Aidan tweaked one of the curls that cascaded from the crown of her head and murmured something about what a fine lady she'd grown into.
Marissa maintained her smile even as she finished her wine. Quite an amazing feat. Jude was still pondering that skill when she popped the glass into Aidan's hand and turned toward Jude. "Shall we do this?"
He'd been so focused on her that he hadn't heard the strings singing out the announcement of the waltz. "Without a doubt," he said, with a little bow before he thrust the lemonade at Aidan and offered Marissa his arm. She kept her pace slow as they walked toward the dancing. He'd noticed that she tended to become deliberately proper when under stress.
"What has you so upset?" he asked softly.
"I am not upset. Not at all."
"I got the distinct impression that you were glaring at me earlier."
"Nonsense."
"Marissa—"
"If you want that woman," she began in a forceful whisper, "I can't fault you. She's beautiful. But I would ask that yon at least wait until our betrothal has been broken!"
"I assume you're speaking of Mrs. Wellingsly?"
"You know exactly whom I speak of." They were nearing the couples poised to dance, and Marissa pulled him to an even slower stroll. "You two were cuddled together in the corner as if you were—"
"We were hardly cuddling. And I can't imagine what it matters to you, regardless."
"People will talk!"
"All, so you'd like me to be discreet in my affairs, while you openly flirt with every adolescent boy who dances a jig past your line of vision?"
"I've done no such thing!"
Her voice rang in his ears, and she blinked in shock before daring a glance around them. Everyone within a twenty-foot radius was staring. Even the conductor cleared his voice before he rushed the orchestra into the first notes of the waltz. Marissa and Jude stood at the edge of the dancers, facing each other. Her eyes got wider with each second.
Finally, Jude simply took her hand and placed it on his shoulder. It would only be more of a scene if she stormed off. She seemed to realize this as well and clasped his hand when he offered. They both wore gloves, and Marissa's back was protected from his touch by the shell of her corset. Not to mention the fact that they were both angry. But somehow all these prohibitions only heightened the sensations of holding her.
Her breath came too fast due to anger, and the rise of her breasts strained against her bodice. Her cheeks and lips seemed rubbed with rouge, they were so red, and her eyes glinted passion. Marissa York looked aroused, and Jude wanted to growl his lust right into the pretty shell of her ear. He hadn't been able to see her clearly in the gazebo, but this is how he would picture her now, furious and demanding and Hushed. . . .
"Patience Wellingsly isn't my lover and she never will be."
"She looks at you like you're a candied treat." Her eyes swept down to his chest for a bare second. "Which is entirely ridiculous at your size."
Jude considered offering a quip about being a mouthful, but reminded himself that wicked as she was, she was not one of his mother's friends.
"I would not dishonor you that way, Marissa. I asked you to pretend we were truly betrothed, and I'll keep my side of the bargain at least."
Her face lost a bit of its stiffness as he spun her in a circle, just managing to avoid another couple. It was a slow waltz, thankfully, as he could not concentrate on their surroundings.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"It means that I seem to have assumed the role of stranger in the past week."
She watched a spot over his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"I volunteered to be used for your purposes. I understood what that meant. But I was foolish enough to think we'd become friends."
Now she looked at him. "I... we did. You're very kind. And funny. But you make me feel ..."
His heart burned at what she might say. "What?"
"You make me feel..."
His blood seemed to strain toward her.
"... ashamed."
The gravity she'd exerted over him was abruptly cut off, and everything inside him dropped into the pit of his stomach. "Ashamed."
"Only because I don't know how to treat you. I don't know what you are to me. Are we friends?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.
"I see. Well, if I inspire shame, I suppose I should do the gentlemanly thing and end my stay with your family."
"Jude, don't. It's my fault. I'm only being overwrought, as you've said of me. We are friends. Or I hoped we were. And... and I've missed our conversations."
He didn't know whether to accept her words.
"I've made a mess of everything this past month," Marissa said.
"You have."
