He Said Yes Read online

  "When my mother died my father sulked about the house for five years before he realized he was harming the parish by not getting on with his life. I'm sure Lady Waltham will soon realize that no matter how deeply she feels the loss of your father, she has a family who needs her."

  "Hopefully," Marshall sighed wishing it could be soon. "Winnifred and Catherine need their mother back in their lives."

  "Will you be staying for dinner?" Evelyn asked not want­ing to loose his company.

  "I'm afraid not," he replied sounding equally disap­pointed. "A previous engagement," he said then explained the weekly card game that came and went with the regularity of Big Ben's chimes. "The duke scolds us like schoolboys if we're late."

  Evelyn couldn't imagine anyone scolding the Marquis of Waltham. Her gaze fixed on his tall frame, the immaculate cut of his clothes, the gold stickpin in his cravat, all the things that clearly stated he was a gentleman. This was no merchant's son, or country farmer, but a titled member of the nobility. A man beyond her reach.

  The following days increased Evelyn's feelings for the marquis. The time they spent together was rarely scheduled. He called unannounced to spend time with her in the garden or strolling the park, feeding pigeons and a flock of wrens that appeared almost the moment they climbed down from the carriage. Mrs. Grunne had taken to keeping a bowl of bread in the kitchen, never knowing when his lordship and Miss Dennsworth would feel the need for some fresh air.

  Evelyn had supervised the additional servants sent by Mr. Druggs. Furniture was moved from room to room in an at­tempt to find a more comfortable match. Some items she delegated to the attic for storage; others she set about recov­ering, slowly ridding the house of its drab greens and adding bolder, brighter colors that brought the rented house to life. The library's transformation took several days. The carpet was removed and the floors waxed before a large oval rug was placed in the center of the room, giving it the illusion of being larger than it actually was. The drapes had been cast out and new ones put in their place. The boar's head had been graciously delegated to the attic along with the painting of the battle fought near Quatre Bras.

  Evenings were spent in the parlor, "becoming ac­quainted" as Marshall insisted on phrasing it. Sometimes he would bring a paper and read while she sat in a nearby chair, sewing. Often they talked of their childhoods and the things that still made them smile years later.

  Evelyn thought it quite strange that they fell into the peaceful routine practiced by couples who had been married for years. The only time it wasn't peaceful was when the marquis pulled her into his arms and kissed her senseless.

  She never knew when it was going to happen; thus she was never prepared for the debilitating effects that remained long after he took his leave. Each kiss was a promise, a re­minder that while he might act passively, his intentions were still very active. The evocative encounters always left her breathless, wanting, sensually confused. The temptation was becoming more potent by the day. Marshall's kisses more addicting. He was administering just such a kiss, one that had her clinging to his shoulders, when Grunne discreetly cleared his throat and announced that they had a visitor.

  "Who is it?" Marshall asked, keeping his arm around Evelyn's waist.

  "A Mr. James Portsman, my lord."

  The sensual haven that always accompanied Marshall's kisses was shattered as Evelyn recognized the name of the lawyer who had been retained to keep her out of prison.

  Eight

  James Portsman was of average height and far younger than Marshall had expected for a seasoned man of the law. His hair was fair, his eyes an attention-getting green. Clothes of costly material showed good tailoring and a superior cut that fit him well, lie was a man who would be considered handsome by the ladies.

  "Lord Waltham," Portsman greeted him. "How advanta­geous that you are here."

  "Mr. Portsman," Marshall replied turning his attention to Evelyn. She gave him an anxious look. Her hands were clasped so tightly in front of her the knuckles were white. "May I introduce Miss Dennsworth. Your client."

  Portsman greeted her with a sincere smile, followed by a suggestion that she might want to take a seat. He had several questions to put to her.

  "I'm impressed by your promptness, Mr. Portsman," Marshall said. "However, it seems a trifle too prompt. Is there a problem?"

