Marrying Miss Monkton

Maria flushed. She didn’t like to think he might have stood watching her as she slept. Not knowing how to deal with a situation of this nature, she tried to distract herself from her inner turmoil and avoid his gaze that seemed to burn into her by watching the occasional spark erupt from the glowing embers in the hearth, but she found it impossible when every fibre of her being was on full alert to Charles’s presence.

When she saw his eyes sweep over her body, even though her nightdress was concealing, she felt her modesty, so long intact, was being invaded by this man’s gaze, this stranger, who was beginning to alarm her awkward, unawakened senses.

Folding her arms across her chest in an attempt to protect her modesty and fervently wishing she had a shawl or something else to throw over her nightdress, she glowered at him.

‘Unfortunately I have nothing with which to cover myself.’

Charles chuckled softly. Even in these extreme circumstances she felt it unspeakably shocking that he should see her like this. If she knew how long he had ogled her during her sleep, she’d realise it was far too late for her to try to salvage her modesty.

‘That’s a bit like closing the stable door after the horse has bolted. I assure you, it would not wipe from my mind the loveliness I savoured when I came in.’

Maria gasped, her cheeks burning. ‘Have you no shame? How long did you stand there looking at me?’

It took an Herculean effort for Charles to drag his gaze away from the shape of her body outlined beneath her nightdress in order to meet her gaze. ‘Long enough to know that the sight of you in your bed was sufficient to waken the slumbering dragon in me that I fear will not be easily appeased.’

In spite of his unrelenting stare, his glowing eyes devouring her as if he were strongly tempted to do more than just stare, Maria was distracted and felt a frisson of alarm when she saw he had his long fingers clasped round the butt of a pistol by his side. Her throat went dry. ‘Do you make a habit of sleeping with a pistol?’

‘Only when I deem it necessary.’

‘And is it—tonight, I mean?’

‘I think so. I have no wish to alarm you, but it’s as well to be on our guard at all times.’ He placed the pistol on the table beside him.

‘Charles, you must leave my room. You cannot sleep here. Not with me. It—it’s just not right.’

He sat up, dropping his feet to the floor and pushing his hair back from his face. ‘My apologies, Maria. I did not mean to startle you. As I said, you were soundly asleep when I came in. I did not want to wake you.’

‘Well, you should have done,’ she flared, unconscious of the vision she presented as her hair tumbled about her shoulders in loose array. ‘How dare you take such liberties? You will certainly destroy my reputation if you continue to indulge in such foolery.’

A slow smile touched his lips. ‘It is not foolery—anything but. If you could see past that pretty little nose of yours, you would realise I am only trying to help you. Do not forget that I am here to protect you.’

Mutiny still showed in her countenance. ‘When we embarked on the journey I confess that I did not give much thought to what the sleeping arrangements would be while we are en route. Indeed, the matter never entered my head. My aunt would be aghast if she knew we were sharing a room.’

‘I dare say she would be, and yet I made her aware you would be travelling as my wife. Your reputation is the last thing you should be worrying about right now. I believe,’ he began solicitously, the humour in his voice disguised by a disapproving frown, ‘that you are somehow trying my ability to protect you.’

‘I am not—and I am indeed grateful—but…Oh,’ she gasped in frustration, ‘why could you not have made me your sister—or—or your cousin—anything—anything but your wife?’

‘Because as my wife you have my complete protection at all times. Of what use would I be to you if that oaf who accosted you earlier should take it into his sodden head to seek feminine company and remember you? From what I recall of some of the overpainted, disreputable women I saw in the public room when we arrived, you are by far the most desirable, so who could blame him? You are a rare prize for any man, Maria.’

His gaze never wavered from hers, but when it dipped downwards, Maria saw the light that flared in his eyes, again making her conscious of her lack of modesty. When she glanced quickly down, her fears were realised when she saw the soft, rosy peaks of her bosom straining against the delicate fabric of her nightdress. Raising her head, she met his gaze. Her heart seemed to leap in her throat in a ridiculous, choking way, and she chided herself for being so foolish as to believe he liked what he saw.

