Marcus snorted, pushing himself into a sitting position. ‘When was I ever your love, Claudia? We had a brief affaire, that was all. It was over as soon as it began. Admit it, you love only yourself.’ And why hadn’t he seen that immediately? Perhaps he had, but in those days, short months before, he had not met Antonia Dane and lost his appetite for meaningless sensual pleasures.
‘And you, Marcus? I suppose you are going to tell me now that you love that provincial chit. What is it that attracts you, my dear? It surely cannot be her clothes, her lack of style and connections? She is all ungainly legs and country complexion.’ Her drawling tone did not quite disguise the malice behind the words.
Marcus got to his feet. ‘Enough.' He stooped to take Claudia’s hand and help her up, suddenly seized by an unexpected and unwelcome feeling of pity for her. Her life, it seemed, was so empty without admiration. ‘I intend to marry Miss Dane. It is an entirely suitable match.’
‘In terms of land, I suppose it is wise,’ Claudia conceded. ‘I can see the advantages of connecting the two estates, they march together so well. I am quite fatigued, my dear, and bored with talking of your little country mouse.’ She slipped her hand through his arm, her affront apparently soothed by the thought that he was offering for Antonia simply for her lands. ‘Let us go back to the house and take tea.’
Antonia reached the last stretch of river before the Dower House. Her breath sobbed with a mixture of anger and savagely-suppressed tears as she ran, and now, breathless and dishevelled, she sank to the bank edge.
She could not go into the house like this, unless she was prepared to tell Donna everything. Antonia bent, scooping up cold water to splash on her hot eyes, and eventually felt calm enough to return home.
In the parlour Donna was sipping tea, the mended linen in a basket at her feet. ‘My dear, look at you! Your face is flushed, your eyes are red. Come and sit down. You have walked too far, undone all the good work of this morning. I do hope you are not sickening for something.’
‘I think it is the weather.’ Antonia was surprised at the matter-of-factness she could achieve, although her heart felt as though it were breaking. ‘See, the clouds are banking up, we will have a storm soon.’ Despite the heat, she felt as though something had frozen inside her. It was as though she had known all along that he did not love her, that he had offered only for her land, not for her love.
You fool, she told herself, as she mechanically drank the tea Donna passed her. You have been living in a fool’s paradise. You knew he has never spoken of love. I cannot fault him in that. It was all my own foolishness, my own romantic daydreaming.
Her own inexperience had ensnared her, leading her to believe that a man’s passions were all allied to love. But men, she was learning, could desire a woman with their affections entirely unengaged. And, it seemed, could feel that desire for more than one woman at a time.
And several hundred acres of land were, no doubt, a powerful inducement to desire.
Chapter Fifteen
Antonia was still more despising of herself than angry with Marcus when, after an early supper, she sat waiting for him in the garden. Donna, in obvious expectation of a proposal, had tactfully made herself scarce.
The air was heavy, with a threatening chrome yellow tinge to the banked clouds. Lightning flickered over the Vale and tiny thunder flies swarmed above the flowerbeds. Antonia, despite the light summer gown, felt as if she were wearing furs, the heat was so oppressive.
She was fighting to keep calm, rehearsing the dignified, frigid speech with which she intended to withdraw her acceptance of his offer. She had no intention of bringing Claudia Reed’s name into it. No, she would say in measured tones that she had thought better of it, that they would not suit. After all, she could never admit she had seen them that afternoon.
The old longcase clock from the hallway struck seven, the sound echoing faintly across the garden from the open casements, set wide to catch what little breeze there was.
Where is he? The longer she waited, the harder it became to maintain her fragile composure. Then she heard the hoof beats and started to her feet, heart beating painfully.
Marcus, trotted up the driveway looked across and saw her and turned his horse’s head. He tossed the reins over a branch and strode across the lawn towards her, a smile warm on his lips.
Antonia knew her face was set but, try as she might, she could not arrange her features into any semblance of welcome. As he neared her and saw her expression his changed, too, into a look of questioning concern.
‘Antonia, what is wrong?’ He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips.
Antonia pulled her hand away, her legs suddenly weak with longing for him, for his touch. She could not allow herself to falter, weaken, or she would be lost.
‘Your Grace,’ she began formally, her lips stiff. He began to speak, but she held up her hand to forestall him. ‘Your Grace, I have to tell you that, flattering as your offer to me yesterday was, I feel my acceptance of it was mistaken. Upon reflection…’ Her voice wavered slightly as a frown gathered between his brows, but she pressed on. ‘Upon reflection, I must decline your proposal, sensible though I am of the honour you do me. Your Grace, we should not suit,’ she finished baldly.
This was as far as she had gone with her prepared speech. Her imagination had not allowed her to picture Marcus’s reaction.
‘Should not suit?’ His voice was incredulous. ‘Antonia, what the devil can you mean? I thought – ’
Antonia drew herself up and took a steadying breath. ‘I mean what I say, Your Grace. We should not suit. I am only grateful circumstances were such that we made no announcement last night.’
He let out a short bark of humourless laughter. ‘We may have made no announcement, but our friends know what to expect.’
‘I have done nothing to lead them to draw conclusions,’ she said stiffly. ‘What you have done, Your Grace, is your affair.’
‘Damn it, woman, will you stop calling me Your Grace every other sentence.’
‘Do not swear at me!’ The thunder cracked and rolled overhead, and she started in alarm, stumbled.
Marcus did not hesitate. He caught her in his arms, fastened his mouth on hers. His mouth gentled, cajoling her into returning the kiss. His hands moved, caressing over her, finally settling on her shoulders, hot on the bare skin exposed there.