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‘And every time I made love to her…’ He dropped into his chair and stared blankly at his untouched food while his stomach roiled. ‘I would remind her of him every time she looked at me. She was waiting for me to be cruel to her as he had always been.’ A vivid image of Marissa’s reaction on the beach, when the moonlight must have increased the likeness even more, stabbed through him.
‘But how can I confront her with this? How can I ask her to resurrect the humiliation of her marriage? Yet if I do not we could never be happy together; it will be doomed from the beginning.’
‘Knowing you love her, she will come to trust you,’ Diane said gently. He looked up, met her eyes. ‘You have told her, have you not?’
‘No. How could I speak of love when I thought she was still in love with Charles?’
Diane uttered a particularly unladylike word in French. ‘Why are men so stupide?’ she demanded. ‘Tell her you love her, tell her you know that Charles was a beast and that you are not. Make love to her until she forgets he ever existed. And do not,’ she added with a wicked twinkle, ‘tell me you cannot do that!’
He smiled back, sharing the memories for a moment. He stretched across the table and took her hands in his. ‘Then I can only attribute it to my excellent teacher. Thank you, Diane, for all your love and warmth.’
‘Foolish man.’ She caressed his cheek affectionately. ‘Now go. Do not waste time here. Go to your Marissa and tell her you love her.’
‘Bless you.’ He dropped a kiss on her cheek and was gone.
The moon was high as Marcus sent the bay gelding flying back along the road towards the Lodge. The air was warm and balmy, clouds of gnats danced above the thick hedgerows and amongst the tangled banks of dog roses nightingales pierced the silence with their bubbling song.
All he could think about as the hooves thudded beneath him was that Marissa loved him and that they could be happy together.
His mind was so full of her that he was not surprised when he opened the door, stepped into the hall and she ran headlong down the stairs and cast herself into his arms. For a moment he was so overwhelmed to find himself holding her warm body, clad only in her nightgown and peignoir, that he held her close, his mouth in her hair, drinking in the scent of her.
Then he looked up into the reddened eyes of Miss Venables, at Jackson standing behind her, looking grave and concerned. Marcus cast round and realised the hall was full of people – both footmen, a weeping lady’s maid and even Cook, tangling her hands in her apron.
Chapter Twenty One
Marcus eased open Marissa’s grip but kept one arm protectively around her shoulders. ‘What the Devil is wrong, Jackson?’
‘If you would take the ladies into the drawing room, my lord,’ the butler said, ‘I will join you directly. Thomson, take the rest of the staff back below stairs. Cook, please send up tea.’
Marcus, baffled, steered Marissa into the drawing room while Jackson helped a weeping Miss Venables to an armchair. ‘Will someone please tell me what is going on?’
‘Oh, Marcus,’ Marissa said. ‘I am so thankful you are back.’
‘Let me tell him, it is all my fault.’ Miss Venables could get no further, tears overcoming her again.
It was the sight of the redoubtable Jane Venables sobbing into her handkerchief that convinced Marcus that this was more than the usual domestic upset.
‘Perhaps, my lord, I could be permitted to explain,’ Jackson said stolidly as Marissa slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
‘I wish you would. Sit down.’
The big man dropped into an armchair and it was as if the crisis had transported them back to their old, informal relationship in the West Indies. ‘It’s Miss Nicci, Marcus. She’s gone off with that Captain Cross, if I read her letter aright. I was about to take the curricle out after her when you returned.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Marcus jumped to his feet, raking his fingers through his wind-disordered hair. ‘Stupid little fool!’ He paced the carpet, then turned to his old friend. ‘You’re sure she’s with Cross? There can be no doubt?’
Wordlessly Jackson handed Marcus a sheet of writing paper, crumpled and tear-stained.
I have gone to Andrew because you are all so beastly to me. And he says I would make a wonderful army wife and would enjoy all the balls and parties that the Regiment holds. I shall marry him and then you will be sorry you were so unkind. Do not follow me, for I shall never return willingly.
‘Nicci, you little idiot. Even that milksop curate would have been better than this. Jackson, do we know where this Captain Cross lodges?’
Jackson shook his head. ‘From what Lady Longminster remembers of his uniform the regiment is one of those based down in Brighton. He obviously came up for the races this week.’
Miss Venables blew her nose and peered over the handkerchief, red-eyed, but finally in control of herself. ‘My lord, I think I may be able to throw some light on this. While I was with Sir Frederick Collier this afternoon we encountered an old friend of his, a Colonel Seymour. He is the officer in command of Captain Cross’s regiment and he mentioned that he and several of his officers had taken lodgings in Epsom for the races.’
‘Do you know where?’
‘No, but Sir Frederick will, they dined together last night.’
