The Officer's Temptation Ch. 08

The others made little tutting sounds of surprise. "I say," said Marlowe, "there is no cause for so much fuss. I only need to rest my head." It was quite true. Every word he forced through his gritted teeth caused it to pound. And the sun and walk from the morning had not helped, although he had felt mysteriously relieved of the worst of his symptoms when he had been distracted by Miss Jennings.

Nicholas left his spot near the mantle, where he had propped himself on an elbow. He took Arabella by the shoulders. "Come now, my dear, let's be reasonable. I am sure that the Lieutenant will not begrudge us our fun."

Arabella's eyes turned baleful. "Someone should stay to keep him company. I-"

But Nicholas interrupted her before she could say the words aloud. "Now, darling, I do not think that the Lieutenant has any need of a nursemaid, even one so pretty as you." Nicholas's gray eyes flicked from Arabella to Marlowe. Marlowe's heart clenched for a moment, thinking that he noted a certain suspicion in the other man's face, but it was gone before he was even sure that he had seen it. "And it would be unforgivable for the whole party to go on to something you planned without you. You must concede it."

Marlowe's mother harrumphed. "Seeing as how it is probably an excess of spirits that have caused his..." she puckered her lips for a moment "malaise, I think that my son needs nothing more than to sleep for a bit and to drink a healthy amount of water." She looked at Marlowe with disapproval. He was tempted to put one of the little embroidered cushions from the chaise in front of his face, to better hide his guilt.

"I'm going to lie down," he said sulkily. "I hope you all enjoy your outing immensely." He rose, feeling a throb in his head with the movement, and distracted by the feeling, accidentally knocked into Miss Jennings. The folio that she had been holding went flying from her hands, landing half-opened on the floor. Marlowe groaned and bent to help her gather the pages, issuing every apology he could think of while his mother berated him for his clumsiness.

"Don't trouble yourself, they're only scribbles," Miss Jennings said, quickly pushing the papers into a pile.

Arabella had rushed over to help. Her slim fingers plucked up a small piece of paper that had flitted away towards the door. She made a laughing sound. "I should say they are! I thought your talents much more developed, Miss Jennings," she said as she returned the loose paper. "This must be some of your earlier work."

Kate flushed deeply, snatching at the paper, a little charcoal study. Marlowe squinted at it. His eyes widened. It was a ship, hastily drawn, and achingly familiar, as he himself was the artist. Kate tucked it almost immediately back into her folio. A canny look crossed Arabella's face and she grabbed the book from Kate's hands, which elicited a cry from Kate's lips.

"Lady Balfrey, I beg you! My work is private." Her skin, usually so pale and creamy was splotched with bright pink spots. She held out her hand expectantly, but Arabella was rifling through the pages.

"Arabella! You must not!" Nicholas barked. He had taken a few steps forward, but Marlowe beat him there and snatched the book from Arabella's grasp, returning it to Kate.

Arabella pouted. "I only wanted to see her work!"

"I will show you some other time," said Kate through gritted teeth.

Arabella made a simpering smile. "Of course. I do apologize. I can see now how immensely personal your sketchbook must be." A strange look passed between her and Miss Jennings.

Kate's cheeks were so red they were about to glow, but it was her eyes where the spark truly burned. She jerked her head and turned on her heel, wordlessly leaving the room, clutching the book to her chest.

Arabella tittered awkwardly, but Nicholas's stern face cut off her needless laughter.

"Well, I say," said Mr. Jennings. "But it is such awfully stuffy weather. Tempers are bound to be inflamed."

"And speaking of," said Marlowe, "I shall go check on Miss Jennings. I'm sure she will be down shortly. The rest of you should carry on with your preparations for the excursion."

Everyone but Arabella nodded approvingly as Marlowe exited the tense room. He felt her eyes on his back as he walked away.

He sighed and rubbed his fingertips against his aching head. Something must be done about Arabella. She was too wild. It was one thing when her wildness was directed at him. It was much worse for Miss Jennings to have to suffer it. As he took the stairs two at a time, he pondered what could be said to make Arabella learn some restraint.

The door to Miss Jennings's room was shut. He rapped his knuckles softly upon the wooden frame. "It's me," he said.

