The Bride's Seduction

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‘Exactly. Poor creature, stuck in a gloomy house with only that cantankerous creature Cousin Phillipa for company and a pack of smelly lapdogs—you will do her good. Read to her, go for walks when she ventures out in her chair, generally make yourself useful.’ Lady Winslow smiled benignly at her elder daughter. ‘I know how you like to feel useful, Marina dear.’

It was a prison sentence, the punishment for the crime of failing to marry, meted out by those she loved in the cheerful belief that it was all for the best. Marina bit down the angry words that rose in her throat, the pleas to have this decision reconsidered. After all, what else was she fit for at twenty-six? Her family was too well bred, too respectable, for her to escape into the only genteel occupation that she might espouse—that of governess.

There was one hope. ‘But do you not need me to teach Giles?’

‘I think he is too old now for female tuition, dear. He is becoming a little wild. The Vicar is taking one or two other local boys of good family for tuition and Giles will do well with him, I am sure.’

‘When? When are we leaving London?’ How much longer did she have to walk freely with her maid, to visit Priscilla, to shop, to explore the lending libraries? How much longer to enjoy the company of her new friend and to learn to drive, a skill that would become immediately useless in Bath?

‘I think in about six weeks, if Charlie’s negotiations with Lord Mortenhoe are successful.’

Somehow Marina managed a tranquil face for the rest of the evening and through the next, interminable, morning. Neither her brother nor mother commented on the dark circles under her eyes, although Lizzie, with typical tactlessness, announced that she looked positively haggard and wondered loudly what could have kept her from sleeping. Without Priscilla’s attentions and finery—for her friend was engaged for the day with relatives of her husband—Marina felt that her appearance for her next driving lesson left something to be desired, although at least she could now breathe without Pris’s severe tight lacing.

Or she could if it were not for the lump of leaden misery that seemed lodged under her diaphragm.

Justin was prompt again, and her spirits could not help but be lightened simply by his company and the stimulation of their progress through the crowded streets. Marina made conversation and flattered herself that her self-control was equal to the occasion.

Then Justin put the reins in her hands just inside the park gate and pointed to a grove of trees. ‘Just walk over there, get used to the reins again.’ He was silent as they approached it, other than to say, ‘Circle around to the back.’ When they reached the little clearing the trees enclosed, deserted of all walkers, he took the reins back, tied them round the whip stand and clasped both her hands in his.

‘What is wrong, Mari?’ She shook her head. ‘No, do not try and tell me nothing is wrong, I can see it in your eyes. Who has hurt you? As your friend, I must either call him out or at least land him a punch on the jaw.’

It was said humorously, but the gentle expression in his eyes and the warmth of his hands clasping hers was almost too much for her self-possession. ‘You cannot.’ She struggled to find a humorous tone to match his. ‘It was only something Mama told me and you most certainly must not punch her.’

‘Tell me.’

Why can he not pretend everything is well? Marina realised that she was within an inch of blurting it all out and bit her lip hard. She looked at Justin and forced a smile as she shook her head. His eyes were hard and green and she realised he was angry.

‘Is it because of me?’

‘The driving lessons? Oh, no, Mama and Charlie seem quite sanguine about those, they hardly asked me about them.’ For some reason that did not seem to quench the angry colour.

‘Then what? Tell me, Mari, it matters to me.’

Shaken, she stammered, ‘When Charlie has the money from the sale of Knightshaye he will set up a trust for Mama and Giles and Lizzie.’

‘And you will live with Lady Winslow and Miss Elizabeth?’

‘I wanted to stay here and keep house for Charlie, but Mama says that is quite ineligible. So then I thought I would be living at the Dower House with her, but she thinks she would not need me...that I would be of more use with Great-aunt Maria in Bath.’

‘And do I deduce that will be no treat?’

Marina nodded. ‘She is very reclusive and lives with Cousin Phillipa, who is rather cross, and many lapdogs. Mama thinks I can read to her.’

‘And how long will this last?’

‘Until she dies, I suppose. And then Cousin Phillipa will need me, I expect.’

‘Oh, Mari, poor love, that sounds hellish.’

‘Please stop being sympathetic, you will make me cry.’ She sniffed resolutely. ‘I can manage if I do not feel sorry for myself.’ Before she could protest, Marina found herself enfolded in Justin’s arms and held against his chest.

It felt wonderful. Strong, safe and remarkably comfortable. Marina snuggled closer into Justin’s shirt front and let out a sigh of relief as though she had escaped from a pursuing beast and had found sanctuary. His arms were around her quite tightly, but she had no instinct to struggle. One-handed he appeared to have removed her bonnet and was stroking her hair soothingly while he murmured something unintelligible into it.

