning, Marissa,’ Marcus said coolly. He resumed his seat as she sat at the other end of the table, cup of chocolate before her. He raised one eyebrow and waited.
Marissa was beginning to regret the impulse which had brought her here. A night’s sleep had not changed either her feelings for Marcus or her belief that they had no future together. Whenever she closed her eyes it was Charles’s face she saw, Charles’s weight she had felt as Marcus’s body moved over hers. And then the fear had come, as it always had before. And in the shifting shadows of the moonlight Marcus had looked so much like his cousin.
The overwhelming, wonderful, unfamiliar sensations she had experienced in Marcus’s arms, and her own instinctive responses to him, had shaken her to the core and made it difficult to face him. Marcus was watching her now, his deep blue eyes steady on her face. Under his scrutiny Marissa could feel the colour start to rise up the column of her throat, up her cheeks. until it reached the curls on her forehead.
‘Why have you come, Marissa?’ he asked calmly, leaning back in his chair. ‘Not that is not always a pleasure to see you.’
Marissa realised she did not know. She had left the Dower House because she could not bear to stay still any longer. She was confused, almost angry, but she did not rightly know with whom. She wanted to be near him, yet his very closeness frightened her. She needed to be in his arms, yet was terrified of what that might lead to.
‘Marissa?’ Marcus prompted.
‘I cannot come to London,’ she blurted out finally.
‘Why ever not?’
‘Um…’ It had only just occurred to her how impossible it would be. How could she live under Marcus’s roof for months, seeing him every day, watching him as he set about the task of finding a wife when she had fallen in love with him herself? She muttered, ‘After last night… It is impossible. You must see that.’
‘I do not see that it is impossible, far from it. You are naturally agitated that I allowed my passions to run away with me last night and I have to apologise for both that and the way I spoke afterwards.’
‘There is no need. Please do not mention it again.’
He inclined his head. ‘You are very good. We will be married, of course, it is an eminently suitable solution for both of us. You are the perfect mistress for Southwood Hall and, for my part, I can offer you the style of living to which you have been accustomed. If you wish a longer period to elapse before we announce our betrothal, then I accept that, naturally.’
Marcus leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. An unexpected flash of anger overcame her embarrassment: here was another man dictating her life, dressing up his offer as the perfect solution for her when in reality it was the perfect solution for him.
‘No. I will not marry you. Last night… We must forget last night. It was a mistake. And there is certainly no need for you to marry me because of it. I do not wish to remarry. Not now, not ever.’
‘But you must marry.’ Marcus leaned forward, fixing her with his blue gaze. ‘You are young, and beautiful and eligible. You must want children – ’ He broke off as she felt herself go pale. ‘I am sorry if what I am saying is painful, Marissa, but life moves on. Charles will never leave you, you will never forget what you shared together, but it will become part of your memories as you live your new life.’
Marissa gave a choked sob and jumped up, knocking over her cup. ‘No. No, you are wrong.’ How could he tell her that she would never forget when her whole happiness depended on her being able to do that very thing, to push those awful years into a locked cupboard in her mind so she could start living afresh?
Marcus stood, but did not approach her. ‘I am sorry, it is obviously too soon to speak of these things. But why will you not come to London? You need a change of scene and you would enjoy the balls, the theatre, the shops. You have been confined in the country too long and need diversion.’ Marcus picked up his cup and saucer and strolled to the window, looking out over the rolling parkland. He added lightly, ‘And besides, Nicci needs you as her chaperone.’
‘Miss Venables would enjoy the role, and perform it far better than I,’ Marissa said stubbornly. She wanted so much to go to London, but she did not want to be with Marcus. Close to him, under the same roof, how could she disguise her feelings for him?
The underlying unhappiness in her voice must have reached him. He put down the cup, crossed the room to put one arm around her shoulders, drawing her against his warmth and strength.
‘Marissa, do not be so stubborn, please do not let us fall out over this. Can’t you see you are cutting off your nose to spite your face? I want you to come to London, Nicci wants you to come to London… Damn it, you want to come to London.’
Marissa let her body relax against his for one self-indulgent moment, then common sense reasserted itself. She pushed hard at his chest and wriggled free. ‘No. How dare you touch me after what passed between us last night? Sir, you are no gentleman!'
‘But you, Marissa, judging by your responses on the beach, are all woman.’
