Chapter Two

July 10, 1815

Somewhere in the country

Near Crosthwaite, South Lakeland,

Cumbria, England

"Well, drat. I do believe I'm lost."

Mrs. Marjorie Stowe glanced about as she let the reins go slack in her gloved hands. The gig drifted to one side of the hardpacked dirt road as she tried to puzzle out her exact location. Being a visitor to England and especially the Lake District, she wasn't all that familiar with any area let alone this one, but her cousin-in-law that she was staying with mentioned the countryside was beautiful and that she should at least explore it during her visit.

And now she was lost in it.

"I suppose there are worse places to wander," she told the horse, an older brown mare named Bessie.

The flick of an ear was her only answer.

With a sigh, Marjorie sent her glance about the lush area once more. Rolling hills covered with a thick carpet of grass met her gaze. Copses of trees lay clustered together as far as the eye could see. Every once in a while, there were hedgerows no doubt laden with hidden berries if the bees and butterflies were any indication. In many ways, the countryside reminded her of the same back in Virginia where she'd lived on a tobacco plantation with her husband and son in America, but this was as far away from home as she'd ever been.

It was both intimidating and exciting.

"Should we return to Cousin Dorcas?" It wasn't something Marjorie particularly wanted to do, for the elderly woman didn't have much of a sense of humor or even an interesting bone in her body, but for years the older woman had been asking for Marjorie to visit, and now that Mr. Stowe had passed into the world beyond, there was no more excuse.

The mare huffed.

Marjorie took that as reluctance. In any event, since Dorcas didn't seem too keen on giving her a tour of the area, she'd taken the gig and horse out herself, for it was something she'd done in Virginia when she simply couldn't stand to remain in the house any longer. And she needed time alone after Cousin Dorcas had suggested Marjorie play companion to her since they were both widows and Dorcas was having trouble getting about.

While Marjorie didn't mind lending a hand, the thought of toiling for such a person sounded dull and boring and a bit like giving up on life. She hadn't survived her marriage only to toss the rest of her life away on being a companion to someone as miserable with health complaints as Dorcas.

It was merely a different sort of prison, and she had long ago grown tired of that.

Just as she tightened her fingers on the reins once more, Bessie apparently wasn't of a mind to turn about on the road. The bay mare tossed her head, and Marjorie swore to herself that the horse gave her a look that spelled disaster before dashing off in a completely new direction, which meant leaving the road.

"Bessie! I didn't give you permission to go exploring!" No matter how much she manipulated the reins or called to the horse, the equine was having none of it.

The gig careened behind the runaway mare. There was no control on Marjorie's part, she only hoped the gig—and herself—remained intact by the end. Eventually, when Bessie bolted up a hill, the vehicle groaned as if the structure itself struggled. Then a wheel hit either a rut or a large rock, for an axle snapped with a sickening crack. Seconds later, the gig tipped over, and Marjorie was ejected in the process, landing hard and oddly on her left ankle. Somehow, the horse slipped the harness, perhaps it had gone slack due to the accident, but Bessie didn't look back as she raced toward the road and then kept going. In the opposite direction of Cousin Dorcas.

Pain throbbed through Marjorie's ankle, which distracted her from the loss of the horse. There was nothing near her location midway up the hill, but as she shaded her eyes with a hand to peer at the top, she vaguely made out the silhouette of what appeared to be a weathered wishing well.

It was as good a place as any to keep watch on the road in the hopes someone might come by, she limped up the remainder of the hill, and with every step the pain in her ankle intensified. Winded and with tears in her eyes, Marjorie perched on the lip of the wishing well and was grateful to take the pressure off her foot and ankle. It had probably once been a charming addition to the area. The reservoir of the structure was made of stone, but the roof and supports to the roof were wood. Splintered in some ways and faded from the elements in others gave the well personality, but moss had grown over the wooden shingles on the roof and weeds grew profusely around the base, making it sadder and more abandoned instead of whimsical.

