Outside her door, she halted, her heart thundering as she wondered what would happen now, if she dared…
He took her hand from his arm and kissed it. Her fingers clung to his warm, firm lips. Then he placed her hand at the back of his neck, and her lips parted to receive his kiss.
It began with tenderness, but at the first touch of his lips, she gasped, her fingers grasping the hair at the back of his head to tug him closer. With a groan, his arms wrapped around her, hauling her hard against him as his mouth devoured hers. Her hand trembled as she caressed his rough cheek, surrendering utterly to this passion.
Heat swept through her as his hips pinned her to the wall and his hands roved at will. His lips were in her hair, on her throat, and then returned to her mouth. Desire blazed, and from his hardness against her, she knew it was not hers alone.
Then he tore his mouth free and pressed his cheek hard to hers. “You would give yourself to me,” he whispered unsteadily in her ear. “And God knows I would take you. But we will do this properly. I’ll give the gossips nothing to justify the Marshalls’ vile rumors.”
“Who cares about them?” she managed. In an unfamiliar haze of hunger, she knew only she didn’t want to part from him.
He drew back a little, resting his forehead on hers. “We live in their world. I would have that world know my respect for you. I want everything right for you. We’ll call the banns and be married without undue haste.”
She swallowed, trying to bring back her good sense. “You’re finding it easy to leave me,” she said lightly.
Abruptly, she was pressed hard against the wall.
“Do you think so?” he whispered. “Do you really think so?”
She lifted her face mutely and he kissed her, this time going from the hard to the gentle.
“Good night,” she whispered. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You will,” he assured her, reaching out to open her bedchamber door.
She backed into the chamber, smiling, and with another groan, he closed the door. She thought he might have leaned against it for several moments before his footsteps moved away down the passage.
Still dazed, she drew in her breath and dropped her cloak on the chair. As she did so, she caught sight of her reflection in the looking glass. Wonder and happiness glowed in her eyes. As fresh emotion flooded her, her lips, rosy and full from his kisses, smiled all over again.
“I’m going to marry Sir Marcus Dain,” she whispered.
*
Leaving Mooreton Hall the following morning presented a few difficulties. Her employer was not one of them. By the time she rose in the morning, both Mr. and Mrs. Carluke were aware of her engagement and were resigned to her going. She would, however, return with them today. “I will naturally wait until you find another governess,” she told them.
“No, you won’t,” Mrs. Carluke said stoutly.
However, that problem was solved during the discussion of traveling to Cotley Hall alone with Sir Marcus. Lady Overton and Henrietta walked into the breakfast parlor during the conversation.
Marcus had just said, “Anne Marshall should come with us. She will, after all, be comfortable with the Robinovs at Cotley.”
An old idea came back to Helen, with a variation. “Or, she could replace me with you,” she said to Mrs. Carluke. “She is very young, but excellent with children.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Mrs. Carluke said. “But then, who would accompany you on your journey?”
“You should travel south with Henrietta and Sydney,” Lady Overton broke in.
Helen blinked at her in surprise.
Her ladyship sat down heavily beside Helen. “I owe you an apology,” she said abruptly. “My children could see that I was wrong, but I could not. I am sorry I trusted that awful woman’s word over yours. I had no reason to and less right. I hope you’ll forgive me, and accept my good wishes on your engagement.”
It was a handsome apology and Helen, already emotional, wanted to hug her. Instead, she said, “Of course I will.” And Lady Overton smiled at her as though relieved to have that off her chest.
“Mama is staying here for a week or so with Charlotte,” Henrietta said. “But Sydney and I have to go back to Steynings. From there, you may easily reach Cotley in a day.” She grinned at Helen. “Imagine me chaperoning anyone, let alone you.”
And so, it was arranged. Helen, after exchanging a cheerful farewell with the Maybury children whom she promised to see again soon, returned to Ingolby with the Carlukes to pack the rest of her things. A subdued Anne came, too, which made it a bit of a squash, but Helen was glad to see the girl’s spirits lift in the children’s company.
The following day, Sir Marcus swept up in his curricle with the Cromartys in the traveling coach behind. Mr. Cromarty stowed her bag on the coach. Helen climbed into the curricle beside Marcus, and they set off. She waved back at the Carlukes for as long as she could see them.
The following weeks flew by in a whirlwind of journeying and then learning about her new home. The Robinovs had found a house just over the Hampshire border into Sussex and planned to remove there after the wedding. Helen and Marcus decided to postpone their wedding trip until spring when they would borrow Sydney Cromarty’s yacht and sail wherever they liked. Marcus was even hopeful that, with the French so badly defeated in Russia and a new coalition forming against them, there might be peace very soon.
Helen was happy to spend the time at Cotley Hall, learning to be the lady of the manor. But mostly, she just wanted to be with Marcus.
It snowed on their wedding day, filling it with cold white beauty that seemed to suit the solemnity of their vows. They were married by the local vicar before Marcus’s pleasantly dotty aunt, Sydney and Henrietta Cromarty, the Robinovs, and as many of Marcus’s people as could squeeze into the village church. After that, Helen was happy to enjoy a snowball fight in front of the house.
Later, as guests left and the house quietened once more, Helen and Marcus sat like children on the rug before the fire in their private sitting room.
With a sigh of satisfaction, she laid her head on his shoulder. “Lady Dain,” she said, trying out her new title. “Is that really me?”
“It is.” He held her hand against his knee, idly caressing her wrist. Sensitivity spread through her skin like magic, until in the companionable silence, all she could hear was her own quickened breathing.
She turned her face to him and claimed his lips. He kissed her slowly, leisurely, because now there was no need to rush. They were married, alone, and could make love whenever they wished.
As his clever fingers unlaced her gown and stays, she murmured, “Your bedchamber or mine?”
“Neither,” he replied, drawing her gown and chemise off her shoulders so that he could kiss her naked skin. “Unless you have some objection, I want you here, just as you are.”
His words thrilled her, partly with astonishment, and by the time arguments such as intruding servants dropped into her clouded mind, it was too late to care. She lay naked in his arms while he kissed every inch of her, and her hands roved over the smooth skin of his back, under the shirt, which she tugged over his head and threw aside. He left her for an instant only to kick off his breeches, and she reached for him with both arms, almost in panic.