Her shoulders dropped, and in her defeat her lower lip stuck out in a seductive pout. She looked at him with shiny green eyes that widened with a deep breath. And Jude knew that if they did marry, he was going to be in very big trouble. He couldn't resist this.
"Will you forgive me, Jude?"
The softness of his name put a hitch in his breath. He concentrated on the waltzing for a moment, as if he were really considering his answer. Finally he offered a smile. "I suppose I will. I'd be more sure of it if you'd stop by my chambers tonight and ask me again."
"Oh, hush!" she scolded as her pout turned into a reluctant smile.
"On my honor, I won't tell a soul. We'll only talk."
For a moment, a certain tilt to her chin made it seem as if she'd consider it, but then she shook her head with a laugh. "You're an awful influence on me, Mr. Bertrand."
"I do what I can."
"If you really wished to talk, perhaps we might share a bite of supper later? Mrs. Framersham always lays out some lovely choices."
"I'd be honored, Miss York. Truly."
By the time he escorted her from the dance floor, Marissa was laughing and teasing that he was a passable dancer after all, and Jude's plans were back in full force.
He was going to marry Marissa York, and she had no idea at all, poor thing.
"He was a lovely dancer!" Beth said for the third time that morning. "I could hardly believe it."
Marissa nodded, though she couldn't honestly remember much of his dancing. Mostly she remembered the wide wall of his chest and the strength of his arms as he held her. They'd danced, she knew that. And there must have been other people dancing as well, but they hadn't been visible past his shoulders.
"Really," Beth continued, "he was quite charming. By the end of the dance, I'd forgotten how intimidating he is."
"Yes. He's really very civilized."
Beth gasped. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I admit I was shocked when your brother announced—"
"No, it's fine. I thought the same things when I met him, I admit."
"But now I can understand your affection, and I'm so relieved that I see it now. He's very clever, and his eyes are quite lovely."
His eyes. Yes, they were lovely enough, despite their forbidding darkness. She glanced out the window to the small group of men waiting on their horses. Jude stood out. He was taller. His shoulders wider. His jaw cut from steel, while the other men seemed molded of clay.
He looked toward the house as if he sensed her gaze. Marissa's body thrilled at the thought, and she shifted on her chair. He'd asked her to come to his room last night. He'd been teasing, but still. . . she could have. If she'd dared. He wouldn't have turned her away.
Marissa finished the last bite of eggs, and her eyes drifted toward the window again. Edward finally approached the group, only he wasn't on his mount. He stalked across the lawn like an animal.
"Miss York." The footman spoke quietly at her side. "The baron has requested your presence in his study. He asks that you come as soon as possible."
She met Beth's startled eyes, and Marissa's chest swelled with dread. "Of course," she murmured. As she laid her serviette carefully on the table, movement in the window caught her eye again. Aidan and Jude had dismounted and now followed Edward back toward the house. Her pulse leapt into racing panic, and she could hardly feel her legs as she pushed to her feet.
Possible horrors spun through her head. She dismissed the idea that her mother could have fallen ill. That hadn't been worry on Edward's face, or even grief. It had been fury.
So what could it be? It had to be her and her awful behavior. Had Peter White called their bluff and spread tales about her?
"Marissa?" Beth breathed.
Marissa forced a smile. "I'm sure it's nothing."
"I'll ask my mother to hold the carriage for a few—"
"Nonsense. Your mother is beginning to look tired. She should get home. Please don't delay your departure for me. Anyway, I'll see you in a few days at the next fete."
Beth gave her a long hug, and then Marissa made herself walk slowly through the entry hall and into the corridor that led to Edward's study. A brief swell of male voices rumbled over her, then ended abruptly with the sound of a door slamming. She turned the corner and faced the last few yards between her and the awful unknown. For a moment, her legs were too heavy to move. Her feet stuck to the carpet, holding her in place.
Something terrible had happened, and it was her fault.
This time she would not pout, whatever the solution might be. Marriage. A trip to the Continent. The nunnery. Marissa forced herself to take one step and then another, and she even managed to turn the knob before her courage gave out again. Every head in the room turned toward her. Her mother, her brothers, her cousin, and Jude. Five sets of eyes waiting for her to close the door. Again.
