But when she spotted Mrs. Wellingsly in a half-shouted conversation with Aunt Ophelia, Marissa fell as if a tight hand had just been released from around her chest. Wherever Jude was, he hadn't snuck off with that woman.
She spun around to see if she could find another dance partner, but found herself nearly colliding with Edward instead.
"Might I speak with you in my study?"
Frowning at his dark tone, Marissa followed her brother from the room. "What is wrong?" she whispered. "I haven 't received another letter, if that's what you think."
"No," he muttered, "but I have."
"What letter?" she asked as he closed the door of his study behind her. Jude was there, and Aidan as well.
Not good.
"Cousin May wrote to warn she'd heard a rumor about you and Peter White having a private argument. It's dangerous to let it go on longer."
"But—"
"I will announce the engagement."
"But you promised me time!"
Edward folded his arms. "Engagements can be broken. But if this story spreads, there will be nothing I can do for you, Marissa. A betrothal to Jude
Bertrand will cause a stir and either smother the story or give it a less sinister turn. If you and Mr. White argued, it must only be over your growing affection for Jude."
Her brain tried to muster an objection, but in truth, it made perfect sense. Marissa looked toward Jude and met his serious eyes. He stepped forward, but she shook her head. She did not need his reassurance or influence. She would make this decision as an adult. "When shall we announce it then?"
"As soon as possible," Edward answered. "Tonight. I'll interrupt that harpist mother hired. That should he dramatic."
"Yes. All right."
Jude cleared his throat. "If I might have a moment alone with Marissa?"
Her brothers both left, though Aidan stopped before her to place a hand on her arm. His eyes were dark, but she nodded his worry away. When he left, the door closed with a careful thump.
"This won't change anything for you." Jude said. "I'll still honor your plan."
"Thank you."
"But know that I honor mine as well. Scandal or not, I mean to marry you if you'll have me. And only if you'll have me."
"All this based on admiration for my overwrought nature?"
"Something like that."
He moved closer, and Marissa fell the room grow smaller, the air less cool. He stopped before her, and his hand touched her jaw as it had before. The last time, she'd thought he would kiss her, but now she had no idea what he meant by it.
"Will you do me the honor of accepting my hand, Marissa York?"
"I..." By God, everything he did was a mystery. "You understand that—"
"I do."
"All right. Then, yes, I suppose I do as well."
His mouth lifted in that already-familiar crooked smile. "I'm not sure you're a romantic at all," he said. Then he tipped her face up and lowered his head, and my God, he was finally going to kiss her.
He moved so slowly that she could feel her own breath rush between them. She kept her eyes open, worried he'd draw away if she didn't watch. But finally, finally, his mouth touched hers, and she sighed with stark relief.
His lips brushed over hers, a soft rasp that set her nerves tingling. He smelled good so close to her. That same spice she caught a hint of on rare occasions. He smelled like something she wanted to taste.
So she did, pressing her mouth more firmly to his. Jude rewarded her by parting his lips just enough to catch her bottom lip between his. Now there was a hint of wetness when she moved. Now it felt wicked and less than safe.
The tingling in her nerves spread out, chasing down her body with happy speed.
Marissa had been kissed before, and she knew how it was done, so she angled her head and licked his plump bottom lip, and then she had to do nothing but let him kiss her.
And kiss her he did, with tongue and mouth and nibbling teeth. Marissa found herself clutching his lapels in an attempt to keep him near. At any moment
he could lift his head, and then when would he kiss her again? She'd waited so long already. . . .
His tongue rubbed a slow caress against hers, and Marissa moaned and strained toward him. His chest was so hard, and she could feel a faint roughness to his chin, but his mouth was nothing but warmth and sweet need. The kiss went on for long minutes, and soon enough she was thinking of couches and things that could be done on them. She was thinking of his thigh and what it might feel like under his trousers. Men had crisp hair on their thighs, she knew. And hot skin. And other interesting things in the vicinity.
So when he finally lifted his head, Marissa let him go, anticipating that something even better might happen. But nothing better did.
"That's as official as it gets, I'd say." His voice was deeper than normal, and much more rumbly.
Marissa fell back on her heels when she realized she was still poised on tiptoe. "Pardon?"
"Our betrothal. Shall we go share our joyful news?"
"I rather thought we'd stay here a moment and find ourselves even happier."
"Marissa! What kind of gentleman would I be if I tried to sway things in my favor by increasing your odds of. . . increasing?"
Her eyes slid toward the very comfortable looking couch on the far side of the room. It was far larger than the sewing-room settee. "You said there were other ways. ..."
"Oh, Christ," Jude said to the ceiling. His neck stretched up when he raised his chin, and the shadowed darkness of his nascent beard caught her eye. Another thing that made him so much rougher
than other gentlemen. Even when he was closely shaven, she could see the dark threat of whiskers beneath his skin.