Not knowing how long she'd need to sit there before a random traveler came by, Marjorie dug into her reticule for a pence, then screwing her eyes closed, she thought up a wish in her mind, and as she tossed the coin into the well, she whispered, "Please let me have one unforgettable adventure before I settle in to become a companion to Dorcas."

The soft plop of the coin hitting the water somewhere deep down in the well reached her ears, and she sighed. She'd arrived in England just last week, and now she'd not only lost a horse that didn't belong to her, but she'd also managed to break a gig and injure herself to such an extent that she couldn't walk.

I probably should have stayed in Virginia.

After perhaps an hour—or an eternity—she might have fallen asleep there on the wishing well if it hadn't been for the throbbing pain in her ankle. Still, she was drowsy enough that when she was hailed by what sounded like a very annoyed man who rode up the hill on a dappled gray charger, she startled.

"Oh, I…" The lip of the wishing well wasn't that wide, and the stones beneath her rear were quite crumbly. One of the stones popped out, which shifted her center of gravity, and with a squeal of surprise and fear, Marjorie tumbled off the side of the well into the pit. "Help!" Thank goodness she'd had the wherewithal to grab hold of the first thing she came into contact with—the wooden bucket hanging suspended by what was no doubt a rotting rope. She hung haphazardly from the bucket with the upper portion of her body clinging to it while she swayed back and forth inside the well. "Oh, please, take pity on me and help!" The edges of the bucket rubbed uncomfortably against her ribcage.

Drat her full bust! It had always caused her problems.

Seconds later, the man rested a hand on her left ankle, and a scream of pain sailed from her throat. "How the devil did you manage to get yourself stuck on a bucket?"

"My luck hasn't been terribly good of late, with the exception of my husband dying that is," she hastened to explain, for she couldn't have been more pleased about that turn of events. "At least I didn't fall down to the bottom of the well." When she snickered and he didn't join in, she sighed. "My gig broke an axle, and the horse ran away, but in the process of turning over, I've wrenched my ankle, and it hurts terribly."

"I don't even know how to respond." More annoyance sounded in his voice that rumbled deep in her chest. "You are an American." It wasn't a question.

"Well, sooner or later you had to know that some of us would make it back over the pond." If there was more vinegar in her voice, she couldn't help it. She was uncomfortable and her ankle hurt.

"Fair enough." Then his hand was on her right leg, and he gripped her hips with both his big hands. "Steel yourself. It might jostle you a bit." Seconds later, the man yanked her bodily off the bucket. As he hauled her from the well, some of the pins came loose from her hair, and her blonde tresses fell about her shoulders. When he set Marjorie onto her feet, she nearly collapsed.

"Ow!" The pain her in ankle rose in an intense wave up her leg, preventing her from standing.

"Damn and blast." The man hooked a gloved hand beneath her right arm and wrenched her upward, bracing her against his impossibly hard and warm body, one of his hands on her bottom while the other rested on her back. "I have known you all of five minutes and already you have proved to be a thorn in my side."

"I do apologize, but it was hardly my fault that my horse bolted and left me stranded." Good heavens did he smell good! Scents of cedarwood, orange, leather, and the tiniest hint of tobacco teased her nose. There was no mistaking that aroma. As she stared, she noted the skin of his face and neck with a glorious golden tanned hue. Did the rest of his body have that same coloring? If it did, that meant he spent copious amounts of time outside and in some state of dishabille. How utterly fascinating. "Then, it was solidly your fault when you startled me."

"That is gammon, madam." Though there was a certain gruffness to his voice, the low rumble of that baritone tickled through her insides. He stared down at her with an odd mix of hurt, guilt, and hopelessness in his stormy gray eyes that beckoned her closer despite her vow to never to get involved with a man again. "I was merely riding through my property when I heard a call for help but couldn't locate the source… until I saw you on the damned wishing well, that has needed repairs for years."

