Blackmailing the Society Bride. PENNY JORDAN
the men’s toiletries departments of upmarket stores? Sniffing and testing and searching, hoping that she might recognise it and find out just what it was he wore, so that she could buy some and put a little on her pillows, so that she could wear it herself if necessary—anything just to be able to feel closer to him. But she had never discovered what it was.
Body to body with Marcus. If only by some miracle he would draw her closer now, and bend his head and cover her mouth with his—if only, if only…
‘Marcus, dear boy—so good of you to come. And Lucy…’
Lucy could feel her face burning as Marcus stepped back from her but still continued to hold on to her arm.
The almost flirtatious warmth of her voice as her great-aunt had greeted Marcus chilled quite distinctly over her own name, Lucy noticed cynically. Was there any woman on the surface of the earth who was immune to Marcus’s personal brand of male charm?
‘A truly delightful occasion, Alice. Thank you for inviting me.’
‘My dear boy, how could I not? After all, your family have been taking care of our family’s financial affairs since before the Peninsular War. Of course there should have been food, but I’m afraid Lucy rather let me down there.’
Lucy gasped in outrage.
‘That—Ouch!’ she protested as Marcus trod on her toes, then hustled her out into the street—just as though she were a prisoner under armed guard, Lucy decided indignantly.
‘You do realise that you stood on my toes, don’t you?’ she objected, as she breathed in the familiar scent of the sun-warmed city.
‘Better my foot on your toes than your foot in your own mouth, don’t you think?’ Marcus suggested.
It took Lucy several seconds to recognise what he was saying, but once she had she glowered indignantly and told him, ‘It was Great-Aunt Alice herself who decided not to have any food. It was nothing to do with me.’
‘You amaze me sometimes, you know, Lucy,’ Marcus told her grimly. ‘Has no one ever told you that a little tact goes a long way towards oiling the wheels of business and reputation?’
‘You’re a fine one to talk! You never bother using tact when you talk to me, do you?’
‘Some situations call for stronger measures,’ Marcus answered grimly.
‘If you mean my marriage—’ Lucy began hotly, and then stopped.
Her marriage was just not something she felt safe discussing with Marcus. The last thing she wanted was to have him probing into the whys and wherefores of her relationship with Nick. There was no point in allowing herself to be drawn into an argument she already knew she was not going to win.
‘You can let go of me now, Marcus,’ Lucy hissed valiantly several seconds later, when he was still holding on to her. But Marcus ignored her, keeping a firm grip on her arm as he flagged down a taxi and then opened the door for her, almost pushing her inside it. Lucy resentfully moved as far away from him as she could as he sat down beside her.
‘Where to, guv?’ the taxi driver demanded.
‘Wendover Square. Number twenty-one.’
‘Arncott Street.’
They had both spoken together.
‘Make yer mind up,’ the cabbie complained.
‘Wendover Square,’ Marcus repeated, before Lucy could speak, leaving her to glower angrily at him.
‘It would have been easier if he’d dropped me off first, Marcus.’
‘I want to talk to you,’ Marcus told her coolly.
‘So talk,’ she said recklessly.
‘In private,’ Marcus informed her in a very gritty voice.
The taxi driver was turning into Wendover Square, its elegant Georgian houses overlooking one of London’s most attractive private squares.
Marcus’s house—the same house his grandfather and his great-grandfather had lived in, in fact all his ancestors right back to the Carring who had first begun the bank in the days of the Peninsular War—had just about the best position in the whole square. Four storeys high and double fronted, with a proper back garden, it was a true family house, and Lucy could see how impressed the cabbie was as he pulled up outside it and unlocked the door for them.
‘I do hope that whatever you want to say to me isn’t going to take too long, Marcus.’ Lucy was trying to sound as businesslike as possible—a difficult task when suddenly, for no discernible reason, her tongue seemed to be slipping and sliding over her words, and the motion of the taxi had made her feel very dizzy indeed.
‘No Mrs Crabtree?’ she managed to articulate, when Marcus opened the door and there was no sign of his housekeeper. As Lucy knew, the woman treated her employer as though he were at the very most one step down from god status.
‘She’s gone to stay with her daughter, to help look after her new baby.’
‘Oh!’ Lucy gave an exclamation of surprise as she semi-stumbled in the hallway.
‘I told you you’d had too much to drink,’ Marcus said grimly. ‘And you’re certainly in no fit state to go anywhere on your own.’
His accusation stung—and all the more so because it was just not true. She didn’t drink! But before she could say so, he was continuing curtly, ‘You’re out of touch, Lucy. The tipsy, thirty-something, Bridget Jones-type female is over. The in thing now is the committed working mother with two children and a husband—and if you don’t believe me take a look at your own friends. Carly and Julia are both married now, and both mothers.’
As though she needed reminding of that! Lucy thought miserably.
‘I am not thirty-anything,’ she told him crossly instead. ‘And, just in case you had forgotten, I’ve been married.’
‘Forgotten? How the hell could anyone forget that?’
‘And I have not had too much to drink,’ Lucy added forcefully.
The look Marcus gave her made her whole body burn, never mind just her face.
‘No? Well, all I can say is that if this is the state you were in when Nick Blayne picked you up, it’s no wonder—’
‘It’s no wonder what?’ Lucy stopped him. ‘No wonder that I went to bed with him? Well, for your information, I went to bed with him because—’
‘Spare me your reminiscences about how much you loved him, Lucy,’ Marcus told her flatly. ‘Blayne saw you coming and took advantage of you—financially, emotionally, and for all I know sexually as well. He used you, Lucy, and you let him. Couldn’t you see what he was?’ he demanded in exasperation. ‘I should have thought even a sixteen-year-old virgin could have recognised that the man was a user.’
‘Sixteen-year-old virgins probably have better eyesight than twenty-plus unmarrieds,’ Lucy retaliated flippantly. How many times had she used flippancy as her defence against the powerful blasts of Marcus’s irritated broadsides? Surely more than enough to know how much they increased his ire. But what else could she do? Without her protective shield of nonchalance she might just break down into a sobbing wreck of pleading female misery, and he would like that even less!
‘I loved Nick,’ she lied wildly.
‘Did you? Or did you just want to go to bed with him?’
‘A girl doesn’t have to marry a man in order to have sex with him these days, Marcus. She doesn’t even have to love him. All she needs to do is simply do it.’
She could see the contempt flashing through his eyes as he looked at her.
‘Have you any idea just how provocative that statement is? Or how vulnerable you are?’
Lucy