Yes, he was altogether too rough. Yet he kissed like some sort of wicked angel.
"I'll never be fit for public presentation if you say things like that to me, Marissa."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing," he muttered.
"Might we kiss more?"
Jude closed his eyes and shook his head. "Edward will come looking for us shortly, I'm sure. Anyway, it won't be good for my nerves."
Marissa felt like pouting, but she wasn't about to let Jude know. So she sniffed, "You make the oddest jokes," and pretended to straighten her skirts. "Are you ready, then?"
"I think I'm past offending, yes."
"Did you muss my hair?"
He made a show of tilting his head this way and that, then walked slowly around her, sending her body into tight awareness of his gaze. When he reached her front again, Jude stole a very quick kiss. "You look perfect." That easy kiss felt so natural that it startled her. And when she took his arm, she felt the same strangeness. Three days ago, she hadn't known him. Two days before, he'd been an unattractive acquaintance. Now he felt like a friend.
Like everything else to do with Jude, it made no sense, but there was no point poking at it with a stick. She should just be happy he was tolerable.
No one seemed to notice them when they entered the room. Even Beth didn't look up, absorbed as she was with watching Mr. Dunwoody dance with Nanette.
But Edward had been watching, and when Marissa gave him a small nod, he walked toward the musicians, his mouth set in too grim a line.
He held up his hands, and the music faded to a stop, the harp trailing out as if the song did not wish to end.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have wonderful news tonight, and I'm thrilled you are all here to share in our family's joy. Mr. Jude Bertrand, an honorable and good friend of the York family, has asked for my sister's hand in marriage, and I was only too happy to give them my blessing." A murmur of shock trembled through the room. "Please join me in sharing congratulations with the happy couple." He gestured toward them, and the whole room turned as one. "We are all very... happy... with the arrangement."
No one seemed to notice her brother's awkward ending. They probably hadn't heard past their gasps and whispers. Every single face was etched in some measure of disbelief.
Smiling, clutching Jude's arm, Marissa looked around and caught Mr. Dunwoody's gaze. His face looked slightly crooked, torn between disbelief and horror.
In fact, several of the faces looking back at her could conservatively be described as horrified. Marissa tried to smile more widely, but embarrassment made her lips stiff. Embarrassment for herself, if she was being honest, but also for Jude. Nobody clapped. Nobody made noises of encouragement. Not one person could believe that
Marissa York would marry this man. And of course, under any normal circumstances, she wouldn't, and that knowledge was a rough stone lodged in her stomach.
But when she glanced up to Jude, he looked not the least bit discomfited.
"I'm honored," he said loudly, "that Miss York would even turn a smile in my direction, and I'm humbled that she has accepted my offer."
"Here, here!" Edward called, and the room had no choice but to follow suit. Aidan began to applaud, and the rest echoed him. Finally, the music started again, and Marissa felt faint with relief. It was done. And there was no doubt that talk of their engagement would overshadow any other talk drifting about.
Jude offered her a wink as a few brave souls approached, and his good humor helped to steady her nerves. Any other man she knew would be red-faced and fuming at this point. But Jude was steady as ever. In that moment, his brutish size seemed the least important thing about him. His strength was something entirely more than muscles and bones.
They accepted strained congratulations for a few moments before Cousin Harry clapped Jude on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. He was in on the plan, of course, but his acting had always been impeccable. Dear Harry was the star in every one of her mother's productions, and he played this role with aplomb as well. His hug was warm and genuine. His congratulations hearty but still surprised. The tension in the room eased, and Marissa found herself relaxing as she laughed and hung on Jude's arm.
For a moment it almost felt real. She was happy, and she'd he married, and she would love this man. And then Marissa caught sight of Beth's face, frozen with shock, and she remembered that this was all a terrible mistake.
Marissa pushed the horse hard through the chilled dawn air, clouds of steam billowing from its nose to slide past her boots and disappear into the gray light. She didn't enjoy the hunt, she didn't like jumping, but this she loved. Speed. A horse running so fast that Marissa felt she might fly.
She wished she could fly.
There'd been no dancing after Edward's announcement had been made. There'd been a drama to rehearse and friendly gambling and charades, but no dancing. Marissa had used that as an excuse to retire early. Really, she'd been trying to escape the subtle questions and sly looks of forty people trying to puzzle out her relationship with Jude.
Beth had looked more than puzzled. She'd seemed downright frightened, and when Marissa had heard a soft knock on her door close to midnight, she'd pretended to be asleep. She couldn't tell Beth the truth. If Marissa was with child, she'd be sure that no one but her immediate family knew the truth.
She would not dishonor Jude in that way, nor the child.