The door opened quickly. He had half expected Miss Jennings to be crying, judging by the high state of her emotions leaving the parlor, but her eyes were dry, if seething. She yanked him by the arm into her room, and shut it behind him.

"Had we best not leave that opened... for... propriety's sake?" he mumbled as she pulled him across the room.

She choked down a laugh. "Why, Lieutenant? Are you planning on ravishing me?"

He swallowed as he looked between the bed, made up in white and blue linens, and her pretty face, cheeks still pink under her charming freckles, her blue eyes simmering. He felt heat creep up his own neck as he saw himself suddenly kissing her, pushing her against the blue pillows and... he swallowed. "Of course not," he protested weakly. He was far too tired to do any ravishings at the moment, tempting as they might be.

She crossed her arms and sank onto the blue damask settee in her chambers. Relieved to be moving away from the bed, he sat beside her.

Her fingers templed against each other. "That woman is insufferable."

He rubbed his temples. "Surely she is not so vile?"

She gave him a shrewd look. "What kind of person would look through the private affairs of someone else?"

"Perhaps she didn't realize it was private."

Her eyes practically rolled back in her head as she huffed. "Certainly you don't believe that, Marlowe. She may be ill-mannered, but I didn't say that she wasn't clever."

He blinked at the use of his Christian name and felt something like a glow in his chest. "Your boldness astounds me."

"Oh, I would never be anything other than polite to her face. But this isn't the first... incident."

He straightened. "What do you mean?"

"She is always beastly in private. At first, I thought it was an accident. She spilled a cup of hot tea across my lap. She dropped my book into the mud. She borrowed a hat and returned it with the brim crushed. Small things. Little things. And she always apologized, of course, but there is something... something unkind in her nature. Perhaps it is unkind of me to say it, but I shall." She crossed her arms, and stared moodily away from him. The afternoon sunlight lit a halo around her skin. He could see the fine hairs on her arms. The shine of the sun on her upturned nose.

He closed his eyes and leaned into the settee. "What else has she done?"

"Little things, as I said. I pay no mind to her petty comments. Things like 'Oh Miss Jennings, you could be ever so pretty if only you didn't have those spots across your nose' Or 'Oh, Miss Jennings, it is such a shame that you haven't found a husband after four seasons. You're older than most, but I'm sure you will find a match one day.'" She made a harrumphing sound. "The cow."

"I really had no idea."

She frowned. "She has the tendency to charm. And I confess that I believed you to be charmed by her at first. But I know you better now. You're too sensible to fall for such blatant manipulation. I worry about her poor husband. Lord Balfrey is such a dignified and sad fellow. He deserves better." She clucked her tongue. "I shouldn't speak of them this way. It's only petty gossip." Her blue eyes turned on Marlowe, deep and rich as the depths of the sea. "I speak my mind so freely to you, Lieutenant. And as I said, I worry. Do you notice how pale he is, Lord Balfrey? His eyes are so sad."

Marlowe's stomach lurched. "I worry about him as well." He stood abruptly. "Forgive me, Miss Jennings, but I only wanted to assure myself that the incident hadn't shaken you too badly. I'm going to lie down."

She rose beside him and placed a hand briefly against his shoulder. "Rest, Lieutenant. And don't concern yourself with me and my troubles. My anger will simmer down. It always does."

"Do you... Would you call me Marlowe? It's only that you did so earlier, perhaps you didn't notice, but I... liked it. Not in company, of course, but between the two of us, alone. It's so nice to hear my name when..." He brushed his fingers through his hair awkwardly. How could he put it into words? The aching familiarity of his name on her lips. The feeling of being known, of being worthy of love, of being whole and innocent, the way he had felt as a child.

Her face turned scarlet but she smiled. "Only if you shall call me Kate in return. I'd suggest Katherine, but that's only what maman calls me when she is mad."

"Kate, then." He paused at the door. The silence stretched for a moment between them. "I shall see you tomorrow, Kate."

"I look forward to it, Marlowe."

Even later, in the safety of his own room, lying still in his bed staring at the ceiling, all he could see was the depth of her eyes as she said his name. Sleep would not come, for his thoughts were racing with the sound of her voice.