Chapter 6

Marcus stared down at the woman as she succumbed once more to sleep. Seeing the decanter and empty glass on the tray beside her, he snatched up both and poured himself a healthy measure. Standing, he tossed the wine back, running a hand through his hair and chewing his lower lip. It was a trait he had copied from his brother until it had become habit. That was in the days before their father had driven them to hate each other with his insane need to make them compete to prove themselves the most worthy of the Valebridge Dukedom.

Now I've done it. I have no idea who she is, but she seems to be hopelessly in love with Arthur. Can't imagine why for the life of me. Sooner or later, she is going to realize I don't know a thing about her and is going to smell a rat. And I have just taken advantage of her.

He resisted the urge to pour himself another glass, placing the decanter and glass on the bedside table and hurrying from the room. Gracie, the maid who had been assigned to watch over their visitor, was waiting in the passageway outside the room.

"Go back in please, Gracie, and watch over her. She is asleep again. Send for me if she wakes."

Gracie curtsied and went into the room. Marcus strode away towards the main staircase. The sound of his assembled guests rose up from the Great Hall. They would be expecting to see him for the first time about now. Luke greeted him as he began to descend.

"There you are! What the deuce have you been doing? They are getting quite restive. Remember a good many had to be persuaded to accept this invitation," he said anxiously.

"I'm well aware, Luke. I know what they call Valebridge behind my back."

"Oh, you mean Villainsbridge?" Luke said with a grin, "droll, isn't it?"

"Hardly. A symptom of the sickness my father allowed to fester. My name is worse than mud to these people."

"How is your guest?" Luke asked.

"Sleeping again. No sign of the fever that I could see, but she's weak."

"Rest and sustenance are what she needs. Wine and dance are what you need. Come, let us mingle," Luke said jovially.

The two men descended the stairs to the ground floor and walked through the tall, open doors that separated the staircase from the imposing majesty of the Great Hall. The room was thronged with the great and the good of Sussex, Kent, and London. It glittered under the lights of candles and lamps, reflected from jewels and the gold which adorned the guests. Marcus forced a gracious smile as he began to move amongst his guests.

It was not easy but became progressively more so with the liberal imbibing of alcohol and the repeated practice of exchanging the same pleasantries dozens of times. Presently, the time came for music and dance. Marcus had done his duty and requested the hand of a number of eligible young women of good breeding and prominent family. He led the daughter of the Duke of Hargrave into the first dance.

He smiled politely at her and found things to compliment which earned him a blush and a smile in return. But he was not seeing her. His mind was full of the woman upstairs. Her body had been slender but with a strength belying that apparent frailty. The bruise on her cheek had darkened enough to reveal a small cut at its center.

If I didn't know better, I would have sworn that was made by the stone of a ring. A backhand blow to the face, with the ring catching her cheekbone, would have made a bruise and wound like that. What blackguard would strike such a delicate creature.

One dance swiftly morphed into another, this time with the daughter of the Earl of Cheshunt. Then another young woman, whose name and rank Marcus promptly forgot, and another. During a break in the dancing, a buffet was provided at the far end of the Hall, carried to the groaning tables by servants carrying silver trays, most of whom had been hired especially for the evening to supplement the meager staff that Marcus maintained.

Luke found him as Marcus moved to the periphery of the room, offering him a cigarillo.

"Well done, old lad. A sterling job of respectability," Luke crowed.

"Hard work," Marcus muttered, lighting his cigar from a candle and taking a long draw, while receiving one or two looks from nearby guests who had spotted him.

"I have been doing my part. Fielding questions from those who have caught onto the fact that we are friends. Do you know, they say you are a recluse? That you haven't left this house in five years?"

Marcus snorted. "That is not so far from the truth."

"They also say that you are the practitioner of Satanic rites, that you are a spy for a foreign power, and that you are at the heart of a smuggler's ring. Among other even more outlandish theories."

He laughed as he recited the list and Marcus could not help but join in. He perused the crowd, wondering if this evening would in fact go some way to demonstrating his respectability. To repairing the damage done to the Roy family name by his father.

"I am not my father. Neither a womanizer nor a gambler. Nor a brute," he finally said.

"I'll speak to that. And I have been for the last hour, rest assured. We'll win them over, we have to… don't you worry," Luke replied optimistically.