  "I fear so, my lord. Lord Monfrey's second son is soon to wed a young lady on the Continent. The earl had petitioned the bench for expediency, wishing the matter dealt with be­fore the family travels abroad for the wedding. I was given notice this morning. We stand before the bench at week's end."

  "So soon," Evelyn said unable to hide her distress.

  "It is certainly more quickly than a normal case would be heard" Portsman agreed. "I have cases that have been pend­ing for almost a year." He turned his head slightly, once again addressing Marshall. "As soon as the court summons was served I took the liberty of calling. Mr. Druggs assured me that Miss Dennsworth could receive me without notice."

  Marshall drew a deep breath, then looked at Evelyn. Her distress was building; he could see it in the stiff pose of her shoulders and the way her hands were folded in her lap. He felt no hesitation about reaching for one of those hands, cradling it warmly in his own. Portsman had been informed of the entire situation. There was no reason for Marshall not to comfort Evelyn when she needed comforting the most.

  "If you prefer," he said giving her cold hand a quick squeeze, "I can speak with Mr. Portsman."

  "I need to speak for myself," she said. "But, I'm glad you're here."

  "So am I," he replied. "Don't worry. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

  Grunne entered carrying a tray. Once Evelyn had a cup of hot tea to ease her nerves, Marshall waited for the lawyer to start the conversation.

  "In order for me to properly represent Miss Dennsworth, I will need to know everything that transpired the day she was arrested." The lawyer looked directly at her. "I know this is upsetting for you, Miss Dennsworth. If it wasn't neces­sary, I wouldn't ask. But it is imperative that I understand why Lady Monfrey would make such a charge."

  "I understand" Evelyn replied. Despite Mr. Portsman's calm, professional voice, she was truly glad that Marshall hadn't left. Just having him close, his arm resting casually on the back of the sofa, helped to ease her nervousness. She refused to think of where she'd be if he hadn't championed her.

  Knowing her future freedom depended upon the defense Mr. Portsman was preparing, Evelyn took a calming breath, then focused on the unpleasantness of that day and told him everything she could remember.

  "I see," Portsman said once she'd finished the recitation. "Then, you had two encounters with Lady Monfrey. One in the fitting room of Madame La Roschelle's shop, when you complimented her ladyship's brooch, and the other a short time later when you bumped into her."

  "It was Lady Monfrey who did the bumping," Marshall said. "She came flying out of the fitting room like an over­stuffed hen fleeing the oven."

  "I have seen the lady about town," Portsman replied with the neutrality only a lawyer possessed. "She is rather—"

  "Fat," Marshall said not bothering to disguise his dislike.

  Portsman tried to hide his amusement behind his teacup, but Evelyn saw the smile on his face. When he spoke again, it was to direct a list of questions to her. She answered each and every one.

  "Excellent," he complimented her. "That is exactly how you should reply to any questions put to you by myself or the magistrate. When you stand before the bench, do not hesi­tate to look Rivenhall in the eye. He may be somewhat in­timidating, sitting above you dressed in a black robe, but I assure you he will know the truth when he hears it."

  "What about Lady Monfrey?" Evelyn asked.

  "I will question her," Portsman replied. "After reading the charges and the constable's report that a thorough search of Madame La Roschelle's establishment produced nothing, I do not think it will be too difficult to get Lady Monfrey to
admit that she suspects you simply because you passed a compliment her way. You have no wrongdoing in your back­ground, nor is there anything about your person or appear­ance to reflect badly upon your creditability."

  "What if the magistrate doesn't believe me?"

  "He will believe the facts, Miss Dennsworth. There are no witnesses against you. Without finding the brooch on your person or amongst your belongings, there is no case, only assumption."

  "I will be there," Marshall said.

  Portsman gave him a pensive look, then spoke, his voice taking on the quality of a lawyer addressing a jury. "I would ask that you reconsider making an appearance, my lord. Of course, you may sit in the gallery. It will be an open court­room."

  Evelyn looked from the lawyer to the marquis, then back again. "I understand but I'm not sure Lord Waltham does."