The thought slackened her grip, and the mare began to slow. There was the faintest fog this morning, and while Marissa could see clearly twenty yards ahead, the world began to recede at that point, as if the earth ceased to exist once it got too far from her. That was a blessing today, so she let Cleopatra trot for a distance before slowing her to a walk and turning back. Today, her loneliness was welcome.
She wasn't with child. She was so sure of that, but no one believed her. She felt exactly the same as she had before that night, not even changed in the way that she should be. What did that say about her? Was she cold or callous? Was she missing some essential femininity that made one a woman? She'd always felt different, though not one person around her had seemed to notice. Not her brothers. Not her parents. No one... until Jude had come along. He saw her, truly, but she didn't know if she wanted to be seen.
It felt like a violation, sometimes, not being able to control what he knew of her. He didn't know her secrets because she'd told them. He saw them written on her in gilt script.
But out here in the fog, she was safe and alone, and her future was as fuzzy as the line of trees to the west. Even her cold skin was a relief from the hot blushes that had taken it so often of late.
Still, she could not stay lost forever, and the men were likely gone now on their morning hunt. If she could only find a way to avoid Beth as well . . .
Hallway back to the manor, hoofbeats approached.
For some reason, she knew it must he Jude, and she braced herself for his all-seeing eyes. He would likely ride up and take one look at her and ask why she was hiding in the fog and feeling sorry for herself .
Cheeky wretch.
She was ready for him when the horse finally materialized on the lane ahead. So ready that she felt a flash of disappointment when she saw the dark muzzle and pale white star on the horse's nose. It wasn't Jude's great ugly beast, so it couldn't be Jude on his back.
The figure raised a hand, and Marissa stifled a sigh. She knew that elegantly slim arm.
Mr. Dunwoody.
Damnation.
She offered a somber greeting as he drew near.
"Miss York, I was hoping to find you on your ride this morning. The stable boy said you'd gone this way."
"Don't let me keep you, sir. I'm already returning as I can hardly feel my nose."
"Ah." His smile flashed for only a moment. "Please, if I might escort you back ..." He turned his horse, and the gelding's elegant legs pranced in impatience. It was a beautiful horse, its lines as perfect as the seams of Mr. Dunwoody's coat. Marissa swept a wistful gaze over the gelding. She did so love beautiful things.
"Your betrothal came as quite a surprise."
"Mr. Bertrand has been a friend of the family for years now."
"Yes, well ... I guess I did not notice him among your many admirers."
"Come, there were not so many."
"It seemed an intimidating horde to me." His
smile tried for self-deprecation but only looked worried. "Are you quite certain all is well, Miss York? After the argument with Mr. White and now this sudden betrothal, I can't help but worry."
"Worry about what, exactly?"
Now his familiar blush returned, and Mr. Dunwoody shook his head. "I apologize. It's none of my concern."
She should have corrected him, if only to be polite, but she couldn't. It was none of his concern.
The rigidity left his spine in tiny increments. Finally, he turned toward her with his normal smile. "All that aside .. ."
She smiled hack, and wondered if she might ever have approached Mr. Dunwoody with her predicament. She couldn't imagine it. He looked so very...
young.
Almost certainly, he would've reacted to her story with horror and shock. He would've been disgusted or outraged. Under no circumstances could she imagine Mr. Dunwoody matter-of-factly asking if she'd bled yet.
Wincing at the thought, she faced the outline of the manor beginning to reveal itself through the white.
Beautiful or not, Jude Bertrand was a man who could see her through this haze. Her doubts about him had floated far away.
"Well then," Dunwoody finally continued. "May I ask what you think of Miss Samuel?"
Marissa's heart leapt. "Oh, Beth is wonderful. She's my dearest friend. She's kind and loyal, and I'm sure you noticed that she's an excellent dancer. So graceful."
"Of course. She's lovely and soft-spoken. Very nice."
"Yes."
"What of Miss-Nanette Samuel? You must he close to her as well."
Her leaping heart landed in a heap atop her stomach. "Nanette? Um, yes, I have spent time with her as well."
"She's beautiful and so lively, wouldn't you say?"
"Mm." Her mind scrambled. If she spoke her true feelings, Mr. Dunwoody would likely discount them as the bitter words of a rival. But if she complimented Nanette, he would believe that too well. She took a deep breath. "Nanette is beautiful," she said, swallowing back her warnings. If he was smart, he'd be able to take her simple compliment for what it was. And if he were worthy of Beth, he would be able to see the truth himself.
"Yes," he murmured. "She is that."
Marissa gripped her reins tighter and hoped she'd done the right thing. But now she had another secret to keep from Beth.
Strangely enough, she found herself yearning to get Jude alone and tell him her troubles. A very odd feeling to have about a man, wanting to talk with him. Very odd indeed.