A Scoundrel's Surrender (18 page)

“Give her my love,” Marah said softly.

Tessa's face softened as she reached out to cover Marah's hand with her own. “I will. I'm sure it will mean a great deal to her. She likes you very much.”

Marah blushed as Tessa pulled away. She liked the marchioness, too. Dowager marchioness, she supposed she was now. For her best friend now had a new title.

She looked at Victoria as Tessa moved from the table to gather a plate for her mother. Her best friend looked tired, but there was still a glow to her.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Justin was the one who shook his head. Although he had tossed his napkin across his plate, Marah could see he had only pushed his food around. He hadn't eaten.

“No,” he said softly. “There are some things to be taken care of here and people will begin to call today.”

Marah nodded. “Perhaps I'll return to your home and refresh myself while you handle those things. I could return later.”

Victoria smiled. “Yes, I think that might be best. There is no reason for you to stay.”

Marah tensed at the reminder. No, with Caleb gone, she supposed there wasn't. She wasn't part of his family, no matter how kindly she had been accepted by them.

Justin nodded, distracted as he picked at a loose thread on the tablecloth. “Tessa will be with Mother most of the day. God knows where Caleb is. His note wasn't clear.”

Marah lifted her gaze to him slowly. “H-he left a note?”

“For me, yes.” Justin sighed. “He said he needed a walk. I hope that isn't some kind of twisted euphemism for a whiskey or a woman.”

Victoria's hand came to cover her husband's arm gently. “Justin.”

His gaze darted to Marah. She hoped she was covering her reaction to his statement. Her stomach turned as she tried to keep smiling benignly.

“I'm sorry, Marah. I am distracted, I shouldn't have said such a thing. Not in front of you.”

Marah pushed to her feet, uncertain if he meant because she was an unmarried woman or because it wasn't nice to rub Caleb's apparent penchant for indiscretion under trying circumstances in her face.

“It matters little, Justin, I assure you.” She touched his hand briefly, then hugged Victoria. “I shall return home. Please send word if you need anything at all.”

She nodded. “Yes. And I may return myself, later.”

Marah slipped from the room and signaled to a servant to have the carriage brought around. But as she waited, she had to work to keep her shoulders straight and her expression blank.

Caleb had left her bed for a “walk” and never said a word. When he left a note it was for his brother, not her. And that made his intentions more than clear. Once again she had fooled herself into thinking that sex meant emotion.

But she wouldn't repeat that mistake. Not again.

Chapter 18

M
arah nodded to her maid as Betsy finished the last touch on her hair. With a curtsy, the girl left the room. Marah sighed as she settled back in her chair and looked at her reflection in the mirror. After a hot bath and fresh gown, she felt better.

Well, that was a lie. She didn't feel better, but she felt like she could pretend again. She would have to.

The door behind her opened and she turned. “Did you forget something, Betsy?”

Her maid bobbed out a quick curtsy. “No, miss. Crenshaw was coming up to announce a visitor and I told him I'd pass the message along to you.”

Marah got up, smoothing her gown. “A visitor. Does the person not know that there has been a death in the family?”

“It isn't a visit for the house, miss, the gentleman is here for you,” Betsy said with a little knowing smile. “I believe it is Mr. Winstead.”

Marah swallowed hard. She had forgotten that Emerson had promised to call on her this afternoon. Her mind flew, once more, to images of last night. Caleb's mouth on hers, his hands on her, their bodies moving together.

“Miss?”

Marah blinked, clearing her mind with difficulty. “Will you inform Mr. Winstead that I shall be down directly?”

Her maid nodded as she backed from the room. Once she was gone, Marah turned toward the mirror to find her face was bright red and her hands shook. This would not do.

Wetting a rag in the basin by her bed, she cooled her face with the water. Finally, when the color had faded, she drew in a long breath. There was no reason for her to be embarrassed or ashamed. She had no understanding yet with Emerson and while her actions were certainly imprudent, she didn't regret them.

Even now when the consequences were bitter indeed.