"Ah." Marjorie frowned, for she wanted to know why she had been immediately intrigued by him during this chance meeting. "If it is on your property, why have you not repaired it?"

"Are all Americans as direct as you or is that trait yours exclusively?" he asked instead of answering her question. And what was more, he didn't release her, and the heat of his hand on her bottom sent queer little tremors through her lower belly.

"There are times when the direct route is best." When she attempted to put distance between them merely so she could breathe easier and clear her head, he moved his hand from her rear to her waist, essentially keeping her close to his side. "Perhaps we should start with introductions, hmm? Then you can help me get my bearings."

His sensuous lips twitched but he didn't smile. "I am Benedict Ormandy, Marquess of St. Synedon."

Well, drat. "Should I curtsy or otherwise show respect to you?" She never did understand the rules of English society even if her husband had been a gentleman of the ton .

"Ideally, yes, but since you are injured, we shall ignore that." Briefly, amusement reflected in his lovely eyes before the ever-present grief took over.

"How do I address such a lofty personage as yourself?" Truly, it was maddening to remember the rules in a country not her own.

"Ordinarily, you should address me as Your Lordship or even Synedon, but my closest friends call me Syn."

Marjorie frowned. It was absurd to stand here crushed against his side, chatting as if they were in a drawing room, but there was nothing for it, and he did feel marvelously strong and manly. "I would rather call you by your given name of Benedict. Everything else is too stuffy."

He snorted. "Typical American sentiment and completely without nuance or respect for tradition."

"Except they aren't my traditions. My father is a plantation owner in Virginia in America, which was how I met my husband. Neighboring estates and all."

It was he who pulled slightly away from her, leaving her to wobble in order to remain upright. "You are married?"

"Not any longer, thank goodness." It was odd how much she missed his warmth, even though it was a rather warm day. "My reprobate husband died a couple of years ago, and I can't say I was too sad about that." She shrugged. "It happened in a riding accident as he tried to jump a hedge that was too high with a horse that was too lazy and a rider who was too drunk."

The marquess' eyebrows rose in surprise or shock, she couldn't tell. "At least a person knows where he stands in your estimation."

Marjorie nodded. "There are worse things." She gave him a small grin. "Regardless, he'd always been no good, but he'd talked of England throughout our marriage of twenty-one years, and we visited London a few times, but the tobacco plantation in Virginia took most of his time."

"Was he a successful estate owner?"

"That depended on the day." She clutched at his arm and the muscles clenched beneath her fingers. "Where he failed, I fully believe my son will do better, for he'd learned from my husband's mistakes." It was far too much information for a first meeting, but she was thrilled at having an audience that didn't include Cousin Dorcas.

He eyed her as if he didn't quite know what to do with her. "Did you enjoy London?"

"Some aspects of it, I suppose, but what I discovered during this visit is that English society has no use for women past a certain age, especially if they don't possess a fortune. Sadly, both of those conditions apply to me."

"You don't appear too long in the tooth." Once more, he snaked an arm about her waist and gently urged her to move toward his horse that grazed nearby.

"Then you would be wrong. I recently turned nine and thirty, am a mother to a twenty-year-old son. He was the one who encouraged me to travel here and visit with my husband's cousin merely for a change of scenery."

"Have you been enjoying the Lake District? It is much different than London."

"It is beautiful, but to be honest, I haven't been able to explore as yet, which is one of the reasons I took the gig out."

"And the other reason?"

She shrugged. "I'm finding Cousin Dorcas' company rather stifling."

"The widow, Dorcas Andress?"

"Yes, why?"

"I know of the woman. Keeps to herself. Lives about five miles away. Never bothers or pesters me. More often than not she's forgetful so I check in on her from time to time."

How interesting. "I didn't know you were acquainted with her. Local gossip holds you keep yourself aloof from everyone."

A hint of ruddy color appeared above his collar. "I'm not social but I keep current on what's around me."

