Marianne and the Marquis. Anne Herries

eyes were shadowed with memories. War had sent him mad—the heat, the pain and the sheer horror of seeing those you loved as brothers fall into the dust and die slowly of fever or the gangrene that ate into neglected wounds. Yet the loss of comrades had driven him on, making him heedless of his own life, earning him several mentions in dispatches, besides a reputation for being fearless. He had been given medals and honours, all of which lay forgotten in a drawer, shut away with memories that had been too painful to remember.

      Drew tasted the bitterness in his mouth and then thrust his thoughts away. It was over. He was no longer a soldier, but a man of consequence and wealth, his uncle’s death making him responsible for more people than he could remember. Robbie was right when he said that he owed them a duty of care—but just this once he was going to court danger, to taste the spice of adventure again. And afterwards? Drew frowned. If he still lived, it would be time to settle down and take the wife his relatives and friends told him it was his duty to marry so that he could produce an heir…but he would choose a woman who understood what he needed, what kind of a man he was…a widow who would not demand the things he could not give.

      

      Marianne was pleased as she left the receiving office that morning. It was situated in a building close to the inn, which was a busy place with coaches and carriages coming and going. She had left her letters for Mama, Jo and Lucy with the man who attended to such things, and been given three letters in return. Two were for Lady Edgeworthy and the other was for her from her sister Jo. She wondered what had caused Jo to spend some sixpences to write to her so soon and broke the seal in haste.

      My dearest sister, Jo had scrawled, I write to tell you that Aunt Wainwright has decided that I shall go with her to Bath next month. As you know, I had hoped that she would change her mind, but nothing else will do for her. I am to go to the Hall later today, where I am to be fitted for a new wardrobe. It appears that my aunt thinks I have nothing but rags and must be dressed properly so that I shall not shame her. How shall I bear it? I dare say we shall be at odds within a week, but I must try to remember what you andMama have told me and behave as I ought. Enough of my troubles! Do write and tell me all your news, dearest. Your loving sister, Jo.

      

      Marianne was re-reading her letter as she walked along the path. She needed to fetch some trifles from the small village shop, which sold all manner of things a lady might need, including embroidery silks, ink and stationery, as well as acting as a small lending library. For the sake of a few pennies it was possible to borrow the works of various poets and popular authors. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not see the gentleman walking towards her until they almost collided.

      ‘Be careful, mistress,’ he warned, reaching out to steady her as she tripped over him. ‘I value my boots—they are my best and I may never find another pair to equal their comfort.’

      Marianne looked down at his boots, which were black and long with pale buff cuffs at the top and which looked as if they had seen better days. She raised her inquiring gaze to his face, and felt a little jolt as she looked into his eyes. They were the colour of bluebells and his hair had the sheen of a raven’s wing, cut short, as was the prevailing fashion. This was the man she had seen climbing down to the cove that day the French ship was in the bay. She had seen him several times since that morning as she walked about the estate, but always at a distance. She was sure now that he was also the man who had manoeuvred Lady Forester’s damaged coach to the side of the road. Up close he was so large and powerful that he made her breath catch in her throat. His coat fitted superbly to broad shoulders and his breeches had been cut by a master tailor to cling like a second skin, though they, too, had seen better days. A gentleman, then, but perhaps down on his luck?

      ‘Forgive me, sir,’ Marianne said. ‘I was reading my letter and I should not have been. I did not see you. I hope I did not tread too hard upon your toes?’

      ‘I dare say I shall live,’ Drew said and frowned. It was the beauty from the coach. His eyes had not deceived him that day on the cliffs, and he had glimpsed her as he walked about the estate, but had made no attempt to approach her, because it was best that he should not. The fewer people who knew he was here the better. ‘I should have seen what was happening and stood aside. It was my fault.’

      ‘Oh, no, you are too generous,’ Marianne said. ‘The letter is from my sister, you see…’

      She laughed, softly, huskily, sending such a wave of hot desire rushing through him that he was shocked. He did not know her or anything about her, had seen her only once close to before, and yet somehow she had implanted herself into his mind, become a part of his dreams, for he had dreamed of her more than once, ridiculous as that was! Standing so close that he could smell a delightful perfume, which he imagined was uniquely hers, he was aware that she was an extremely desirable woman. He was conscious of a burning need in his loins, which made him draw back, because he was thinking the impossible.

      She was speaking again. He crushed the rising need she aroused, bringing his thoughts back to what she was saying.

      ‘I am entirely at fault. But I believe I have seen you…the other day at the top of the cliffs. I thought you might be my great-aunt’s tenant? At Cliff House…’

      ‘You are staying with Lady Edgeworthy? I thought she lived alone with a companion?’ Drew frowned, his mind instantly alert, for the presence of a girl like this at the house might complicate matters, and not only because of the effect she had on his senses. ‘For how long, may one inquire?’

      ‘I have no idea,’ Marianne said. ‘For as long as my aunt needs me, I think.’

      ‘I see…’ He nodded his head. He must walk on! This would not do. He had no place in his life for dalliance with a girl like this! ‘I am glad to have met you. Good morning, mistress.’ He tipped his hat to her and moved on, frowning at his thoughts. If she perchance knew him, which was not impossible, for she obviously had good connections…she might reveal his true identity and that would be the end of all his hopes of remaining a shadow in the background. Besides, he needed all his wits about him, and he wanted no distractions in the shape of a girl like that! Drew knew his chances of trapping the French spy and the English traitor were slim, and would vanish into the mist if he became an object of interest to the community. Should his real name be known, he would be inundated with visitors and invitations, as he had been at Marlbeck before he made his escape—and that was the last thing he needed!