‘There is a lock on the door. He would not get in.’

‘He would find a way if he wanted to.’ The sight of her flushed cheeks and the way she had wrapped her arms around her waist in an unconscious act of self-protection brought home to Charles for the first time the fact that his proceedings might be considered shockingly unorthodox to a young woman who had been protected from the opposite sex and the ways of the world for the whole of her life.

Getting up, he towered over her, looking down at her apprehensive, upturned face. ‘You have led a sheltered life under the harsh eye of your aunt, who has rigid rules when it comes to raising young ladies of breeding and class. May I give you a word of advice, Maria? Common sense will always stand you in better stead than a slavish adherence to conventions.’

The shamed colour faded from Maria’s cheeks and the hostility in her eyes was replaced by interest. ‘If common sense is preferable to convention, then it is a point of view in complete opposition to the teachings of my aunt and the many governesses who had charge of Constance and me over the years.’

‘It is my point of view, and I know I’m right—otherwise what do you think would have happened had I not apprehended your drunken admirer when I saw him come up the stairs and approach your door?’

She stared at him in horror, her hand going to her throat. ‘He wasn’t! You mean he actually intended to come in here? But—no man would dare to come to a lady’s room, knowing they might encounter an irate husband.’

Charles nodded gravely. ‘He most certainly was—until I—persuaded him to think again.’

‘And the pistol? Is that part of the remedy to use against that—that oaf?’

‘If need be—which I doubt.’ His eyes glinted wickedly. ‘The man is no longer in any fit state to climb the stairs, let alone molest a young woman in her bed.’

Her eyes widened with alarm. ‘Why, what have you done to him?’

‘Let’s just say that at this time he will be sleeping like the proverbial babe.’ He looked at her through narrowed eyes, his firm lips curving in a gently mocking smile. ‘You left your door unlocked, otherwise how do you think I got in?’

‘But you should not be here.’

A crooked smile accompanied his reply. ‘And where would you have me go—to sleep outside your door, perhaps, which would be considered by some to be most odd and raise more than a few eyebrows? And if you’re thinking of your aunt,’ he said, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, as if he expected the formidable woman to emerge at any minute, ‘don’t. She need never know.’

On consideration, Maria had to admit that he was right. ‘I never had a very high opinion of my aunt. It never occurred to me to question her authority and her rightness on her view on behaviour and etiquette. It just wasn’t done.’

‘I understand that, and in an ideal France, as it is in England, it isn’t the practice for young ladies to question their elders. But these are not ideal times—far from it. People are finding themselves in all kinds of different, often violent, situations. No doubt your aunt will look upon what I consider to be eminently sensible proceedings as entirely scandalous.’

‘And she would have regarded me, as the recipient of them, as something close to a fallen woman. With her inflexible code of what is right, when placed in the balance against the strict preservation of the social conventions, she would rather you had abandoned me to the advances of that oaf downstairs than for you to spend the entire night alone with me in this room.’

‘So you do accept that my point of view is infinitely more practical than your aunt’s?’

A smile broke out on her lips that brought a dimple in the gentle curve of her cheek. She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, conscious of a sudden sense of being released from a kind of bondage, as though some mental steel thread that still tethered her to the Chateau Feroc had snapped.

Watching her, it was the first time that Charles had seen her really smile since she had left the chateau. But he did not return it. Gazing down at her, she seemed older somehow. Her face was gently flushed, and the shadows under the wide dark eyes made them appear even larger. The whiteness of her modest nightdress was stark against the looseness of her hair that tumbled about her in rippling profusion, glinting with blue lights in the dimly lit room.

Charles had a sudden and disturbing vision of her betrothed, of the degenerate roué, Henry Winston, of his moist fingers twining themselves in that soft, sweetly scented hair, sliding over her bare shoulders, his mouth devouring those soft lips. He turned from her abruptly, his head slightly bowed as he gazed into the hearth.

‘Go back to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and it is imperative that you get your rest. You have my word that you are quite safe,’ he assured her.