"It's as we feared," Edward said.
She slipped inside and shut the door as softly as she could.
"He's done it."
"Who?" she breathed.
"Peter White." His hand whipped up, waving a piece of paper. "He's sent his threat."
"Marriage? He still wants marriage?"
Edward's hand tightened on the note. "No. What he wants is five-thousand pounds."
Marissa and her mother gasped. Somehow, asking for money seemed even more crude than trying to force her into marriage. Marissa crossed the room and dropped onto the sofa to clasp her mother's hand.
"That's outrageous," Cousin Harry harked.
Jude clasped his hands behind his back. "Five-thousand pounds or he'll do what?"
They all looked to Edward, whose hand slowly fell to his side. He pressed his lips together and didn't answer.
"What will he do?" Marissa demanded.
Edward cleared his throat.
"Oh, just read the note, Edward!" she cried, unable to take the suspense a moment longer.
"Yes, do," her mother chimed in. Obviously, it would be impossible to gauge the appropriately dramatic action if one didn't know the details.
He cleared his throat loudly again, then snapped the paper out in front of him. "It has come to my attention that the honorable Miss Marissa York was recently discovered in a scandalous embrace. If you care to protect Miss York's precious reputation, you will surrender five-thousand pounds at the location and time specified below."
"I presume," Jude drawled, "that the letter isn't signed?"
"It's not."
"Then how can you know it's from White?"
Edward's face turned red. His jaw clenched and jumped.
Aidan propped his back against the wall and crossed his arms. "That could be from anyone."
"He offers proof," Edward finally ground out.
"Oh, Baron!" their mother cried. "Just read the letter!"
His ears turned red as he looked down to the paper, and though Marissa had no idea what he might say, she started to raise a hand to stop him. She was too late.
"If," Edward ground out, "you do not provide the money as directed, I will reveal to society that Miss York has been compromised. As proof, I'll offer a description of a heart-shaped birthmark very high on Miss York's thigh."
A rush of sound seemed to enter the room with his words. Oh, part of it was certainly the gasps of those around her. Her mother, in particular, was letting out a distinctly warbling kind of wail. But there also seemed to be an ocean tide washing in and out of her hearing.
"Does he think we won't kill him?" she heard Aidan snarl.
"I made that quite clear," Jude responded with his usual calm.
Cousin Harry asked the most pertinent question, "Does anyone know where he's gone?"
The roaring waves swept in and out of her hearing until she finally identified the sound as rushing blood.
"He's close, I don't doubt." Edward's voice was hard as stone. "I assumed he'd gone to stay with the Brashcars. His sister's family. They're only an hour or so away."
"Well, then, "Aidan drawled. "Let's go pay him a visit, shall we? Apparently he needs a demonstration of just how much more valuable his life is than a measly five-thousand pounds."
She heard the rustle and the mutter of men forming a mob, and Marissa realized she'd closed her eyes. She forced them open even though she wanted to hide forever. If she could only disappear from this moment, she wouldn't have to face the next.
Tucking her hands into her lap to stop the shaking, she spoke. "It might not be him."
Her words had no effect on the group. The preparations for murder and mayhem continued.
Beside her, Marissa's mother muttered a continual stream of sound, the emphasis falling on words like
blackmail
and
scandal
and
rapscallion.
She sounded equal parts horrified and enthralled, but Marissa was sure she also detected a
soupcon
of joy.
"It might not be him," she said more loudly.
One by one, the men ceased their violent planning and turned toward her.
"Pardon?" Edward said.
"Peter White. He might not be the one who wrote the letter."
Aidan rolled his eyes, as if she were a silly miss whose brain moved at a snail's pace. "Marissa, it's obviously him. Or an associate of his, at least."
Every face held varying degrees of confusion as they awaited her explanation. Every face except Jude's. He raised an eyebrow, and his eyes glittered with amused curiosity.
"There's a small possibility ..." Her dry throat formed the words roughly, so she coughed into her fist and tried again. "There's a small possibility that someone else could've written that letter."
