you come to my room tonight?’
‘Why?’
She tipped her head back so she could look up at him and managed to smile at the expression on his face. Desire, affection, love, purely masculine bafflement.
‘Because, just once, I want to know what it is to be loved by a man. I want to be with you. Just once.’
‘Nell.’ He set her back from him as though his touch would influence her. ‘I should say no.’ She held his gaze, her own steady until he smiled. ‘But I cannot. Are you sure?’
‘I have never been more sure of anything in my life,’ she said, feeling the calm certainty flood through her. ‘At midnight.’
Chapter Eighteen
As the clocks began to chime, Marcus stood outside Nell’s chamber door, his palms flat on the panels, trying to think with his head, not his heart.
He loved her. She did not love him and perhaps what had happened to her had convinced her that she never could love. Her belief in her parents’ happy marriage had been shaken by the discovery of her father’s infidelity. Her first experience of sex had been ugly, brutal and forced. And he had thrown his declaration at her in anger, mired in mistrust.
She desired him; that was a start, surely? But if she returned his love, what then? He could not ask her to become his mistress. One day he must marry; it was his duty. Could he abandon Nell then? Of course not—nor could he betray the wife he must take. Bad enough that he would come to her without love to offer.
Marriage. Marcus took a long, shuddering breath. Marriage and scandal, just when his sisters were making their come-outs. Scandal thrown in his father’s face every time anyone recalled who his daughter-in-law was. And Nell would fight every step of the way.
The door opened so suddenly that he had to throw up his hands and grip the door frame to stop himself falling. Nell stood on the other side, looking up at him quizzically.
‘Are you going to stand there all night?’ Her hair was down, her feet were bare and she was dressed only in a long, white nightgown, innocent of so much as a scrap of lace.
Marcus found his voice from wherever it had fled to. ‘Possibly,’ he said warily. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘I could feel you thinking,’ she said simply, as she turned and walked into the room. She stopped at the foot of the bed and faced him. ‘Have you changed your mind?’
‘I should,’ he confessed, holding on to the wooden uprights as though to a lifeline. ‘But I do not think I can.’
‘Good,’ she said and unfastened the three buttons at the neck of her nightgown.
‘Nell!’ Marcus almost threw himself through the doorway and shut the door behind him. ‘We should talk about this first.’
‘Why?’ She stooped and took hold of the hem, lifting it as she straightened.
Marcus tore his eyes away from the sight of her slim ankles, the curve of her calves, fought the memory of how her skin had felt under his hands. ‘Nell, I want you to marry me.’
She dropped the handful of cotton and gasped. ‘Impossible.’
‘Why is it?’
‘Leaving aside any other considerations, the scandal makes it impossible. You must see that.’
‘I see only a problem that I have not yet found the solution to,’ he said, suddenly certain that this was right. Impossibly difficult, but right.
‘You can make me love you?’ she questioned, the smile on her lips denied by the sparkle of tears in her eyes.
‘I can have a damn good try.’ Marcus heeled off his evening pumps and began to take off his coat. ‘And if I cannot do that, I will make you so dizzy with desire you will say yes anyway.’
Nell found she was smiling. There was something so recklessly confident about the way that Marcus spoke, something so far at odds with his usual thoughtful demeanour that she found herself believing him. It could be all right…somehow.
‘Before, in the folly, you stopped. What will be different now?’ she asked, watching in fascination as his waistcoat joined the coat on the floor and his neckcloth fell in a creased tangle on top.
‘Before, I was not determined to marry you. I thought I could make you my mistress and then I realized I could not, in all conscience.’
She shook her head, afraid to believe it might be possible, that he really meant it.
Marcus stopped, his fingers halfway down the fastenings of his shirt. ‘You don’t believe me, do you? Well, let me be sensible, prosaic even. I will take care not to get you with child tonight and if, when, this is all over, you still will not have me, then you will have a respectable trade, a shop of your own. I will not be making a fallen woman out of you.’ He broke off as she laughed. ‘Now what have I said?’
‘Nothing,’ Nell said, stepping forward to help with the shirt buttons. ‘Nothing at all. But you started frowning again because you were being sensible and prudent and thinking so much. I do adore your frown.’ She reached up and rubbed the groove between his brows as he chuckled.
‘I cannot imagine any other man feeling his heart leap for joy when his beloved said she adored his frown,’ he mused, tossing aside his shirt. ‘It is a start, I suppose. Nell, what are you doing?’
‘Looking,’ she said from behind him, laying her hands on his narrow waist just above the band of his thin silk evening breeches and smiling when he caught his breath. She ran her palms up his back, her thumbs dipping into the hollow of his spine, admiring the way his broad shoulders tapered to his waist, feeling the shifting muscle beneath the warm silk of his skin.
There was a light dressing over the bullet wound. Nell laid her hand over it carefully. ‘Is that still painful?’
‘Sore, if it chafes, but it is almost healed.’ Marcus shifted but she dodged to keep behind him, laughing as he swore under his breath. Then he feinted with a swordsman’s grace and caught her in his arms. ‘Tease.’
‘I am still looking,’ Nell protested.
‘You have seen my chest already.’ He reached for her nightgown and Nell danced backwards.
‘Take off your breeches.’
‘Stockings first.’ Marcus sat down on the bed and began to drag them off. ‘There are few things more ludicrous than a naked man in stockings.’ He stood up. ‘Now your nightgown.’
Nell shook her head. ‘I know what will happen the moment I take it off, and I want to look at you.’
There was colour on his high cheekbones. ‘Why?’ Marcus demanded, his fingers on the fastenings of the breeches. The thin knitted silk left very little to the imagination. He was finding this highly arousing, she could see, her pulse quickening.
‘Because you are beautiful.’ Nell bit her underlip and saw he was watching
