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‘Someone could have been killed on the lake today. I had to give you my pieces of the puzzle.’
‘I wish I could believe that you know nothing.’ There was sincerity in the deep voice, but she was hurting too much to credit it.
‘Do you?’ Nell jerked her hands again and this time he let his own drop away. ‘Why should you care? All you want from me is to have me in your bed, under you—and at that just once, a notch on your bedpost.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No. Damn it, Nell, I love you.’ And before she could stammer out a reply, Marcus dragged her into his arms, crushed his mouth down over hers and kissed her.
Chapter Sixteen
He loves me? Nell closed her lips against the demand of Marcus’s mouth and twisted her head away, trying to look into his face. She had dreamed of him saying those words to her and now that he had, she was frightened, confused and angry. He cannot mean it, so why is he saying it?
‘No!’ She pushed at his chest and he let her go, his face as dark as it had been when he threw bitter accusations at her. ‘You want me, you have brought me into the family home and now you have to convince yourself your motives were something other than desire,’ she said, holding up one hand to ward him off.
‘It has to be love to excuse your misjudgement, doesn’t it? How strange you never thought to mention it before—in the folly, for example.’ She could not afford, not for a moment, the weakness of believing him. Her heart would break.
‘I didn’t realize then, I only knew that I couldn’t let you go, however much I mistrusted you.’ He made no move to touch her again. ‘I realized what it was when I saw you with Hal.’
‘Two cock pheasants strutting their plumes in front of the female?’ she jibed. ‘That isn’t love, Marcus. That is simple male possessiveness.’
‘Damn it, do you think I want to fall in love with a milliner?’ He took an angry pace away and stared at an old portrait hanging against the linen fold panelling as though he could not bear to look at her. ‘Or the daughter of an attaindered earl, for that matter? I am a Carlow, damn it.’
‘And I am a Wardale, and proud of it,’ she flung back. ‘You think I could love you, you arrogant, suspicious autocrat? You cannot even tell me you love me and look happy about it. Do you know what I want? What I need?’ Marcus turned slowly to look at her and shook his head. ‘I need love and laughter and tenderness and humour and trust. I do not need breeding or money or status. I do not need a man who has experience in bed, I just want one who cares about me.’
Nell was out of the door before he could stop her. She slammed it back in his face, spun round and ran straight into Lord Narborough, Hal and Diana Price.
There was no disguising the tears on her cheeks, no hiding the fact that her hair was half down and her face, she could feel, was as white as a sheet. The earl caught her as she stumbled to a halt and stared down into her face.
‘Catherine?’
‘Catherine Wardale was my mother,’ Nell said, seeing the colour drain out of his face until it was waxy.
‘What?’ The sharp exclamation was Miss Price’s, even as she hurried to take Lord Narborough’s arm.
‘Father.’ Hal caught him as he swayed, supporting him to the nearest chair. Nell dragged at the bell pull then ran to help them. Behind her the door opened. ‘What’s happened? What have you done?’
‘Resembled my mother,’ Nell said bitterly, not looking at Marcus. ‘Not, I believe, a crime. Give Lord Narborough some air. I have rung for help—he needs his drops.’
‘I am all right.’ George Carlow shrugged off Hal’s arm and pulled himself upright in the big carved chair as the butler came in. ‘My drops, Watson, in the study. And a tea tray for there and for the drawing room. Come.’ He looked at the four clustered round his chair. ‘The study and some explanations, I think.’
Marcus went to Nell’s side as they settled around the hearth in the study. She turned her head away and stared into the fire, giving him her shoulder. He could hardly blame her. How could a declaration of love go so hideously wrong? How could he have told her then, on the heels of berating her about her secrets?
‘Little Helena.’ His father was shaking his head as he looked at her. ‘You must have been four when I last saw you. The resemblance has been haunting me and then I saw it just now. It was Catherine’s face when they took Will away.’
‘She is dead now,’ Nell said without turning. ‘A congestion of the lungs four years ago. It seems a broken heart can take a long time to kill.’
‘Oh, my dear. And Nathan and Rosalind?’
‘Rosalind took a post as a companion to a lady—under a false name. We were never to write, or contact her, in case of discovery. She would always write to us.’
‘And your brother?’ demanded Miss Price.
‘Nathan vanished, suddenly, as though he had been snatched out of thin air.’ Nell’s voice was flat, as if she were recounting some dull and trivial piece of gossip. Knowing her now, sensing every nuance in her voice, Marcus could read her pain and the effort such control was costing her. He wanted to hold her, make this all go away.
‘There was no money, our landlord was…violent, and Mama was sick. I had to move us away. We lost contact with both of them. I tell myself Nathan is not dead and that Rosalind is safe.’ Her composure cracked, and with it her voice. ‘I cannot always believe it.’
Marcus put his hand on her arm and she froze. After a moment, he lifted it away and heard her sigh. ‘Helena—’
‘Nell,’ she murmured.