‘But what about you?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘It will be a long day for you also. You cannot be comfortable sleeping in that chair.’

He turned and looked at her, smiling crookedly, a roguish gleam in his eyes. ‘Where else would you have me sleep? With you, perhaps?’

Charles searched her eyes for barely an instant before the dark orbs went chasing off in another direction. Smiling, he leaned forwards to speak over her ear. ‘The idea of sharing your bed with me doesn’t frighten you, does it, Maria?’

‘No, of course not,’ she denied in a frantic rush, stepping back in an effort to put some distance between them. Her retreat was necessary to cool her burning cheeks and to ease to some small degree the unruly pace of her heart. ‘But that is out of the question.’

‘It needn’t be.’

‘Forgive me for ever thinking you were a gentleman,’ she derided. ‘So far you’ve done much to prove yourself as big a roué as any I have met—in addition to your impertinence in ogling me and suggesting I appease your—your dragon.’

Charles curbed a grin. ‘Worry not, Maria, you are quite safe. But if you should have a change of heart and take pity on me, I can promise you such delight as you’ve never before imagined.’

Maria was shocked to the core that he should be speaking to her like this. ‘Will you please stop?’ she flared irately, lifting her eyes to his face in time to see his eyes dip into her breasts. ‘You seem to forget that I am promised to another. You behave as if you really are my husband.’

Charles chuckled softly. ‘Who knows what will come from our association? I may just decide to forget that I am a gentleman, to forget about Henry Winston, and behave as your husband just to show you what delights can be had between a married couple.’

‘Except that we’re not. You engaged two rooms, as I recall.’

‘I did—one for Pierre.’ Tilting his head to one side, half frowning, half smiling, he peered at her. ‘His room is big enough to accommodate me if you would like me to leave you to sleep alone. Is that what you want?’

She bit her lip. The moment to tell him to go and leave her in peace was at hand, yet for the life of her she could not do so, for the fear of that drunken oaf coming to her room remained.

‘No. I would like you to stay.’ Without a word Maria went to the bed and removed one of the blankets and placed it on the chair.

‘You might as well be warm while you sleep. Thank you, Charles,’ she said stiffly. ‘You are being very good to me—when you aren’t trying to seduce me.’ Why she wasn’t outraged by his audacity was a mystery beyond her comprehension just then.

He looked at her, the firelight flickering in his light blue eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? Our fathers were friends, were they not? There is no reason why we should be any different.’

‘No, of course not.’

Standing in such close proximity, Maria thought Charles looked very appealing—and very handsome. A warm trickle of an unfamiliar sensation ran through her body, a stirring she had never felt before. Her heart quickened within her breast, and her blood seemed to melt, turning her insides into a river of heat. She shivered. Charles noticed.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked, a crease of worry between his brows.

He reached to clasp her hand, his fingers very strong and sure. There was a faint white scar on the back of his hand, and Maria wondered how he had come by it. At the same time she realised she knew absolutely nothing about him. How could she? And maybe it wasn’t safe to know.

She withdrew her hand and turned her thoughts away from this new, dangerous direction. She felt a sudden stillness envelop them. Vividly aware of his closeness, the spicy scent of him, she was overwhelmingly conscious of him—and confused. She was slightly irritated by the way in which he skilfully cut through her superior attitude, the artificial posturing she often assumed to save herself from him. She knew she asked for it, but the magnetic attraction still remained beneath all the irritation.

‘I’m not cold,’ she said, her voice sharp.

‘Then go to bed.’

She did as she was bade and crawled back into the warm softness, allowing sleep to overtake her and her troubled thoughts.

Charles sat staring into the shifting, glowing lights in the dying embers of the fire, his mind wandering back to his young charge between the covers. A picture of a tumbling mass of blue-black hair swirled through his thoughts, of dark fringed green eyes that glowed with their own light, the colour of their depths forever changing like richly hued jewels. A nose was added to the lovely vision, slim and pert and a feature of perfection. A pair of lips floated into mind, gently curving and expressive; in his recollection he remembered the moment when they had left the inn to begin their journey and her lips had turned upwards and parted with laughter.

