Where the Viscount Met His Match, page 17
Roarke used to believe in that same vision, but after his sire’s death and his subsequent hiatus in India, he had come to realize that none of it really mattered as much as it used to. Yes, he was proud to call himself an Englishman, but a title, lands, and wealth could only offer so much. Mara was what made him whole. She had always helped him to see the best parts of himself, to give him pride in his ancestry when his father’s actions had made him question his right to any of it.
Roarke’s sire might have done well for their family, involving himself in granite and clay excavation once it seemed the copper and tin mines were beginning to dwindle, and encouraging the tenants to abandon farming and raise sheep and cows instead. But it was his personal inclinations and liaisons that had been a bitter pill for Roarke to swallow growing up. He had never seemed to understand the meaning of the word discreet.
Roarke had done a lot of thinking on the ride here as he considered Mara’s betrayal and lack of trust. As she’d finally drifted off to sleep in the seat across from him, he’d abandoned his novel and stared at her for what seemed like an eternity and tried to imagine the situation she’d found herself in all those years ago.
He loved his sisters dearly, especially Lyra, and if given the opportunity to save her from a dire fate, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to give up everything he had to do so. Then, after learning what had become of Mara’s mother, he realized that, on her own and afraid and likely coerced by his mother, Mara had no cause to believe that he might honestly carry through on his vow to marry her, so it was no wonder she’d panicked and ran. It might have been different if he hadn’t already returned to school, but she’d acted purely on a survivalist instinct, and really, he couldn’t fault her for that.
One might say he’d done the same when he’d left for India.
When his mother had told him of Mara’s demise, he had suffered a moment of temporary insanity himself. He’d even considered taking his own life, but fortunately reason had returned before he’d turned them into star-crossed lovers like Romeo and Juliet. But then, after the sudden death of his father shortly thereafter, instead of allowing the hovering madness to consume him, he had fled.
Just as he had come to a crossroads back then, the same could be said when he’d decided to return to his home soil. He’d felt his chest tighten the closer that vessel had brought him closer to English shores.
Thankfully, his salvation had come in the form of an old and dear friend—Lord Rockford. The earl’s quest for his own vengeance that had eventually turned to love had kept Roarke’s mind off his inner misgivings—until that fateful day when he’d come face to face with the one woman he’d never been able to forget.
He loved Mara. Pure and simple.
And it was high time he reminded her.
Chapter Nineteen
Mara ventured out of her room shortly after luncheon, where she’d asked for a tray to be sent up. She’d claimed her ankle was to blame, but really, she’d just wanted to avoid Roarke. However, after a casual inquiry to Mrs. Hunsaker, Mara was informed that Lord Eversleigh had shut himself in his study and would likely be there for the remainder of the day.
Mara was abjectly thankful that she wouldn’t have to suffer any more cabin fever staring at the same four walls, and while she would never actually admit to being a coward, she knew the title fit her perfectly. But really, was it so wrong to want to avoid another strained conversation where nothing good could come of it?
Left to her own devices, Mara wandered about the grand manor, reacquainting herself once more with its grandeur. She had almost forgotten how massive the house actually was, but then, it had been over seven years since she’d walked these perfectly finished floors or traversed its spacious rooms with furniture dating back to the time of Queen Anne.
Mara had been given one of the nicer guest bedrooms, with its own private sitting area and washing room complete with a copper shower bath.
The fact that she had running water, heated at that, had been shocking indeed, but rather lovely. She couldn’t help but wonder if the same improvements had been added to the family suites.
She bit her lip uncertainly and dared to turn the knob of a door she knew well—Lavinia’s chamber. At least, it would continue to be his mother’s until Roarke married and his wife moved in, but Mara preferred not to dwell on that overmuch.
For a moment, Mara’s steps faltered, for she suddenly felt like the worst sort of intruder. It was exactly the same as she remembered it. Decorated in varying shades of pink and ivory, it was as spotless as it always had been. It was obvious Lady Eversleigh’s wishes were carefully looked after, even though the servants had to know, as she did, that London was Lavinia’s personal haven.
Especially after what had happened here.
How many times had Mara had to knock to be allowed entrance to this very room to clean its grates? Bring fresh water for bathing?
Until she’d been assigned as Lyra’s personal ladies’ maid, she’d worked in the scullery. It had been her lot in life upon arriving at Eversleigh Hall to make sure the fires were tended to first thing in the morning before she went down to help cook with the meals. When one of the housemaids was sick, she’d had to fill in where needed.
After she’d left Eversleigh Hall, Mara promised herself that she would rise above servitude to others and make her own lot in life. While it had been a struggle, she had accomplished what she’d set out to do without anyone’s assistance, until Bentley had come along and they’d found a way to help each other.
Mara felt a bit more restored, and with a slight lift of her chin, she shut the door to that room and all the old memories it brought along with it.
Those days were over. For good.
She continued to move on, making her way through the opposite wing of the house. She walked through the ballroom with its connecting music room.
