Marrying Miss Monkton

‘Because as my wife you have my complete protection at all times. Of what use would I be to you if that oaf who accosted you earlier should take it into his sodden head to seek feminine company and remember you? From what I recall of some of the overpainted, disreputable women I saw in the public room when we arrived, you are by far the most desirable, so who could blame him? You are a rare prize for any man, Maria.’

His gaze never wavered from hers, but when it dipped downwards, Maria saw the light that flared in his eyes, again making her conscious of her lack of modesty. When she glanced quickly down, her fears were realised when she saw the soft, rosy peaks of her bosom straining against the delicate fabric of her nightdress. Raising her head, she met his gaze. Her heart seemed to leap in her throat in a ridiculous, choking way, and she chided herself for being so foolish as to believe he liked what he saw.

‘There is a lock on the door. He would not get in.’

‘He would find a way if he wanted to.’ The sight of her flushed cheeks and the way she had wrapped her arms around her waist in an unconscious act of self-protection brought home to Charles for the first time the fact that his proceedings might be considered shockingly unorthodox to a young woman who had been protected from the opposite sex and the ways of the world for the whole of her life.

Getting up, he towered over her, looking down at her apprehensive, upturned face. ‘You have led a sheltered life under the harsh eye of your aunt, who has rigid rules when it comes to raising young ladies of breeding and class. May I give you a word of advice, Maria? Common sense will always stand you in better stead than a slavish adherence to conventions.’

The shamed colour faded from Maria’s cheeks and the hostility in her eyes was replaced by interest. ‘If common sense is preferable to convention, then it is a point of view in complete opposition to the teachings of my aunt and the many governesses who had charge of Constance and me over the years.’

‘It is my point of view, and I know I’m right—otherwise what do you think would have happened had I not apprehended your drunken admirer when I saw him come up the stairs and approach your door?’

She stared at him in horror, her hand going to her throat. ‘He wasn’t! You mean he actually intended to come in here? But—no man would dare to come to a lady’s room, knowing they might encounter an irate husband.’

Charles nodded gravely. ‘He most certainly was—until I—persuaded him to think again.’

‘And the pistol? Is that part of the remedy to use against that—that oaf?’

‘If need be—which I doubt.’ His eyes glinted wickedly. ‘The man is no longer in any fit state to climb the stairs, let alone molest a young woman in her bed.’

Her eyes widened with alarm. ‘Why, what have you done to him?’

‘Let’s just say that at this time he will be sleeping like the proverbial babe.’ He looked at her through narrowed eyes, his firm lips curving in a gently mocking smile. ‘You left your door unlocked, otherwise how do you think I got in?’

‘But you should not be here.’

A crooked smile accompanied his reply. ‘And where would you have me go—to sleep outside your door, perhaps, which would be considered by some to be most odd and raise more than a few eyebrows? And if you’re thinking of your aunt,’ he said, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, as if he expected the formidable woman to emerge at any minute, ‘don’t. She need never know.’

On consideration, Maria had to admit that he was right. ‘I never had a very high opinion of my aunt. It never occurred to me to question her authority and her rightness on her view on behaviour and etiquette. It just wasn’t done.’

‘I understand that, and in an ideal France, as it is in England, it isn’t the practice for young ladies to question their elders. But these are not ideal times—far from it. People are finding themselves in all kinds of different, often violent, situations. No doubt your aunt will look upon what I consider to be eminently sensible proceedings as entirely scandalous.’

‘And she would have regarded me, as the recipient of them, as something close to a fallen woman. With her inflexible code of what is right, when placed in the balance against the strict preservation of the social conventions, she would rather you had abandoned me to the advances of that oaf downstairs than for you to spend the entire night alone with me in this room.’

‘So you do accept that my point of view is infinitely more practical than your aunt’s?’

A smile broke out on her lips that brought a dimple in the gentle curve of her cheek. She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, conscious of a sudden sense of being released from a kind of bondage, as though some mental steel thread that still tethered her to the Chateau Feroc had snapped.

Watching her, it was the first time that Charles had seen her really smile since she had left the chateau. But he did not return it. Gazing down at her, she seemed older somehow. Her face was gently flushed, and the shadows under the wide dark eyes made them appear even larger. The whiteness of her modest nightdress was stark against the looseness of her hair that tumbled about her in rippling profusion, glinting with blue lights in the dimly lit room.

Charles had a sudden and disturbing vision of her betrothed, of the degenerate roué, Henry Winston, of his moist fingers twining themselves in that soft, sweetly scented hair, sliding over her bare shoulders, his mouth devouring those soft lips. He turned from her abruptly, his head slightly bowed as he gazed into the hearth.