She nodded. "That speaks much to your character that you look after her."

The marquess shrugged. "It serves as a distraction when I need it." He put his head closer to hers. "There are things in my existence that aren't especially pleasant."

And that only made him more intriguing. "That is everyone's lot, no doubt."

He didn't answer.

"By the by, I'm Marjorie Stowe."

"It is too bad your trip to the Lake District has been marred with injury, Mrs. Stowe." There was an intensity about his stare that had butterflies scudding through her lower belly as he continued to escort her toward the horse.

"If you don't mind, refer to me as Marjorie. I'd rather not be reminded of my husband at every conversation."

"Fair enough… Marjorie." The sound of her name in his baritone was thrilling. His gaze met hers and for the space of a few heartbeats, they stared at each other while a simmering attraction fairly crackled between them. Finally, honor must have kicked in. "I am going to take you to my manor house."

Faint apprehension twisted down her spine. "Why can you not take me back to my cousin's house?"

His gaze was inscrutable as he looked at her, and from this close, she was able to discern the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, which, coupled with the gray threads in his dark brown hair, alluded to the fact that he wasn't a young man by any stretch. "Is that truly where you want to go?" he asked as he picked her up in his strong arms.

Oh, mercy.

"Well, I…" Pressed into his chest, there was no other option except to hold onto the wide breadth of his shoulders. The heat of him, the smell of him, the tactile feel of his arms and form against hers all worked to cause her head to spin. "No, actually." She peered into his eyes and had the specific thought that it might be nice to tumble into those stormy depths. "I lived beneath my husband's drunken thumb and dictates for far too many years. He told me how I should act and how I should dress and how I should feel. Now that I have my freedom, I want to live on my terms."

Would she start with this man? Was he the adventure she wished for? He certainly had the looks of wicked sin, and she wouldn't mind a kiss from him.

To start.

For a few seconds, he returned her regard in silence. Then he tossed her into the saddle, grunting when she squealed in surprise, for the horse was quite large and tall. When he mounted behind her, he slipped his arms about her middle while she clung to him, for sitting across the saddle was quite awkward. Even still, her skirting was twisted under her, and her stocking-clad calves were clearly on display.

"If I didn't know better, I would say you are far too comfortable flirting with scandal." The rumble of his voice so close to her ear sent frissons of delight over her skin.

"That is a word that has never been associated with my name, but I must say, I'm not opposed to enticing it at my age."

Another grunt followed her statement. He leaned forward which caused his chest to brush against her shoulder as he gathered the reins. "Age is merely a number, Marjorie. After all, I am forty-three and very nearly ancient, wouldn't you say?"

"Not at all." Obviously, he was living right if he looked that gorgeous in this phase of his existence. Then a shiver raced down her spine. Was that truly a bulge of desire and arousal rubbing against her hip? How interesting. That meant he'd felt the same attraction between them and it hadn't been her imagination. It made her grin, and she tamped on that. "I find you as someone who demands attention. In a good way."

"And also a bad way, I would imagine." The warmth of his breath skated over her cheek. "Your philosophy is quite understandable, and perhaps the solution is for you to be beneath the right man soon. All of him instead of just his thumb."

Heat sank into her cheeks, and that reaction hadn't happened in far too many years. "A lovely thought, but this area is a rather lonely place." What would he do if he knew her secret? The truth that made her husband despise her? If she let on that she wasn't a perfect society woman and that she enjoyed bed sport but had never gone flying from her husband's hand?

"Ah, then perhaps the solution will present itself."

"I shall need to write to Cousin Dorcas of my direction." Awareness raced over her skin from his proximity and his scandalous innuendos.

"Of course. You will be in good hands at my home. Once you are able to walk independently on the ankle, I will take you to your cousin."

"Thank you." But in the meantime, she intended to live her life to the fullest. Whatever that would look like, she had no idea, but it was lovely to think about.