He Said Yes Page 16

  Evelyn recalled the times Marshall had talked about sail­ing with his father. She knew the sport was close to his heart. Whenever he spoke of sailing, his eyes took on a warm glow, as though he could feel the wind brushing against his face and the sting of salt water as it wiped over the bow of the ship. Evelyn had never been on the water, never sailed yet she had shared his excitement when he'd told her of racing in his first regatta.

  As the carriage moved down the main drive, passing Bedford Hall, Evelyn could see that the estate was a working farm, complete with a dovecote and landscaped park. The cottage sat near the dovecote, on a small knoll above the beach.

  Mr. Druggs helped her down, then smiled as she stared longingly toward the small stone house with its freshly painted green door and matching shutters. There was a small flower bed beneath the front window and a row of shrubbery bordering the path that lead to the front door.

  "Lord Waltham hopes it will be to your liking," the secre­tary announced. "Go ahead take a look inside."

  Evelyn, feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl, hurried along the flat stone path toward the most lovely little cottage she had ever seen. Its steepled roof was outlined by blue sky, while the cottage itself sat on a high windy bluff, overlooking the Channel. The parklands ran parallel to the sandy beach, bro­ken only by the occasional outcropping of ribbed limestone. Beyond the beach lay the vista of the English Channel, miles and miles of uninterrupted water. Wind whipped over the liquid surface, churning up small white-capped waves, caus­ing them to fold over themselves before sending them rip­pling onto the sandy shore.

  The sound was just as enthralling, a melody of earth, wind and water. The thought of hearing the song each night as she lay in her bed sent a shiver of expectation through Evelyn's body. The vision of being held in Marshall's arms, while the ocean lulled them to sleep, was enough to make her emotions churn. Emotions that were beginning to be viewed in a different light now that she knew she did in fact, love the marquis. She'd finally admitted the inevitable some­where between London and Ipswich, calling her feelings by their true name, labeling them boldly within her mind. It was somewhat of a relief, she supposed. There'd be no more wondering, no more doubts about her actions or reactions. Love could be blamed for all.

  "I will leave you to your unpacking and settling in," Mr. Druggs said coming to stand beside her. "If you need any­thing, my quarters are in the back of the house, near the en­trance to the east wing. Any of the servants can direct you to me. Dinner is normally served at eight. I will introduce you to the staff at that time. Most of them have been with the family as long, if not longer, than I. You will find them a friendly lot."

  "Thank you," Evelyn said looking past him to where the footman, who had ridden on the perch next to the driver, was carrying her valise to the front door. "I shall see you at din­ner then."

  "It will be dark," Druggs said. "I will send a footman to escort you."

  Having concluded over the course of their journey that the secretary could be just as obstinate as his employer, Evelyn didn't argue. Instead she thanked him again, then waved as the coach turned around and headed back toward the main house.

  She stood outside a few minutes longer, silently appreci­ating the scenery. The water, wind and sea combined to cre­ate a savage beauty. The fantastic coloring of the beach, muted shades of brown and white, clumps of tall, wispy green grass that bent gracefully under the wind the wet tide line thick with seaweed this was where the marquis had played as a child running barefoot with a kite fluttering overhead. Smiling to herself, Evelyn could easily imagine him racing the wind.

  Still smiling, she turned to investigate the cottage. Stepping over the threshold seemed a ceremonious affair since it represented a significant change in her life. London was behind her; ahead lay a summer of uncertainty, yet one she found herself eager to begin.

  As expected the cottage had been thoroughly cleaned. The main room was spacious with a high ceiling and a stone fireplace large enough to roast an entire boar. The furnish­ings were remnants of the lavish lifestyle of a manor house, each piece sturdy and smelling of beeswax from a recent polishing. Chintz curtains in a light floral pattern covered the windows.

  The bedroom was small but extremely comfortable, with a four-poster bed covered by a blue canopy and matching coverlet. Evelyn opened the shutters to the wind and the scent of the sea while she unpacked.