Straightening her shoulders, she left her chamber and made her way downstairs to the front parlor where she was certain Crenshaw had left her caller. As she entered the room, a forced smile on her face, Emerson got to his feet.

“Marah,” he said as she crossed to him and took his extended hands. “After last night, I must inquire as to how you are.”

She froze and then calmed herself. Emerson was asking about the marquis' death, not confronting her about her actions. She had to remain calm.

“It was a trying night,” she admitted as she freed her hands from his and motioned him back to the settee. She took her place in a chair near his and smoothed her skirts. “But more for the family than for me. I only wish I could be of more assistance, but there is no real way to ease their grief.”

Emerson nodded. “I'm certain you were more than helpful.”

She smiled. Oh, how little he knew.

“I'm only sorry that the tragedy cut our night short,” she said, trying to steer the subject away from the comfort she had offered. “I hope you weren't too put out.”

“Of course not,” Emerson said, smiling up at the servant who brought them tea. Once she was gone, he sighed. “Actually it is sometimes these kinds of moments that solidify our thoughts.”

“What do you mean?”

Marah tilted her head as she picked up the teapot and poured them each a cup. Emerson took nothing in his, so she offered it to him as it was. He took it, but set it aside. She shrugged and prepared her own with cream and sugar.

“The marquis' death,” Emerson explained. “It is only a reminder of how fleeting life is. And how short a time we have to share it with those in our lives.”

Marah nodded, though she was confused by Emerson's rather passionate words about a man he had never met.

“When I thought of those things after I left you last night, it gave me a perspective I perhaps hadn't had before,” Emerson finished.

“Perspective?” Marah said as she took a sip of her tea.

He took a deep breath. “Marah, we have known each other for almost a year. I moved slowly in my courtship of you because I believe the best marriages are partnerships, rather than passionate unions. But I cannot wait any longer. I would ask you to be my bride.”

Marah choked on her tea and nearly sent her mouthful of it shooting across the room in a most unladylike fashion. As she coughed, Emerson reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, which he offered to her.

When she could finally breathe again, Marah stared at Emerson. For so long she had been telling herself that his proposal was what she desired, and yet when he offered it, she had been taken completely off guard.

“I can see you are not convinced,” he said, his mouth becoming a thin line of displeasure. “Perhaps my position in life is not as unimportant to you as it once was?”

“Oh no, it isn't that,” Marah said, rushing to soothe what were clearly hurt feelings and ruffled feathers. “In no way is my hesitation a reflection on you! I must admit that I did not expect you to say this to me today.”

His face softened a bit. “I realize the timing is inopportune with your dear friends entering mourning. We won't be able to celebrate our engagement with the joy I had hoped, nor with the parties I'd planned, but I still believe this is the best time to ask you this question.”

She still hesitated. Less than twelve hours ago, she had been in another man's bed and she had let herself hope, foolishly, for a future with him that was built on the very opposite virtues from those Emerson represented.

“Marah, I think you know what I can offer you as a husband,” he said softly. “I am not titled, but I'm moving up in the world. As my wife you would never have to worry about money or pretty baubles.”

“Those things don't matter to me,” she said with a shake of her head. “I was raised simply.”

“But I do think that the stability that promise implies
does
matter to you,” Emerson pressed. “I am not a rake, Marah. I would be a faithful husband, one you could depend upon through good times and bad. That is what I can offer you. If you will say yes to me.”

Marah shut her eyes. This man had just laid out every reason she had for wanting him, he had reminded her of how he was different from Caleb. And since Caleb had just proven, once more, that he wasn't dependable. . .

Well, she would be a fool not to take the offer before her.

“Yes, Emerson,” she said, opening her eyes to look at him. “I would be honored to be your bride.”

He clapped his hands together and the pleasure on his face was very real. She smiled in return, though she was stricken by the oddness of this moment. She had just agreed to marry this man, yet she felt no thrill in her stomach about that fact, nor any desire to launch herself across the table and into his arms.