Then the feeling of overwhelming peace began to change subtly into something unsettling, something that made her pulse quicken and the heat come into her face. She was aware of his warmth and the scent of him: clean, somehow spicy and definitely male. His heart was beating under her cheek and the soft linen seemed suddenly as sensuous as skin against her own flesh. She realised that her hands had slipped around his body under his coat, her palms were braced against hard muscle and that she was touching a man in a way utterly different from the hugs she exchanged with her brothers.

Slowly she disentangled herself and sat up on the seat of the gig, looking at Justin for reassurance and meeting green eyes that were anything but angry.

Chapter Six (#ub7ce7f01-2d02-5e90-ade4-0c7dc70e01f1)

Justin looked into the wide, troubled grey eyes and cursed inwardly. Cursed the Winslows for distressing Mari so much, cursed himself for the urge that filled him to take her in his arms again and kiss that soft mouth with its parted lips. No need to wonder now whether she was capable of passion—he could read it, all unawakened in that innocent gaze and the trembling of her body as he had held it against his.

Her mother had set out for her the fate that awaited the surplus, unwed daughter, confident it would propel her into his arms when he proposed to her. She had not realised, he imagined, just how much she would hurt Marina and just how rapidly she would find herself in that embrace.

And now was most definitely not the moment to make a proposal. She would imagine he was doing it out of pity and he had no desire that she accept him out of desperation. A lifetime was rather too long for regrets.

‘I am not going to cry.’ She said it with a determination that tugged at his heart, sitting upright on the seat and jamming her bonnet on her head with scant regard for her curls.

‘Are you not? You may, if you like. I have a large and clean handkerchief somewhere.’

That produced a choke of amusement and a quizzical look. It seemed the moment of physical awareness had passed. ‘Really? Charlie hated it if Lizzie or I cried when we were younger. Lizzie still does when she cannot get her own way and Charlie positively runs out of the room. Mama says that all men are the same.’

Justin grinned and picked up the reins. Smoke swivelled an ear back and then dropped his head again when no command to move came. ‘I had always assumed that it would be an excellent opportunity to flirt—beautiful young lady weeps daintily into a lace-edged handkerchief, I make soothing noises...’

This time Marina laughed out loud. ‘I suspect there are very few young ladies who can produce just one or two dainty tears. I certainly cannot. I end up with red eyes and a red nose—no wonder Charlie runs away.’

‘You are very brave to reveal these horrid details.’ Justin shook the reins and Smoke woke up and began to walk round the edge of the grove.

‘Why not? You are my friend and will not be so unkind as to tease me about it.’

‘No, I would not tease you.’ He hesitated, uncertain as to how much he dare hint. ‘Do not be too cast down by what your mother said; things may change, other opportunities may open up.’

‘You are kind to try to cheer me up, but I will do better to resign myself, I think.’ She gave a little shiver and he fought back the urge to put his arm around her again. ‘But I cannot spoil this drive. May I take the reins—and will you let me trot today?’

Days passed and nothing more was said about Great-aunt Maria and the Bath scheme for her future. Marina let herself hope that perhaps the old lady had rejected the idea, or that Mama had thought better of it, but then, after two weeks, Charlie mentioned it over Sunday luncheon and the hope withered.

Resolutely Marina pushed the thought to the back of her mind, feeling like a prisoner who has a few weeks of freedom before being sent to their cell. It would be wicked to spoil these last days of liberty anticipating what was to come.

She saw Justin almost every day for a driving lesson and she could now take the paths of Green Park at a spanking trot, turning corners with confidence and even passing through narrow openings without having to close her eyes in anticipation of the crash.

Occasionally he dined with them in Cavendish Square, but Marina found herself resenting the formality this imposed on their conversation. The strange feelings of confusion and awareness she had felt when he had held her that day had turned into something different, an ache when she thought about him, an excitement when she saw him, a warm glow of happiness when they were together. It was certainly very different, being friends with a gentleman.

On a Tuesday towards the end of the month, Justin apologised for not being able to take her driving the next afternoon. ‘I am sorry, but I promised to try out a hunter a friend wishes to sell and the only time we could arrange it is tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Of course, you must do just as you wish,’ Marina protested. ‘It is so good of you to let me drive so often.’

‘Not at all. Would you care to drive in Hyde Park the day after?’

‘Yes, please—if you think I would not disgrace you.’ She turned a teasing smile on him. ‘Are you sure your credit will stand you being seen as a passenger in a gig being driven by a mere female?’

‘It certainly will not,’ Justin replied so seriously that for a moment she thought he was in earnest. ‘Which is why I thought you might like to drive a phaeton.’

‘Truly? A high-perch phaeton and your bays?’

‘No! A low-perch and a pair of very steady roans. But still smart enough for you to cut a dash if you wish to let your friends know where you will be at three o’clock.’