  It had been a week since she'd last seen the marquis. He had called on her, confirming the date she was to leave London with Mr. Druggs as her traveling companion. Since she had agreed to come to Ipswich, Marshall had relaxed his efforts to entice her into bed a second time. They had re­sumed their walks in the park, having dinner together when his schedule permitted talking late into the evenings. He never left without kissing her goodbye.

  It was the memory of those kisses that had set Evelyn to thinking during the trip from London to the coastal estate of Bedford Hall.

  She knew the marquis expected her to fall into his trap again. His thinking process was ironic, since she had not fallen into it the first time but had given herself of her own free will for her own reasons. Still, Evelyn knew the months ahead would have their difficulties. She had to face the up­coming disappointment of saying goodbye at the end of the summer, for she had no plans of returning to London and the house on Lambeth Road.

  She could fight her feelings all she wanted deny them all she wanted but they weren't going to go away. There was no mistaking her affection for Marshall, no disguising it. It was love, at least on her part. The marquis had been a haven, an invincible knight who had charged to her rescue when she had needed one the most. In return, he was asking nothing more than she was willing to give.

  Therein lay the question. How much was she willing to give?

  More importantly, how much was she willing to risk?

  By finally admitting that she was in love with the mar­quis, Evelyn knew she was risking not only her heart, but her future happiness. A lifetime of happiness that might never be gained if the marquis couldn't bring himself to love her.

  "I do not understand why you have employed a compan­ion," Lady Waltham said staring at her stepson, who was seated opposite her in the family's traveling coach. Her blue eyes, once warm and full of life, were now dulled by grief. "Bedford Hall has an abundance of servants, and I have two daughters."

  Marshall, accustomed to arguing with females, especially since assuming the role of head of the family, smiled slightly before replying. "Your daughters, although devoted to you, shouldn't be shackled to your side. As for the servants, they are just that. Servants."

  "I am not shackled to Mama," Catherine said quickly jumping into the conversation. "Nor is Winnie."

  "Your mother understands the remark," Marshall replied his tone letting both his sisters know that the conversation was not one they were invited to join.

  "Who is she?" Lady Waltham asked noncommittally.

  "Her name is Evelyn Dennsworth, a young woman who has recently found herself unemployed due to circumstances beyond her control. Her references are excellent, I assure you."

  He cut a glance at Winnie, but his sister showed no sign of connecting Evelyn's name with the events that had taken place on Bond Street several weeks past. Of course, she was sure to recognize Evelyn, but he'd address that problem when he had the opportunity to speak with his sister alone. For now, his only intention was to make his family aware that an additional employee had been added to the staff.

  "What will she do that I cannot do for myself?" Lady Waltham inquired folding her hands in her lap. She was clothed in unrelieved black, her shimmering satin skirts spotless. The veil of her hat had been lifted to reveal a profu­sion of jet beads and stiff black lace.

  "Anything you wish her to do," Marshall replied. "Don't forget the regatta party. As I recall, the event always con­sumed a good deal of time."

  "I had not thought about it," Lady Waltham replied stiffly.

  "Then you should" Marshall t
old her. "Forsaking the event last summer was understandable and acceptable. However, it has always been held at Bedford Hall. We will resume the tradition this year. What better opportunity will we have to present an invitation to Lord Lansdowne?"

  "Lord Lansdowne?" His stepmother arched a pale brow. "I did not realize he was a member of the yacht club."

  "He isn't," Marshall replied with a sheepish grin. "He is, however, the man who seems to be paying more than a pass­ing interest in your oldest daughter. I think it is time you met him."

  His stepmother looked at Winnifred. "Would extending an invitation to Lord Lansdowne please you, Winnie?"

  "Yes, Mama," she said, doing her best not to blush and failing miserably.

  "Then the matter of the party is settled," Marshall an­nounced. "Miss Dennsworth is an accomplished seam-stress. I'm sure she can help."