The long drapes were pulled back to showcase a breathtaking view of the sea, and she paused to appreciate the splendor before her. Mara recalled a few house parties here where the panes had been thrown open to admit the salty air and cool off the attendees from a long night of dancing. While she hadn’t been admitted on the floor itself, she had peered at the activity from the corners of the shadowed balcony where guests were sparse.
With a secretive smile, Mara eventually made her way to the Grand Hall with its long line of family portraits. The moment she stepped over the threshold, she interrupted a housemaid in the middle of her duties. “Excuse me, miss.” With a quick curtsy, the girl hastily fled the room before Mara could even assure her that her presence wasn’t unwanted.
On a sigh, Mara turned her attention to the portraits around her. The paintings showcased a long line of ancestors, the previous lines proving that Roarke would never be denied anything as a peer. Jewels and riches abounded in these paintings, and faithful hunting dogs were immortalized along with the family. Mara studied the girls in their pristine, white dresses and delicate hairstyles and the boys with their short pants and shining buckle shoes, and she had to wonder if they had ever known a moment of true joy in their lives. Had they been able to play, perhaps roll down a grassy embankment, without worry of ruining their precious clothes?
If she ever had children, Mara would make sure they knew how much fun being a child could be, before the harsh reality of life set in after becoming an adult. She had found a taste of it before Lily had run off, where the concern for her wellbeing was a constant disquiet for both Mara and her father.
“I hate to think what my great-great grandfather did to you to cause such a sour expression.”
Mara felt her lips reluctantly twitch as she turned to see Roarke standing several feet away with his hands in his pockets, almost as if he were a recalcitrant child. It was so endearing and uncertain that her earlier animosity toward him melted away like ice in the sun.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she countered with a saucy lift of her brow.
The smile he bestowed was devilishly charming, those mystic eyes of his shining merrily.
“Ah, but I do so enjoy solving a mystery.”
If she didn’t know better, she might have thought there was an underlying meaning there, but the scandalous wink he shot her assured her he was only teasing.
As he walked past her, he paused now and then to observe one portrait or another. “They’re quite somber looking, aren’t they?” he noted.
“I don’t know if they had much choice,” Mara shrugged. When he glanced at her curiously, she explained, “I know I would hate to sit for hours on end while a stubborn painter tried to get my likeness just right. I certainly wouldn’t smile about it.”
The deep, husky laugh that followed made her toes curl in her slippers. “I suppose I can understand that, as I would detest it too. I keep hoping that before it’s my time to join this wall that there will be further advances in still photographs. As it is, Thomas Wedgwood has been the only one, thus far, who’s managed to capture a shadowy profile using chemicals on paper.” With a grimace, he added, “Somehow I doubt that will be enough of a standard to please my mother’s expectations.”
Again, Mara felt her lips twitch. “I doubt it too.” A companionable silence stretched between them before she shook her head. Too many moments like these and she might be drawn back into his web.
“How did your meeting with your steward go? Don’t tell me you’ve already gone through seven years of estate management in one day?”
He snorted. “Not likely. I’m lucky if I even made a dent in all that blasted correspondence. I’m addressing any issues first and going on from there.”
“Spoken like a true landowner.” When he shot her a glance, she held up her hands. “I meant no offense, only that I’m…” she hesitated over whether to say what was in her heart, but eventually gave in to the impulse. “I’m proud of you for taking on what must be a monumental task.” She gestured to the long line of viscounts. “I’m sure I speak for them as well. You’re taking the initiative to stand up for what is rightfully yours. In my opinion, you deserve to be right up there next to them.”
For the longest time, he merely stared at her, until she had to resist the urge to fidget.
Finally he moved, and he didn’t stop until he held her face in his hands. “And what if I want you up there, right beside me?” he whispered.
Mara swallowed nervously. Being this close to him was affecting her more than she felt comfortable with. It was certainly hard to think straight when he was this near. “Roarke…” she began, unsure of exactly what it was she intended to say.
His breathing turned harsh as he rested his forehead against hers. “Please, don’t say anything. Not now.”
She knew she should be pushing him away, but when he pleaded with her, how could she deny him? Looking into that perfect face, she found herself breaking all the rules.
She promised herself just one last time.
She rose up on her tiptoes and gently placed her lips over his. They were warm and wonderful and oh, so enticing!
Roarke deepened the embrace once he realized that she didn’t intend to resist. He growled deep in his throat, and as if it were an animalistic call that she had to answer, she moaned in return. Instantly, he drew her closer and ran his wandering hands over her back, then farther down to grasp her derriere.
Squeezing that tempting posterior, he pulled her forward to his straining erection that was nearly jutting out of his trousers…
Roarke seriously thought he might spill himself if he didn’t get inside of her soon. In his passion and with nowhere to go, he grasped Mara’s thighs and placed her shapely legs around his waist before he backed her up against the wall. Without breaking contact, he lifted her skirts and found that fabulous slit in her drawers. He touched her delicate flesh, and she squirmed in his arms, her breathing as unsteady as his.
