Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches

And if she severed all ties with Henry Winston, so much the better.

Chapter Four

Stretching his legs out before him, Charles leant his head against the high back of the chair to enjoy more leisurely what had become his favourite pastime since going to Chateau Feroc—watching Maria. She could not guess the depth of torture she put him through, for beneath his calm facade and silken words, he burned with a consuming desire for her. Last night he had sat sleepless in his chair while visions of her in all manner of disarray—laughing, angry as she had been in the coach earlier, sleeping or awake, but always paramount in his imagination—floated teasingly in and out through the shadowed fringes of his mind, enslaving his thoughts like some impish sprite with dark luminous eyes, leading him into fantasies no virginal maid could even imagine. He was ever conscious of her and painfully aware that she was a woman, and he wanted her.

The silence lengthened and drew out and filled slowly with sounds of the inn, and the monotonous fluttering of a large moth that had found its way in and was battering its wings against the glass of the oil lamp.

Maria dragged her eyes away from the window and looked at Charles’s relaxed, unguarded face in the flickering light. His mouth was firm and unexpectedly sensitive. She looked at his hand holding the glass—slender and long-fingered, a hand possessed of an unexpected strength and an equally unexpected gentleness. Just being with him was beginning to cause her moments of painful confusion, yet just as often pleasure that lightened her heart and made it soar—and made her forget Henry.

‘Why don’t you like Henry?’ she asked quietly.

Charles looked at her and shrugged. ‘There are many reasons,’ he repeated quietly, wondering how she would react were he to tell her the true nature of her betrothed—that he was utterly vicious and corrupt, rotten to the core, and without principle and honour, and the only reason he wanted Maria to return to England was because, if anything were to happen to her, he would lose sight of her fortune.

‘Why? What has he done to you?’

‘Nothing to me personally,’ he replied at length.

‘Then has he done something to someone else?’ she asked, wondering why he looked so disconcerted. ‘Is that why you dislike him?’

‘If he has, then that is his affair.’

‘And you’re not going to tell me.’ She sighed deeply, sensing his reluctance and decided not to press him. She would find out the true nature of her betrothed in due course. ‘Don’t worry, Charles. Whatever he is or whatever he has done, I shall find out for myself soon enough.’

‘I’m very much afraid you will,’ he said softly.

Not for the first time, Maria felt at a loss to understand him. Suddenly his presence was vaguely threatening. Whenever he stopped playing her escort he became a passionate companion, a predator set on unsettling her equilibrium, or a dark mysterious stranger. She didn’t know whether he was a spy, although she was certain he was involved in some shady business, and that visiting his French relatives was only a cover-up. But that was his affair and she wouldn’t pry. Pushing her hair off her forehead, she glanced out of the window.

‘It is late. I think I would like to go to bed.’ She got to her feet, smoothing her skirts. ‘You—have a room that is comfortable?’ she asked awkwardly.

‘It is—adequate.’ Standing up and noting her sudden discomfiture, he was encouraged by it. ‘At least I have a bed to sleep in tonight,’ he murmured with a slanted, meaningful smile. He crossed to the door where he turned to find she had followed him. He raised a brow.

‘I—I thought I’d lock the door.’

‘Very wise.’

‘I—don’t want a repetition of last night,’ she said desperately. ‘I didn’t see any undesirable characters when we arrived, but I’m not taking any chances.’ A roguish gleam suddenly entered Charles’s eyes and with a touch of alarm Maria recognised her amorous companion of the night before.

‘If you are afraid, I would be willing to—’

‘No,’ Maria was quick to reply in alarm, knowing he was about to suggest that he stayed. ‘That would not be wise.’

Uttering a regretful sigh, he said, ‘Then no doubt I shall find warmer companionship in other parts of the inn.’

Maria’s eyes shot to his. The idea that he might seek out solace from one of the tavern wenches upset her and filled her with a fierce jealousy. An image of his long, muscular body stretched out alongside one of those women made her heart sink sickeningly. She was surprised to realise that she could not bear the thought of him making love to another woman, even though she was still officially betrothed to another man. Her cheeks flamed with the conflict that raged within her.