Realization took hold of Aidan's face first, then Edward's. Jude's eyes fairly glittered with laughter.
"Marissa," Edward growled.
"I would not like to see Mr. White unjustly murdered."
Aidan snatched the letter from Edward's hand and held it out toward Marissa. "He says he's seen your thighs, Marissa. So how could it be anyone but him?"
"Yes, well..." What in heaven's name was she to say to that?
Aidan's hand crumpled the letter, and the sound of it made her wince. "Is the description accurate?"
"Is it accurate?" he shouted.
Strangely enough, his anger stoked her courage. She sat straighter, raised her chin, and met Aidan's furious green gaze with her own. "Yes, it's accurate. So before you string Mr. White up from the nearest tree, you may want to speak with Fitzwilliam Hess as well."
"Fitz... William ..." Aidan stammered, his face growing alarmingly red.
Edward put a hand on his brother's arm. "Marissa, you're not saying ... you said you were a virgin."
"I was." She didn't dare meet Jude's gaze. "Fitzwilliam and I only engaged in kissing. And such."
"And
such!"
Aidan yelled.
"Yes."
Their eyes were like flames against her skin, and Marissa felt a tickle of perspiration on her hairline. But it was nearly over. Nearly.
Edward dropped his head, hands fisting on his hips. "Is Hess even in the country? The last I'd heard he was on the Continent."
More voices joined in, debating the whereabouts of Mr. Hess. She glanced over her shoulder to note that her mother had fallen into a faint, her head hanging perilously over the side of the couch. Possibly, she was truly unconscious this time.
It was now or never. Marissa chose a particularly faded rose on the study rug to focus on. "Also she said just loudly enough to stop the conversation. "There's a small possibility of a third gentleman."
At first, she thought the strangled huff was a male sob, and the sound startled her so much that her gaze lost its hold on the rose and flew up.
Jude stood, crimson-faced, hand covering his mouth. Was he...
crying?
He sobbed again, and despite the shock of her last statement, everyone in the study now looked at him.
Marissa's head swam with the idea that she might have broken his heart, and she was holding out her hand when he muttered "Pardon me," from behind his fingers and rushed for the study door. His eyes glinted with moisture. His neck burned red. She watched open-mouthed and horrified as he flew into the corridor and slammed the door behind him.
"What in God's name—" Edward started, but he was cut off by a roar of laughter trembling through the wood. Even from the study, one could clearly make out the echo of it bouncing down the passageway. Jude Bertrand was laughing his head off. At her.
"Why, I never!" her mother gasped, miraculously revived from her faint.
Marissa just stared at the door, stupefied. Jude's choked guffaws continued to sneak into the room.
Edward was the first to recover, and he wasn't showing even a hint of amusement when he aimed his glare at her. "Christ almighty, Marissa, this had damn well better be a joke."
She wished it was. If only everyone in the room found it as amusing as Jude did. "It was years ago, Edward."
His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but no words came out. She suddenly wished he were yelling. Aidan took care of that for him.
"Well, it's a damned good thing you have a fiancé, Marissa York, because it's clear you'll have to marry! With that many men under your skirts, it's a wonder you haven't been revealed before now!"
Her throat tightened at the disgust in his words. "Charles and I were in love. You should be able to understand that, Aidan."
Her brother's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, but he managed to hold on to his temper for once. "Charles. Charles LeMont?"
She dipped her chin in a faint nod.
"Didn't he marry three years ago?"
"It was arranged by his family. He didn't want the match."
"So," Aidan growled, "you told yourself it was all right to have an affair with a married man?"
"Aidan York!" she yelped, jumping to her feet. "I never would. Charles and I were in love before his betrothal, and we... we... it's possible we got a touch carried away when we were saying good-bye. And who are you to toss around such judgment, anyway?"
Edward said her name as a warning, but she shook it off.
"Oh, let's all stop treating him as if he were made of glass. He hates that anyway, or so he claims."
Her mother gave a little wail and collapsed hack onto the couch.