  His youngest sister immediately picked up the conversa­tion, filling the coach with endless chatter and questions about the beau Winnie had failed to mention.

  Marshall listened, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Each turn of the coach's wheels brought him closer to a reunion with Evelyn. Her image haunted him, an image that brought with it a confusion of reactions. No woman had ever created such questions for him while at the same time bringing him a sense of well-being. His motives for wanting her at Bedford Hall were clear enough, but beyond that he knew lay the possibility of the very thing he had wished to avoid in taking a mistress and assuming a benign relationship that would give him pleasure without complications. There was cer­tainly nothing benign about his relationship with Evelyn. In truth, he was certain that having her on the estate would only serve to complicate an already complex set of circum­stances. Still, he was not ready to dismiss her from his life, nor, did he believe, was Evelyn all that eager to go her sepa­rate way.

  * * *

  Marshall stood atop the bluff watching her, marveling at how young and carefree she looked with her hair hanging down her back. She was wading, her feet bare, her skirt hiked up to her knees as she played catch-me-if-you-can with the incoming waves. He walked down the bluff, his rid­ing boots digging into the soft sand, leaving a trail behind him as he strolled onto the sun-laden beach. He called out her name, and she turned.

  "Druggs told me not to expect you until tomorrow," Evelyn said, unable to take her eyes off him. He was dressed for riding in snug-fitting pants and a lawn shirt that was only partially buttoned. His expression was relaxed, making him look very much like a man glad to be home.

  "It's easy to see that you've settled in. Tell me, how do you like Bedford Hall?"

  "As Druggs would say, 'It's a grand old house,' " Evelyn replied. She stepped free of the water, loving the feel of the warm, damp sand under her feet as she shook out her skirts. "I've only seen a small part of it, of course."

  "Been busy playing with the tide?" Marshall mused, tak­ing a step closer.

  "There's been little else to do. The staff refuses to let me assume a single duty." She spread her hands wide. "So I have plenty of time to walk the beach. It's lovely."

  "Yes, it is," Marshall replied, taking another step forward. His gaze roamed over her features, the glow of her skin that hadn't been there in London, the sparkle in her eyes that made him suspect she was glad to see him, the sensual curve of her mouth as it lifted into a smile.

  They stared into each other's eyes. For Evelyn the world began here and now, the soft whisper of the wind through the beach grass, the heat of the afternoon sun, and the scalding intensity of Marshall's gaze as he took one more step for­ward. He would kiss her, she knew.

  Her body was incapable of moving away from him. She couldn't avert her gaze, couldn't stop thinking of how won­derful his mouth would feel when he finally pressed it to hers, couldn't breathe for wanting him to hurry and get on with it.

  She wet her lips.

  "Sweet God" he said sharply, then pulled her hard against his chest.

  Evelyn gasped then grabbed his shoulders to keep from stumbling in the soft sand. A second later she knew the reac­tion had been unnecessary. Marshall held her in an in­escapable embrace. His feet were braced apart, his arms firmly about her as he lifted her high and tight against his body. She could feel the proof of his desire, hard and warm as it pressed against her belly. Unable to prevent it, she felt her body yielding, softening in reply.

  The kiss went on and on, hot and deep, insistent. She kissed him back just as insistently, delighting in the sensual pleasure of man and wind and water. There was no holding back this time, no hesitation, no doubts. Within seconds, her body was humming, her blood running hot and wild through her veins. Under her clothing, her breasts swelled and her skin grew warm. This was what she had missed this feeling of being alive, wildly alive and utterly feminine. The social differences between them faded into nothingness at mo­ments like this. The marquis became a man, just a man, and she became his woman.

  Marshall ended the kiss out of necessity. He held Evelyn close, taking deep, calming breaths to still the wildness of his blood. A man had only so much control, and his was being tested to the limit. Having had her, knowing the sweet pleasure of her body, was pure torment at times like these. He wanted nothing more than to strip her down to her lovely skin and appease the sexual hunger that was growing more urgent with each passing day. He had spent the last week thinking about her. His original preoccupation with her and her challenging ways had turned into an obsession. He would have her again—one way or the other.

