Chapter Thirteen

July 28, 1815

Marjorie stretched and then snuggled into Syn's side. In the distance, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, for a storm was getting ready to come through the area, and though she'd experienced storms in the Lake District before, this one sounded as if it would be more powerful than the others.

Still, it made for lovely sleeping weather, especially after she and the marquess had just finished a rather vigorous coupling—the second of that night.

"Are the oncoming storms making you feel uneasy?" The rumble of the marquess' voice in the darkness had awareness prickling over her naked skin.

"I'm not sure. Most of the time, I adore the rain, but thunder and lightning put me on edge." When he rolled onto his side facing her and folded her into his arms, she sighed with both relief and contentment. He made her feel protected and wanted. "It has been twenty days since you rescued me from that well." And in that time, her cousin-in-law hadn't inquired after her health or well-being once. She'd sent a letter from London detailing how she'd spent her time, but never once had she wished to know how Marjorie had fared. Neither did she ask her to become a companion. Perhaps she was more like her nephew than Marjorie had first assumed.

"In many ways, it seems as if you have always been here, and in others, it feels as if I just met you." As he stroked a hand down her spine, tingles of need danced through her lower belly. "It has been a kaleidoscope with you."

Was he referring to the wealth of feelings he hadn't really shared with her? For several moments, she listened to the growl of the storm as it crept closer. The beat of his heart beneath her ear was both comforting and exciting, but it also made her worried. Did he trust her enough to delve deep into his stunted emotions so he could release them? The only time she'd seen him barely cry was the day he'd talked about his children's deaths, but then he tamped on the emotions before they'd grown out of hand, and they were distracted by other branches of the conversation.

Would he never heal?

"These past weeks have truly been a deviation from what I was used to with my husband." Then she realized she'd never told him about the man aside from little tidbits. Perhaps if she opened up to him, he would follow her lead. "My husband was under the impression that only men should enjoy intercourse, that for the woman, the only purpose in a coupling was to conceive… or bring him pleasure."

"And I told you he was a nodcock," Benedict murmured against the shell of her ear. "If I could bring him back from the dead, merely to beat him senseless for his treatment of you, I would."

What a dear man he was. She smiled against his skin then rested her cheek on his chest. "But he had no difficulties frequenting brothels, taking strange women into his bed, or generally ignoring me for weeks at a time, leaving me to oversee the plantation with his foreman only to return after his absences seeking praise."

"You never had a loving marriage?"

"Not even from the first. My father arranged the match, and I'd hoped my husband and I might grow close when we lost our first child, but he assumed there was something wrong with me, assumed that was the reason for the loss." Those had been dark times. "When my son was born, my husband carried on as if he had been solely responsible for the birth and delivery. Never once did he give me praise and support or the love I wanted while I was bed bound for a handful of weeks due to the pain and recovery."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I barely left my wife's side after each birth. It is quite a traumatic experience for a woman."

"Yes." She envied his dead wife that. "I was very lonely during that time, was only able to see my baby when it was time to feed. Then he was whisked away by my husband or his nurses to show him off to various family members or his contemporaries." Her chin quivered with the telling. "When you talk about not wishing to remain in this world, I understand what you mean. During those days, I was close to that myself and overwhelmed from everything. I wanted to feel well again, to see my friends, to return to my previous life, but I was physically unable, and my mind kept telling me no one wanted me any longer, for I'd fulfilled my purpose."

Benedict shoved himself up on an elbow to peer down at her in the shadowy darkness. "It's a horrid place to dwell. I find myself there more and more since Phoebe died."

"Except for recently." It wasn't a question. "When I realized what was happening to me, I took myself out of that room and relocated for a change of scenery. Each day I reminded myself that I still had worth, that eventually someone would love me for who I was, that soon enough, I would have my son to myself when the newness wore away for my husband."

"Ah Marjorie, I admire your strength." He rested a large hand on her belly. "If you were mine at the time, you would have felt so loved, so cherished. That should have been a wonderful time in your life."

"I know." Her chin wobbled all the more, and she frowned. That was the fly in the ointment to her full happiness. Though she was falling in love with the marquess, it came with its own sort of terror, for would he be strong enough to remain in this world? For her? The connection to his past was still too prevalent. Would he be willing to relinquish his hold? To move forward into a future?

Perhaps she needed to come straight to the point.