Let it be for ever so, he mused, but he knew it would not.

Thinking of the long and arduous journey ahead of them, he hoped they would reach their destination without mishap. Maria was depending on him, he reminded himself. She trusted him to get her to England safely. He owed it to her not to fail.

Chapter Three

The following morning when Maria awoke, the sight of Charles standing half-naked at the wash stand, his shirt thrown over a chair and his trousers unfastened at the waist and falling slightly low over his hips, was almost too much for her virgin eyes to bear. The vision of his tall, lithe, wide-shouldered form with sculpted muscles as he hummed a military march, bathed in the golden glow of early morning sunlight, would be for ever branded on her brain.

Shoving back the covers, she knelt on the bed and stared at him. Never having seen the naked male form before, she stared in virginal innocence, thinking he was one of those rare men who looked like a Roman statue. Up close, in broad daylight, his maleness, the power, the strength of his body, seemed even more pronounced. Armed with shaving dish and razor, a towel round his neck and lather on his face, he continued to shave.

Curious, never having seen a man shave before, as she watched him she felt an unfamiliar sensation—a melting sensation that somehow made breathing difficult and made her heart race. He did seem to have a way with him, and she could not fault any woman for falling under his spell, for she found to her amazement that her heart was not so detached as she might have imagined it to be. As handsome as he was, she could imagine that he had grown quite adept at swaying young women from the paths their parents had urged them to follow.

Catching her eyes in the mirror, Charles paused and grinned, his eyes glowing in the warm light of day. ‘So, you are awake at last. Good morning, Maria.’

‘Good morning,’ she murmured, trying to shake off the effects of his winning smile. Unexpectedly she found herself the victim of an absurd attack of shyness.

Charles saw that her face was a mirror of lovely confusion, and, taking pity on her innocence, he fastened his trousers and quietly said, ‘Have you never seen a man shave before?’

‘No—of course I haven’t—not even my father, and Henry—’ She stopped what she had been about to say, that she had been very young when her betrothed had gone away and it had never entered her head to find out how and when he shaved.

Charles paused to look at her, the razor in mid-air. ‘Ah, your betrothed. I wondered how long it would be before you brought him into the conversation. How did you manage to allow yourself to become betrothed to Colonel Winston?’

His remark seemed to discomfit her and, as if stalling for time in which to compose an answer, she wriggled into a sitting position and drew her long legs up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, perching her chin upon her knees and raising her brilliant green eyes to his in the mirror. Sitting like that, Charles thought she looked incredibly desirable—a delightful nymph with long curly hair. Her pose allowed him a view of small feet and trim ankles. From there, his gaze ranged upwards with equal admiration.

‘Was that question too difficult for you?’ he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

‘It was—impertinent.’

Her reply was accompanied by such a well-bred, reproving look that Charles chuckled in spite of himself. ‘You’re quite right,’ he admitted, grinning at the delightful young woman who dared to lecture him on his shortcomings. ‘But I would still like to know the answer.’

‘And I do not choose to discuss it. It is most unchivalrous of you to badger me about matters which are of a most private nature—not to mention excruciatingly embarrassing.’

‘Embarrassing for whom?’ Charles asked, ignoring her jibe. ‘For you, or for Winston?’

‘I am embarrassed—to find myself in such intimate surroundings with a near-naked man. I dread to think what Henry would have to say—not forgetting my aunt.’

Charles’s sudden grin was wicked. ‘I can well imagine what a dreadful experience this must be for you, Maria. But fear not. It will be our secret. Colonel Winston will never know.’

‘I hope not. Look at me. I’m not even dressed.’

‘I have been looking—all night,’ he averred with a broad grin, and was forced to marvel at how comfortable he felt with her in such an intimate situation. Two days ago, he would never have imagined such simple, yet totally gratifying pleasure.