  "What don't I understand?" Marshall replied somewhat stiffly. He had no intention of abandoning Evelyn to suffer the trauma of a trial alone.

  Portsman addressed the issue. "You and Lady Monfrey are socially acquainted are you not, my lord?"

  "Most of the peerage is socially acquainted" Marshall re­torted. "Explain yourself."

  "I do not wish to offend Miss Dennsworth, but you have retained me to speak to her best interest. That interest de­mands that I be candid with you. Lady Monfrey would be sure to recognize you, no matter where you are seated in the courtroom. The level of this case, although of extreme im­port to my client, is not the type of trial that would draw the attention of a marquis. Lady Monfrey could assume a con­nection between yourself and Miss Dennsworth, especially since you were in the shop that day. Her condemnation at seeing one of her class being supportive of one she considers socially inferior could create .. . shall we say, a certain un­predictability in her testimony." He paused to let his words sink in. "There is also the possibility that seeing you in the courtroom could cause the magistrate some discomfort. You did persuade him to release Miss Dennsworth into your cus­tody."

  Marshall couldn't argue with either point. Lady Monfrey was one of those dislikeable women who flaunted her supe­rior status at every opportunity. Having met Rivenhall, Marshall wasn't overly concerned that the man would feel uncomfortable, but he didn't comment on the magistrate's willingness to accept the money that had been offered that night in the tavern. Instead he was forced to agree with Portsman. "In other words, my presence could do more harm than good."

  "I believe it would my lord" Portsman replied. "I assure you, Miss Dennsworth will be shown every courtesy in the courtroom. I will not allow anyone to slander her good name."

  The lawyer's assurance didn't appease the need for Marshall to be close to Evelyn on the day she would need him the most, but it did confirm that he'd hired the right man to defend her. Portsman might be young, but he was intelli­gent. It would be interesting to see how he managed Lady Monfrey once she was in the witness booth.

  "Very well," he said reluctantly, "I will not attend the hearing."

  "I think it's best," Evelyn said for her own reasons. If she was found guilty, she didn't want Marshall seeing her being led from the courtroom by more constables.

  "I will call again the day before the trial," Portsman said. "At that time, I will go over the specific questions I'll be pre­senting in the courtroom. Try not to worry," he said. "I'm confident that we shall see this matter to a just resolution."

  Marshall showed the man to the door personally, wanting a few words with him in private. "I will not allow her to be sent to prison," he told Portsman. "Do whatever you have to do to make sure it doesn't happen."

  The attorney nodded. "Your affection for the lady is ap­parent, my lord. Rest assured all will be well. If I can dis­cern the truth, so will Rivenhall. Miss Dennsworth's character will shine through her nervousness, and she will be believed."

  Marshall prayed that the young lawyer was right. He didn't want Evelyn subjected to days or weeks in a workhouse until he could ferret out the people he would need to bribe to ob­tain her freedom. If such a thing was possible, and he highly suspected it was.

  After asking the lawyer to inform him before calling again, Marshall bid Mr. Portsman a good day and returned to the parlor. Evelyn was sitting where he had left her, her gaze unfocused her thoughts obviously inward.

  "I think something stronger than tea is in order," he said shutting the parlor door behind him. "A sherry to soothe your nerves."

  Evelyn didn't dispute that her nerves needed soothing. The last few days had instilled an artificial calm in her life that Mr. Portsman's visit had disrupted. She didn't want to think about the upcoming trial, but she had little choice. So much depended upon it.

  Marshall sat down beside her, determined to rid the room of the ghosts Portsman had left behind. Waiting until she'd finished the sherry, he took the glass from her hand and set it aside.

  "You've been told not to worry."

  "How can I not," she said close to tears.

  "No," he said pulling her into his arms. "I will not let this day be ruined by Lady Monfrey and her ridiculous charges."

  He sensed the momentary doubt in her, felt her stiffen ever so slightly as he threaded his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back so he could kiss her. His gaze dropped to her bodice and the starched front of her white blouse, tucked neatly into the waistband of a dark blue skirt. Her wardrobe was sadly lacking. He wanted to clothe her in satins and lace, but she continued to refuse anything more than food and shelter.