Marcus was about to reply when something caught his eye in the direction of the stairs. Tilting his head, he saw the young woman descending the staircase tentatively, one hand to the banister as though afraid she might fall without it. She wore a plain, gray dress such as the maids wore. It had been provided for her from the wardrobe of one of them. Her hair was a gold radiance about her head, emphasizing the sapphire gleam of her eyes and paleness of her skin.

The sight of her took his breath away, as it had done every time he had seen her since her arrival. Each glimpse of her felt like the first. A number of murmurs arose from the gathered throng as others caught sight of her. Heads began to turn. Voices began to quieten. Marcus felt a sharp ache in his gut suddenly, and he tossed down his cigarillo, before stomping it out and rushing toward her.

* * *

Selina awoke finally but this time remembered no dreams. Again, the maid slumbered in the chair next to the bed. Selina felt even hungrier than she had the first time but thirsty most of all. The decanter and glass were closest to hand, and she poured herself some wine, filling the glass and drinking it in greedy gulps. It was sweet tasting and fruity. She took another swallow, the dryness of the wine competing with the thirst-quenching properties of the liquid.

When she felt a little less thirsty, she swung her legs out of the bed and cautiously tested her steadiness. She remembered the weakness that had struck her earlier. It remained to a degree but had certainly withdrawn somewhat. The maid snored and shifted in her sleep but Selina had no desire to wake her.

Let the poor girl catch up on some sleep. She has been watching over me for long enough.

Going to the window, remembering its view out over the Downs, she saw a purple sky and twilight reigning over the landscape. The hills themselves were black, the sun long since sunk behind them. She helped herself to another glass of wine as she padded to the wardrobe on the other side of the room. A fire crackled in the fireplace opposite the bed, but it had burned low, casting long shadows with its sullen glow.

Any heat it had been producing was much reduced and Selina felt cold in the cotton nightdress she had been dressed in.

I did not bring such a garment; I am sure of that. It must have been provided for me. It certainly does nothing to keep out the chill!

In the wardrobe, there was one dress hanging up. It was the plain, simple garb of a housemaid but looked thicker and warmer. She took it down and quickly changed, finding a pair of stockings in a set of drawers to one side of the wardrobe's interior. The maid continued to snore as Selina pulled on the thick, gray stockings, wriggling her toes in their newfound warmth. She took another glass of wine and a bite of bread as she went to the fire, warming her hands.

I am here. Safe? Surely so, with Arthur here to protect me. Even if my father looks for me here, Arthur will not let him in through the door once I tell him what happened.

She sat for a long while, thinking of Arthur's impossibly handsome face, not marred at all by the scar he had picked up since Selina knew him.

Except he told me he got it when he was a boy. But I knew him from childhood to adolescence. Or did I dream him telling me those things?

The earlier meeting with Arthur was hazy in her mind. She took another glass of wine and was surprised to find that she had finished the decanter. She felt a little light-headed and sat down heavily. The maid stirred in her sleep but did not wake. Selina tried to recall details. She remembered being in Arthur's arms. She had fallen and he had caught her. She remembered…kissing him.

Oh my! That was probably not the best course of action. What was I thinking?

But the memory sent a thrill through her. The kiss had been intensely exciting, deliciously arousing. She smiled to herself as she relived it. The memory of previous kisses paled in comparison. Soft and hard, all at the same time. Warm and spreading that warmth through her entire body. Selina drummed her stockinged feet on the floor and heard a snort from the maid. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

But the woman remained asleep. Selina decided to take her leave of the room, to look around Valebridge. To find Arthur.

He must be desperately worried, wondering how I came to be here in such a way. I must tell him the truth.

Quietly and a little unsteadily, she left the room and began to negotiate her way through a veritable maze of hallways. More by luck than judgment, she found her way to a wide staircase and began to follow it down. By now, she was having to hold the banister quite firmly, feeling very unsteady. She berated herself for not being more aware of how much she was drinking, or how potent the drink was.

This is a fine way to meet Arthur after all these years!

She concentrated on disguising the ill effects of wine and was so fixed on this idea that she was not aware of the sounds made by a large group of people in the room below her. Only when she rounded a turn of the stairs did she realize that she was walking into the midst of a ball.