As if reading her thoughts, Maria watched Charles’s gaze turn warm and sensual and she was aware of how close they were standing. Suddenly his manner bore an odd touch of threatening boldness as his gaze dwelt on her face.

‘Worry not, Maria, the only woman I yearn to be close to is here now. You must find the subterfuge of travelling halfway across France as my wife strange—and dressed in such plain attire—used as you are to wearing elegant clothes and jewels.’

‘It is no great sacrifice,’ she replied softly, relieved that he had set her mind at rest. ‘As for jewels, my aunt was forever telling me that I was too young to wear them. When I reach Gravely I shall have rubies and diamonds enough. Whether I wear them is a different matter.’

Charles looked at her from beneath lowered lids. ‘Diamonds—for you? No. I think pearls would suit you better. They are less harsh—soft, soothing to the touch. Nothing vulgar—small, creamy ones.’

‘You—you make them sound nice,’ Maria said. ‘But if I marry Henry, he might like me in diamonds.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of Henry,’ Charles said. ‘I was thinking of you. I would like to attach some pearls here—’ he reached out and almost touched her ear ‘—and more—there.’ He picked up her hand and laid it at her throat, close to the valley made by her breasts.

Maria’s heart stirred, for it was an oddly sensuous and erotic gesture—far more so than if he had touched her himself. There was a silence as he continued to gaze down at her flushed face and time stood still.

‘Please don’t look at me like that,’ Maria whispered, her voice quavering. ‘It makes me excessively uneasy.’

He smiled. The light of the lamp behind her fell upon his face and hers in shadow, and the soft wavering flame threw an aureole about her, glinting on the long ripples of her black hair and outlining her small head.

‘You are very lovely. Has anyone ever told you that?’

She shook her head. At Chateau Feroc she had been drilled in the habits of strict decorum and not, as some might think, given the beautiful chateau and the Count’s fabulous wealth, in the glittering, fashionable world in which flattery and flirtation were commonplace.

‘Maria,’ Charles teased, gently touching her cheek with the back of his hand, ‘you are blushing.’

‘And I think you are quite mad.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ he whispered, and, bending his head, he pressed his lips to her forehead, placing his hands around her upper arms and drawing her against his chest, holding her as if he knew she would struggle if he tried to do more than that. ‘When we set out on this journey, you were not in my plans, Maria.’

‘Oh, please,’ she implored helplessly. ‘I don’t know what you want of me. Please don’t do this.’

He took her chin between his thumb and his forefinger and lifted it, forcing her to meet his steady gaze as he quietly said, ‘A kiss would not go amiss.’

‘Nevertheless, I think you should proceed with caution.’

‘A little kiss here and there is quite harmless.’

‘A little kiss here and there is dangerous,’ she countered, thoroughly convinced of that premise where he was concerned.

She turned her head away. The powerful force of sensual persuasion that he was capable of launching against her could reap devastating results. She must guard her heart. She was very susceptible. But when he placed a finger against her cheek and brought her face back to his, when his eyes delved into hers, he all but burned her heart inside out, and touched at its tender core.

‘Have you ever been kissed, Maria?’

She shook her head, her breath coming quickly from between her softly parted lips. ‘No, of course I haven’t.’

His lips quirked. ‘Then perhaps it’s time you were.’ A wicked gleam entered his eyes. ‘It won’t hurt. I promise.’

Maria’s entire body started to tremble as his lips began to descend to hers, and she sought to forestall what her heart knew was inevitable by reasoning with him. ‘Please, Charles. I am betrothed to another. Do you forget so easily?’

‘Would that I could, but with a little gentle persuasion I might succeed in making you forget.’ He laughed softly at her appalled expression. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Maria. Your betrothed will never know.’

His warm breath stirred her hair and warmed her cheek. ‘Don’t—I cannot do this.’

‘Yes, Maria, you can.’