  Evelyn rested her cheek against his chest and listened to his heartbeat blend with the magical sound of the sea. Her feelings for the marquis continued to dismay her. In the seven years since her father's death, she had grown accus­tomed to having some control over her life.

  But that control had been snatched away from her. First by Lady Monfrey's false accusation, then by the constable, and finally by the marquis, himself. Her life had turned topsy-turvy. In a matter of weeks, she'd gone from a small room above a dress shop on Bond Street to a rented house on Lambeth Road to a country estate that continuously re­minded her of the vast differences between herself and the man who was currently holding her in his arms. The entire situation, her feelings included defied logic. But then, no one had ever accused love of being logical.

  "Let's walk," Marshall said taking her hand.

  Neither of them said anything. Instead they strolled hand in hand listening to the chatter of quarreling seagulls and the endless lapping of waves onto the shore.

  Marshall realized that he had truly missed times like these. Moments spent in quiet reflection, unhindered by needless conversation. Evelyn's presence precipitated a sense of peace within him that he was unable to explain. It also triggered a passion unlike any he'd ever felt before. If she persisted in being stubborn about things, his tolerance was going to be put to the test. One kiss and he was ready to drag her off be­hind some isolated dune and have her right there on the beach with the afternoon sun gleaming down on their naked bodies and the tide nipping at their heels.

  "I assume you've told Lady Waltham that she now has a companion," Evelyn finally spoke.

  "Yes."

  "And . . . ," she prompted anxious as to how Marshall's family would react to her.

  "She doesn't think she needs one," Marshall replied. "But then, I warned you to expect as much."

  "And your sisters? What do they think?"

  "It doesn't matter what they think," he told her, stopping at the edge of a small tide pool. In front of them, a crab scur­ried sideways across the sand. "You are here, and here you will stay."

  "I'll stay until the end of the summer," she said searching for a way to tell him of the decision she had reached.

  Thinking she was going to use any and every excuse she could to keep them apart, Marshall prepared himself for an­other argument. "I refuse to talk about your leaving when you've only just arrived."

  Having debated argued and analyzed her feelings thor­oughly since leaving London, Evelyn wonder
ed what the marquis would say when she told him that she'd decided to accept his offer.

  It hadn't been an easy decision. She'd fought her con­science at first, a formidable foe to say the least. But having already surrendered her virginity to him, it served little pur­pose to consider herself a fallen woman. Her heart told her that love was too precious, too rare, to ignore. And she knew that she did indeed love the marquis. The exact moment the possibility had turned into a reality, Evelyn couldn't say. What she could say, what she knew with absolute certainty, was that this man made her feel special.

  Having reached the most monumental decision of her life, Evelyn amazed herself by feeling little or no regret over it. She was, after all, a woman of twenty-six years, mature in her thinking, and accountable to no one but herself. Why should she rebuke the only man who had ever come close to making her feel loved? Why should she refuse a passionate liaison, deny herself the one thing she wanted? Having been his lover once, it was impossible to pretend that she didn't want to repeat the experience. She could love the marquis from afar, or she could seize the moment and love him for real. The possibility that her love wouldn't be returned was something she had to accept. There was also the possibility that by loving, she could be loved. Either way, it was a gam­ble, a risk not unlike so many other risks in life. Regardless, Evelyn knew a summer spent in Marshall's arms would be the most wonderful season of her life. A season to be remembered.

  "I've been thinking," Evelyn began, unsure what words to use now that it was time to say them. How did one negotiate an affair?

  "If you've decided to refuse the position as companion to my stepmother, think again," he said firmly. He searched her face, not caring for the serious expression that had overtaken it. "You agreed to give me the summer."

  "That's what I've been thinking about," she said softly. "The summer."