“Great God, this is good news,” Emerson said with a laugh. “And now we make our plans. A special license might be best. Given recent events, reading the banns might be unseemly. But we could have a quiet, private ceremony in a fortnight or so and then in a few months hold a large celebration of the union and invite everyone important.”

Marah blinked. “You would wish to marry so soon?” she whispered.

He nodded. “I see no reason to wait. Do you?”

She swallowed. “No, Emerson.”

But the moment she had said it, the reason she had been pretending away walked into the parlor with Victoria on his arm. Caleb.

Marah couldn't help but catch her breath as she pushed to her feet and sent a furtive glance toward Emerson. Guilt overwhelmed her, but it wasn't guilt that a man she had made love to had just come face to face with her fiancé.

No, she felt guilty that Caleb had found her with Emerson.

Caleb came to a stop in the parlor, his expression blank as it moved to her. “Good afternoon,” he said softly, not directing the comment to anyone in particular, though his attention didn't waver from her.

“Hello,” she squeaked in answer.

Emerson didn't seem to sense the tension between them, for he came forward. “My dear Lady Baybary . . . or should I call you Lady Stratfield now?”

Victoria paled even further. “I think Lady Baybary for now.”

“Of course. Once again may I say how sorry I am for your family's loss.”

She nodded, but Marah could see how much of a struggle it was for Victoria to mask her dislike for the man. She tilted her head. She hadn't realized how little her best friend thought of him. Even with her discouragement of their match, she had never seemed to have an aversion to him.

“I hope that the news I'm about to tell you might soften that pain,” Emerson said.

Both Victoria and Caleb looked at him. Marah stepped forward, parting her lips in the hopes she would find something,
anything
to say that would stop Emerson from revealing their arrangement.

But there was nothing that would have worked. With a smile, Emerson said, “I have just asked Marah to marry me, and she has agreed.”

C
aleb kept his gaze on Emerson Winstead for probably a full minute as he tried to comprehend the explosive words he had just heard. Slowly he let his gaze move to Marah. She stood a few feet away, her chin dipped and her hands clenched before her.

She didn't appear to be pleased by her beau . . . no, her
fiancé's
declaration. In fact, she looked nothing at all like the woman who had opened her body and her heart to him just a few hours before.

Victoria began to talk. Caleb was sure she was congratulating the couple, but she was just a mumbling voice in the periphery of his mind. All he could see, all he could focus on was Marah.

He had taken her to his bed and known it was wrong. Not because he didn't want her, but because she was owed more than a night of passion. The walk he had gone on in the middle of the night, the one that had lasted for hours, had helped him conclude that.

In those miles he had covered, he had recognized that he
had
to offer for her hand, to do the honorable thing. But first he planned to court her as she had always wished he would. The way she deserved.

Only now . . . now she was marrying another man instead. His numbness at that fact faded and was replaced with anger. Anger so powerful that it was more like rage. He looked at Emerson Winstead, still chatting amiably with Victoria, and Caleb wanted to tear his head from his shoulders.

“Caleb,” Victoria said softly, her fingers clenching on his arm. “Is there anything you would like to say?”

He gently released his sister-in-law and stepped toward Emerson. Though the man's face remained utterly unmoved and amiable, his eyes reflected triumph. Once again, Caleb suppressed the urge to attack.

“With Miss Marah staying here, my brother is, I suppose, her guardian in some ways,” Caleb said, his voice ringing hollow in his ears. “Since he isn't available,
I
would like to speak to you privately.”

Both the women gasped at the same time, but Winstead didn't react in the slightest. “Of course, Mr. Talbot. I'm happy to discuss anything on your mind. Lead the way.”

Marah moved forward and now her gaze was fully focused on Caleb in the way she had been trying to avoid before. “Cal— Mr. Talbot, there is really no need—”

He took a step toward her and it stopped Marah in her tracks. “Oh yes,” he said, speaking low so as to control his tone. “There most definitely is. Excuse me, ladies.”

He turned on his heel and marched from the room, steering them toward Justin's study. Once there he wasn't certain of his plan, but he wasn't about to simply offer his congratulations to this smug prick. Not before he had some say in the matter.