"Benedict?"

"Hmm?"

"You have been everything wonderful regarding my care and upkeep, and you are the best lover I have had. However, will you ever want me for more than just your mistress?" When he didn't immediately answer, she swallowed her pride and continued. "Will there ever be love between us? Would you consider taking me to wife even though it would go against everything you have no doubt had ingrained into your being from birth?"

There, it was out in the open, and he needed to make that decision.

"I… ah…" He drew a palm along her arm, and she steeled herself against the customary reaction. "Isn't what we have now enough? You were certainly pleased with it before."

"That's true. I was, but—" How to explain without seeming desperate herself? "Women have very little in this world, and without a man in their life in some capacity, things are exponentially more difficult."

"I have been taking care of you, and you are under my protection. Those are the things a man does for his mistress."

"Except give her love or the respect she deserves." As the rolls of thunder drew ever closer and the lightning flashes illuminated the sky, Marjorie pushed out of his arms to scuttle over the bed to the side. "Perhaps it is because I'm an American, but I'd hoped at least you would have been different from how my husband acted."

"Marjorie, please. Whether you are a wife or a mistress doesn't matter. The esteem and admiration I have for you is still the same." Frustration wove through his low voice. "You know of my past and why I hesitate on this issue. And it is bigger than that because I'm a marquess."

"Of course I know that! Don't you think that isn't at the back of my mind all the time? It's the black mark on this whole relationship." She shook her head as she left the bed. "But there is something more substantial between us that prevents you from thinking straight."

"Which is?"

While annoyance and concern vied for attention within her chest, she yanked up her discarded night dress and tugged it over her head. "Your dead wife." Oh, she had dreaded this confrontation since she realized how much he'd clung to her memory, how he'd told her he talked to Phoebe at times.

"I…"

"Stop." Holding up a hand palm outward as he maneuvered into a sitting position, she frowned. "You have let yourself become mired in the past, no doubt because it's the easier choice against confronting all of those emotions and staring them in the face." Didn't everyone hide from such things at some point? "There is nothing there for you but memories. While it's good and healthy to remember our loved ones that have passed on, that time is stagnant. There is no future there, no light. You must make the decision to come forward, Benedict. I can't do that for you, and until you do, no other relationships in your life will work."

"In my head, I know you are correct, but my whole family is gone, Marjorie. Sometimes I still feel that loss with an intensity that steals my breath. And I…" His words drifted off, but he didn't continue his sentence.

Her heart trembled for him. "We all have trauma, we have all been through things we'd rather not, but go through them we must because that is life. It is how we grow and mature." A flash of lightning made his expression haggard and highlighted the battle-weary lines in his expression. "And when two of those people find each other, they can help each other grow stronger still."

"It is difficult for me. I…"

"I know." She nodded. "You must want the new future more than you've grown complacent with hiding in the past. Nothing but pain waits for you there, and aren't you exhausted by that, by the intense grieving you continue to put yourself through?"

"Aren't I allowed that, at least?"

"Of course, but it is dangerous to make that your entire life. It changes you, it traps you in maudlin thoughts, but if you allow yourself to live again, you can make room for the hurt around the new happiness and experiences you'll have."

He stood and shoved a hand through his hair, while she tried not to glance at his semi-hardened member. "I… I honestly don't know if I'm strong enough for that, Marjorie. If I allow myself to fall for you, if I lose you…"

What a maddening man! "You're about to lose me now! Don't you see?"

The roll of thunder was closer now. Jagged lightning lit the sky and briefly illuminated the interior of the room. "So, you would walk away from everything we've built together between us merely because I don't wish to take a second wife?" A hint of annoyance wove through his voice. His eyes glittered in the dim light as he retrieved his breeches from the foot of the bed.

"What should I do?" The intensity of him gave her pause. Would he should a temper? What, actually, did she know about him? "What we have is wonderful, of course, and I adore it, but what will happen when you come to your senses and realize you still have a duty to your title?"

"But I won't—"

She shook her head. "That'll you'll need to marry, need to produce an heir regardless of whether you have a cousin or not?" Tears welled in her eyes, for she didn't believe he understood. "I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to stand by and watch you wed another woman, bed another woman, create new life with another woman simply because she's younger and English and…" Marjorie's voice broke. She was doing nothing but embarrassing herself. After clearing her throat, she met his gaze. "If that is your stance, then there is nothing else for me here."