  "Don't push me away," Marshall said as he saw that cer­tain expression on her face, the one she always wore when she was concentrating on the social differences between them.

  "I don't want to," she confessed. She reached out her hand and caressed his cheek.

  He saw the teary sheen of her eyes, felt the slight tremor of her body. He kissed her, his lips clinging to the taste of hers, sweetened by sherry and the confession that he hadn't been wrong. She wanted this as much as he wanted it. Each time he kissed her, he could feel the bond between them growing stronger. It was what he had hoped for, what he had planned on these last few days.

  He tightened his hold on her, allowing one hand to move up and down her back, gradually, skillfully pressing her closer. He used every ounce of experience he'd gleaned over the years, the knowledge that a woman burned more slowly than a man, that she needed to be coaxed not rushed. Now that the moment was at hand Marshall wanted it to last.

  Another kiss and his hands were around her waist, his thumbs brushing provocatively against the swell of her breasts. There was no corset to hinder his actions, thank God. He shifted his weight, using the length of the sofa to his advantage. Her head rested against the fringed pillows as she watched him.

  Slowly, he raised his hands and reached for the buttons on her blouse. He undid them one by one. When there were no more buttons, he opened the blouse to reveal the soft muslin of a lace-trimmed chemise. Beneath the sheer fabric he could see the dark outline of her peaked nipples. He looked from her swelled breasts to her mouth, then into her eyes. "You are lovely," he whispered.

  The husky sound of his voice was a caress. Evelyn felt it, just as she had felt his kiss, his hands, gentle but urgent. Everything about him beckoned enticed and tempted her to forget herself at the same time it begged her to remember each time he had touched her before, kissed her before. The right and wrong of it faded under the piercing heat of his gaze.

  She watched as he stood up and took off his jacket and waistcoat. His shirt followed falling soundlessly onto the floor. He was a well-made man, and she gloried in the knowledge that he could have any woman, yet wanted her.

  Marshall wanted to strip both their clothes away and toss them to the far corners of the room, but he maintained his control. Evelyn would be his soon enough, and he vowed to make their first joining as pleasurable as it could be for both of them.

  He sat down beside her. Her lips parted as if to speak, but he sealed them with his own. It was a long, lingering kiss. His tongue t
eased the corner of her mouth. Hers hesitatingly did the same. The sensual duel continued for several more kisses, each one teasing, each one teaching, each one more satisfying than the last until her hands were laced behind his neck and she was holding on to him.

  His hands splayed low at her back, Marshall kept her arched her body pressed tightly against his own. Finally, he lifted his mouth, took a breath, and began kissing new terri­tory. The curve of her throat, the swell of her breasts just above the top of her chemise. When he reached the valley between her breasts, he inhaled the scent of her.

  Evelyn felt the heat of his breath. It was hotter than any summer wind. She shivered in his arms, felt his hands at the base of her spine keeping her body arched like a bow while he began to kiss her again. His tongue glided hotly over her skin. Another shiver, more pleasure than surprise this time.

  He lifted his head and looked at her. There was tender­ness in his gaze. Tenderness and something else, something wild and deep and unnamed. She felt it, just as wildly and just as deeply. Sinking back into the pillows, she smiled at him. No words. Just a smile that said ail there was to say. She was his—for now.

  How often these last few days had she dreamed of this, of his touch, of his tender ways and captivating smile. Was it so wrong to let him be her knight in shining armor again, to think of him as hers and hers alone? It was an illusion, yes, but if fate turned against her again, it could well be the only illusion, the only splendid memory she would have for a long time. She was old enough to know what she was doing, old enough to experience the ultimate act of womanhood. And she wanted it to be with this man. She wanted his touch to banish the demons, his kiss to melt away the fear.

  There would be regrets, consequences, but she'd face them tomorrow. Today she would be what he wanted her to be—a lover.