Maria’s face flamed. Beneath the consuming heat of his eyes as they ranged slowly over her, she felt thoroughly divested of what few garments she had on. The sight of those bare shoulders and broad, furred chest made her feel most uneasy. Unable to continue watching him perform such an intimate task, totally shaken and thoroughly amazed by what she was experiencing, to hide the crimson tide that swept over her face, clutching her precarious modesty close, she climbed out of bed and turned away. No longer facing him, she missed the smile that widened his lips.

Charles could not resist a glance over his shoulder. Maria stood facing the door, resolutely refusing to look at him. His eyes coursed down the fine curves of her stiff back, from the slim erect column of her neck to the beckoning roundness of her hips. Putting down his razor and wiping the soap from his face with the towel, he turned towards her.

‘I’m almost done. As soon as I’ve finished my ablutions I shall give you your privacy to perform your own and to dress. We’ll leave as soon as we’ve had breakfast.’

When Maria turned to face him he was already thrusting his arms into his shirt. His smiling eyes captured hers and held them prisoner, until she felt a warmth suffuse her cheeks. Never had she felt such burning heat or such quickening fires in the depths of her being as she did just then.

Moving to stand close to her, noticing a thick coil of hair resting in the curve of her neck, Charles stretched out a hand and rubbed the tress admiringly between his thumb and forefinger. ‘You have lovely hair, Maria,’ he murmured huskily.

Maria realised her insides were melting as they were prone to do when he touched her in some manner. His eyes shifted from beneath a fringe of jet lashes to meet hers, which were softly shining, and for what seemed an eternity in the heartbeat of a moment, their gazes gently mingled. If ever she had wondered what it would be like to be drawn out of herself, to be absorbed into someone else, she found herself experiencing that now. Never had she known such intense, consuming emotions that filled her very being with what she could only assume was desire.

Lowering her gaze from his openly admiring regard, she was strangely thrilled by it, but also confused. He should not be looking at her like this, not when she was betrothed to the man who trusted him implicitly to behave with honour and decency to his future wife.

‘I would like to get dressed now,’ she whispered, aware of the slight tremor in her voice.

For a moment Charles stood on the threshold of something life changing as he struggled with an overwhelming desire to toss her on to the bed and make love to her. As much as he yearned to caress her silken flesh and make her groan with longing, he knew it would be a dastardly thing to do in the light of her being betrothed to another and that she had placed her trust in him.

Yet she seemed so vulnerable, so trusting, so willing…

It might have been the hardest thing he had ever done, but he drew back, denying himself the solace he craved. ‘Do you have any idea what a temptation you have been to me throughout this long night, Maria? I want to touch you, but I shall exert every measure of restraint I am capable of rallying in an effort to quell the instincts of desire that goad me. I must leave. Get dressed.’

Looking embarrassed, Maria hurriedly gathered her clothes and slipped behind the screen. Charles had gone when she emerged fully dressed. She was relieved, for it gave her a moment to gather her scattered wits. Were he to contrive such assaults on her senses, it might well mean the collapse of her resistance and her ultimate downfall. She tried to feel abused and angered, but thinking of the feelings he had stirred inside her, she felt something more akin to—what?

It was nothing but curiosity, she vowed. She had merely had a taste of something she wanted to taste more fully. It was nothing but what any woman would want, and in her state of undress she would seriously test that rogue’s ardour. There had been no contact between them—only their eyes, which had been a simple contact, but the memory of it lingered far too long for her to be able to discount its effect on her.

Frustrated, she swilled her face with cold water. What manner of man was Charles Osbourne, who had crept into her mind and taken root? She was beginning to think he had entered her life with the express purpose of stealing her heart and perhaps even her soul.

Going in search of him, at the bottom of the stairs she paused, experiencing a feeling of alarm on seeing the man who had accosted her on her arrival going outside. Sober now, he threw her a sullen look, but made no attempt to approach her. The cut on his lip and blackened eye told its own story—Charles had obviously fought well in defence of his assumed wife’s honour.

Charles was waiting for her, his expression impassive, and yet there was a knowing gleam in his eyes when they settled on her that made Maria avert her gaze. There were others in the room eating breakfast before setting off on their journey.