"That's not true!" He closed the distance between them, tried to draw her into his arms, but she wasn't having any of that, because as soon as he touched her, she would be lost. "We are good together. There is still much we have to share with each other."

She edged toward the door. "Would you ever love me? Tell me that?"

"I don't know." A huff escaped his throat. "If I say it, will you stay?"

"I want you to mean it." That made all the difference. When he didn't answer, a tear fell to her cheek. "I don't blame you, Syn. You are much a product of your father's raising, but once you realize you need to release some of the emotions you are holding onto, you will see things differently." She pressed the latch and then pulled open the door. "Unfortunately, I need to hear that; I deserve to be loved by someone."

"Please don't leave me, Marjorie. I am nothing without your light." There was so much pain in his voice that her heart squeezed, and she very nearly gave in, but that didn't change her circumstances.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head. "I fear we have nothing else to say to each other. While I didn't mind entering scandal with trysts or even as your mistress. What I feel for you…" A hard swallow forced moisture into her dry throat. "I might have wanted scandal for a lifetime, but now I realize it was love I wanted all along. We both deserve that, don't you think?"

Then she fled into the darkened corridor, upset and in tears, which she didn't want Benedict to see, for he would try to soothe and comfort her, and if there was no real substance behind the gesture, she didn't want to have any part of it any longer.

She wanted a future; he persisted in clinging to the past. It was a hopeless cause.

No sooner had Marjorie returned to her suite than a terrified whine of a dog reached her ears, even above the sound of the storm. The sound had come from somewhere relatively close by, and there was a note in that cry that made her think the animal was hurt. That call in the dark resonated deep within her. It echoed the sadness and misery swamping her.

And Benedict didn't come after her, which said everything she needed to know.

Scrubbing at the tears falling to her cheeks, she quietly and efficiently dressed in a shift then pulled a simple day dress on top of that. It would suffice for dashing outside in order to find the wounded dog. No one should pass a convalescence period here where there was only sadness and grief and shriveling instead of excitement and happiness and growth.

As she moved into the corridor and sneaked past the marquess' door, from within, noise that sounded like stifled sobbing reached her ears. She almost hesitated, almost went into check on him, but she told herself no. It was his turn to come up to the mark; she had a dog to save. Perhaps she'd take the dog with her back to America. It would serve as a decent companion, and they could depend on each other.

Once outside, the wind and rain were fierce. Immediately, water was flung into her face and her hair whipped around her head. Between the lightning flashes, she searched for the dog. When it wasn't thundering about her, the barks and whines grew ever fainter. Was the dog running away? Oh, the poor thing must be terrified. She would be too out here in the storm, but her worry for the lost canine overlapped the fear.

Eventually, Marjorie was led toward the hills and lakes. With the heavy rain and the wind, her skirts were plastered to her legs, making walking difficult, but she managed it, for finding that dog was her only goal just now. Between flashes of lightning, she finally spotted the dog—a brown and white beagle—as it limped along, darting about and obviously frightened with its continued whining.

When she tried to whistle, her wet lips prevented much sound, and as the dog caught sight of her, it ran away from her, headed toward Hummingbird Lake.

Marjorie hurried after it. The only thing she wanted to do was wrangle the dog and bring him back to the house. By the time she reached the lake, she was winded and there was a stitch in her side from the unexpected exercise and fighting against the elements. The dog had paused at the side of the lake, waiting on the pebble-filled shore. Wind whipped the water's surface into fierce waves that crashed against the shore.

At the last second, she snatched the beagle up into her arms as a particularly large wave shoved water up to her knees. Somehow, she managed to carry him away from the danger, but the stubborn canine wriggled out of her arms, only to be taken by another wave and dumped into the churning lake.

"Drat!" Without a second thought, she plunged in after the dog. If she couldn't save the marquess, she would damn well save this dog and go from there.

No sooner had she reeled the dog in to her arms a second time and held his shivering, shaking body against her chest when the angry waves in the lake proved too strong for her. They pulled and yanked at her person until she lost her footing, and seconds later, she knew she was in trouble as well.

"Help!" She managed the cry before both she and the dog were dunked beneath the surface, and suddenly she was mired in the fight for her life and the dog she'd just rescued.