‘Go back to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and it is imperative that you get your rest. You have my word that you are quite safe,’ he assured her.

‘But what about you?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘It will be a long day for you also. You cannot be comfortable sleeping in that chair.’

He turned and looked at her, smiling crookedly, a roguish gleam in his eyes. ‘Where else would you have me sleep? With you, perhaps?’

Charles searched her eyes for barely an instant before the dark orbs went chasing off in another direction. Smiling, he leaned forwards to speak over her ear. ‘The idea of sharing your bed with me doesn’t frighten you, does it, Maria?’

‘No, of course not,’ she denied in a frantic rush, stepping back in an effort to put some distance between them. Her retreat was necessary to cool her burning cheeks and to ease to some small degree the unruly pace of her heart. ‘But that is out of the question.’

‘It needn’t be.’

‘Forgive me for ever thinking you were a gentleman,’ she derided. ‘So far you’ve done much to prove yourself as big a roué as any I have met—in addition to your impertinence in ogling me and suggesting I appease your—your dragon.’

Charles curbed a grin. ‘Worry not, Maria, you are quite safe. But if you should have a change of heart and take pity on me, I can promise you such delight as you’ve never before imagined.’

Maria was shocked to the core that he should be speaking to her like this. ‘Will you please stop?’ she flared irately, lifting her eyes to his face in time to see his eyes dip into her breasts. ‘You seem to forget that I am promised to another. You behave as if you really are my husband.’

Charles chuckled softly. ‘Who knows what will come from our association? I may just decide to forget that I am a gentleman, to forget about Henry Winston, and behave as your husband just to show you what delights can be had between a married couple.’

‘Except that we’re not. You engaged two rooms, as I recall.’

‘I did—one for Pierre.’ Tilting his head to one side, half frowning, half smiling, he peered at her. ‘His room is big enough to accommodate me if you would like me to leave you to sleep alone. Is that what you want?’

She bit her lip. The moment to tell him to go and leave her in peace was at hand, yet for the life of her she could not do so, for the fear of that drunken oaf coming to her room remained.

‘No. I would like you to stay.’ Without a word Maria went to the bed and removed one of the blankets and placed it on the chair.

‘You might as well be warm while you sleep. Thank you, Charles,’ she said stiffly. ‘You are being very good to me—when you aren’t trying to seduce me.’ Why she wasn’t outraged by his audacity was a mystery beyond her comprehension just then.

He looked at her, the firelight flickering in his light blue eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? Our fathers were friends, were they not? There is no reason why we should be any different.’

‘No, of course not.’

Standing in such close proximity, Maria thought Charles looked very appealing—and very handsome. A warm trickle of an unfamiliar sensation ran through her body, a stirring she had never felt before. Her heart quickened within her breast, and her blood seemed to melt, turning her insides into a river of heat. She shivered. Charles noticed.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked, a crease of worry between his brows.

He reached to clasp her hand, his fingers very strong and sure. There was a faint white scar on the back of his hand, and Maria wondered how he had come by it. At the same time she realised she knew absolutely nothing about him. How could she? And maybe it wasn’t safe to know.

She withdrew her hand and turned her thoughts away from this new, dangerous direction. She felt a sudden stillness envelop them. Vividly aware of his closeness, the spicy scent of him, she was overwhelmingly conscious of him—and confused. She was slightly irritated by the way in which he skilfully cut through her superior attitude, the artificial posturing she often assumed to save herself from him. She knew she asked for it, but the magnetic attraction still remained beneath all the irritation.

‘I’m not cold,’ she said, her voice sharp.

‘Then go to bed.’

She did as she was bade and crawled back into the warm softness, allowing sleep to overtake her and her troubled thoughts.

Charles sat staring into the shifting, glowing lights in the dying embers of the fire, his mind wandering back to his young charge between the covers. A picture of a tumbling mass of blue-black hair swirled through his thoughts, of dark fringed green eyes that glowed with their own light, the colour of their depths forever changing like richly hued jewels. A nose was added to the lovely vision, slim and pert and a feature of perfection. A pair of lips floated into mind, gently curving and expressive; in his recollection he remembered the moment when they had left the inn to begin their journey and her lips had turned upwards and parted with laughter.

Let it be for ever so, he mused, but he knew it would not.

Thinking of the long and arduous journey ahead of them, he hoped they would reach their destination without mishap. Maria was depending on him, he reminded himself. She trusted him to get her to England safely. He owed it to her not to fail.

Chapter Three