He had to clench his jaw to regain some semblance of control. Once he did, he started a rhythm on her that soon had her exploding in his arms in a glorious release. He freed himself before the tide could completely bring her crashing back to earth. He thrust inside of her and had to stop before he could go any further, the sensation of her sweet, wet heat so intense that it took his breath.
Glancing at her flushed face—with her eyes closed and her lips partially open—he vowed to pleasure her until she was crying his name, until there was not a single other thought in that pretty little head of hers, except of him.
With a wicked grin, he tugged down a corner of her dress to bare one of those lovely, pert breasts to his hungry gaze. If it was possible, he grew even thicker and harder inside of her. She gasped as his mouth closed over a rosy nipple and began to suck in time to each firm advance and retreat of his cock.
Each time he felt she was getting close to her second release he would stop and gently bite her quivering flesh, before he started the entire process all over again, until he finally heard those sweet words,
“Roarke, please…”
It was like music to his ears.
To show his appreciation, he quickened his pace until she was tossing her head back and forth, right before a breathy exclamation tore from her throat and her inner core pulsed around him, causing his own orgasm to spill forth in a heated rush.
Roarke held Mara, making sure they could both stand properly after their breathing had returned to some semblance of normalcy before he pulled back and set himself to rights. He waited for Mara to do the same, but she didn’t move, just leaned against the wall, her eyes glazed over, completely replete.
With a tender smile, he reached out and straightened her bodice. After all, he was the one who’d messed it up in the first place. Surely it was a tragedy that such lovely adornments should be covered by anything but his mouth and hands, but he also didn’t care to share such a view with his staff.
He wanted to speak, but he was afraid that whatever spell was at work here would be broken if he did. From that lustful, frenzied coupling at Eversleigh House, to the passionate nighttime affair at Lyra’s, and the powerful climax that had just occurred, each time he was with Mara, the intimacy built to new heights. Surely, after all was said and done, she wouldn’t expect him to just walk away.
It would be impossible.
“That was…”
Roarke glanced up, expecting Mara to say more, but when she just grinned with a dazed expression, he couldn’t help but smirk with manly pride.
“I heartily agree, madam.” He raised a brow and dared to take a shot in the dark. “But the fun doesn’t have to stop here, you know.”
When she didn’t immediately discount the notion but bit her lip indecisively, he began to feel his cock twitch in response.
In the end, she shook her head. “We can’t. It’s too risky.” Then, more firmly, “I don’t need to end up like my mother.”
And just like that, she effectively stomped on his heart. “You should know by now that I wouldn’t leave you in such dire straits. I would do the honorable thing.”
“Of course,” she said coolly. “But I would never ask it of you.”
Roarke blew out a breath. He found that he was growing weary of this same argument. “What are you still not telling me, Mara?”
She didn’t even blink. Or breathe. “Nothing.”
“I see.” He clenched his jaw irritably. “In that case, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take care of a few things before supper.”
He was fuming as he went downstairs. He had fully intended to make things right between them, but he couldn’t do it alone, or without her consent.
While he might have tried to browbeat her into marrying him when he’d been stone drunk, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She would have to come to him of her own free will or not at all.
From now on, he would shut down his baser impulses.
He wouldn’t force her to be his wife, or even his lover—even if the prospect of throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her all the way to Gretna Green held a certain measure of merit.
Chapter Twenty
Eversleigh House—London
Later that day…
* * *
Lady Eversleigh peeled off her gloves and handed the rest of her outerwear to Winston, while Lyra did the same. Lavinia’s mouth pinched as she regarded her solemn daughter—the young widow.
Fortunately, the private, but well-tended service for Roger Coventry, Lord Weston, at his estate in Surrey went off better than she’d expected. His family, while reserved and haughty in manner, didn’t come outright and accuse Lyra of anything untoward, so perhaps this whole scandal that Lyra was involved in her husband’s death might blow over after all.
“I’m going to ring for some tea,” Lavinia announced. Concerned about Lyra’s pale face, she added, “But perhaps you might wish for some sherry. We need to get some color back into your cheeks.”
“Whatever you think.”
As they settled down in the front parlor, they waited for their refreshments to be served. When a maid appeared moments later with their tray, Lady Eversleigh inquired, “Has my son returned?”
“No, my lady,” the girl said politely.
Lavinia frowned. “Not at all?”
The servant shook her head, then after pouring their drinks, she quietly let herself out of the room.
“How very peculiar,” Lavinia noted. With a glance at Lyra, she asked, “I don’t suppose you know what might have happened to your elusive sibling? Or perhaps Miss Miller?”
Lyra merely sipped her wine. “I’m sure I have no idea. I’m not my brother’s keeper.”
Lady Everleigh noted that she didn’t contradict her about Mara. She narrowed her eyes. “If there’s something I need to know—”
