Author's Note: No full sex scene in this chapter.
The Officer's Temptation: Ch. 09
A Door Once Shut
"I asked for a cup of tea, not for it to be splashed all over my dress." Arabella's face scrunched up in discontentment and she patted a napkin against her sleeve. "Now I look a mess." The servant that had been pouring her tea dipped her head quickly, retreating back against a wall.
"I don't see anything wrong with the way you look," Nicholas said, glancing over the edge of the paper.
"That's because you are across the table."
"I can't see the spill at all."
"It's on the lace of my sleeve, of course you can't see it."
"Whatever you say, darling." Nicholas made a grunting sound. The paper crinkled as he turned the page.
Marlowe placidly scaped some jam over the buttered roll on his plate. Arabella's sleeve did not look splattered to him, but she rose abruptly from her seat, delicately placing her napkin on the table. "I'll have to change before going to the gardens."
Marlowe's stomach sank at that. All of the women had planned to visit a famous rose garden that afternoon, though the others had already left, intending to first call upon a friend of Mrs. Jennings who had just come to town. Arabella was to join them directly afterwards, and though Marlowe had his suspicions about why Arabella had wanted to accompany him and Nicholas to the local market instead of going on the visit, he had hoped that she would not find a way to force him into more time alone with her.
"You had best hurry if you want me to accompany you to the market first," Nicholas said. "You know I am supposed to call upon Mr. Whitmore before noon today." He folded the paper on the table and took out his watch. "Indeed, it is high time that we left. You've been dawdling all morning."
"I'll be quick about it. For heaven's sake, it does not take so long to change a dress!"
Marlowe slumped against his chair. The sinking pit inside him seemed to weigh him down. It was odd how dread seemed to have its own gravity. He felt all the worse for it, as he had originally been looking forward to the trip to the market. He had been thinking that he should find something for Kate, some small token with which to repay her kindness in giving him drawing lessons-a new set of pencils or pastels, something practical that she would enjoy using, and something that would make her smile and think of him when she left to study in Paris. He should have never mentioned that he was venturing out to go shopping to Nicholas, who had then in turn mentioned it to Arabella.
His hand clenched around his teacup. It was growing cold. He wished that he had thought to splash something a little more heartening into it, but truth be told, he was barely recovered from his last hangover, and he didn't think it would do his reputation any good to be seen drunk quite so often as he had been lately.
"What do you think about the invitation?" Nicholas's voice broke through his thoughts.
Marlowe realized that he had been staring at his cup for minutes, letting the dregs go bitter. It was fitting. "The Invitation?"
"It came in the post this morning. Mrs. Hughes must have read it when you were still dressing. Lord and Lady Foley leased a villa for the season just on the outskirts of town. There are quite a few English on tour, apparently, so they are hosting a small ball, and inviting a few locals of import."
"I've never liked balls."
"That's a blatant lie. You always liked to dance at the country balls. And I know you stepped out quite frequently in London. I know I do not go to town often, but we do hear all the society news in the country."
Marlowe grimaced. "Some of my experiences in London are all a bit hazy now, if you mark me."
Nicholas snorted. "Further proof that you do indeed enjoy a ball."
Marlowe caught himself grinning, "Well, I suppose I have been known to enjoy myself. Of course, I didn't have my mother hovering in London. I daresay she will scrutinize my every dance partner."
"So you intend to have many?" Nicholas's look was shrewd. "Or just a few? Perhaps one in particular..." His paper made a particularly pointed rustle as he shook it out to fold.
Marlowe made a harrumphing sound in his throat. "Well I can't say until I see the ladies, can I?" He idly wondered what dress Kate might wear to a ball, how she might wear her hair... how her cheeks might flush from dancing, if the rosiness spreading down her creamy neck and to the tops of her breasts. He pulled at his uncomfortably stiff collar.
"Judging by your expression, your imagination is already quite at work."
"Has my mother already accepted?" Marlowe sidestepped.
"Yes, on your behalf as well as the Jennings, I believe." He smiled shrewdly. "Do you suppose there will be any room for me on Miss Jenning's dance card? Or will all the spots be marked with your name?"
Marlowe was fortunately spared a reply by the return of Arabella, who was now outfitted in one of the short-sleeved white day gowns that were so popular at the moment. Nicholas checked his watch again. "Perhaps you should take the carriage straightaway to the gardens, dearest. I'm not certain there will be enough time for you to visit the market."
"Nonsense. I only need one little thing. I'm sure it will take me no time at all to find it." She hung a straw basket over her arm and adjusted the bonnet on her head. "Now hurry or we shall all be late."
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They were, of course, running late. By the time the carriage was brought around, the clock was ticking closer and closer to half-past eleven and Nicholas was tapping his foot in anticipation. He handed Arabella up wordlessly and climbed in after her. Marlowe took the seat across. Maybe it was the hot and close air, but the dread pooling in him made him feel as if he were riding towards his execution.
"Hughes, would you be terribly put out if I asked you to accompany my wife to the market? You had your own business there, did you not?"
And there was the executioner's axe. He wondered how the woman managed to do it so perfectly every time. "I do have my own affairs to see to," he hedged.
Nicholas crossed his legs and sat back as the carriage launched forward. "It's just that Whitmore's is a half-mile east of the market, and I did say that I would arrive before noon."
"Of course."
"It's no worry, my dear," Arabella said, placing a gloved hand on Nicholas's sleeve. "Lieutenant Hughes and I will be quite alright. I only need to pick up a new ribbon before I join the ladies at the garden. Perhaps the Lieutenant will help me find a hackney from the market straight to the gardens and then you may take the carriage all the way to Whitmore's."
Nicholas relaxed. "That is the very thing that I was going to suggest." His sharp gray eyes trained on Marlow. "If you are amenable to that, of course, Hughes. A fine husband I make, asking another man to escort my wife out so often."
Marlowe sighed and cursed his mother for instilling in him such a heavy sense of obligation. "Don't worry yourself, Balfrey. I know you hate running behind schedule. I'll see that Arabella makes it to the gardens safely." He fidgeted with his cuff. He did not relish the time alone with Arabella, but maybe he could make the most of the opportunity. It was broad daylight, they would be in public, and he was in full possession of his wits for once.
The carriage slowed as they reached the edge of the market square. It was bustling and vibrant in the sunlight. The smell of fresh baked goods mingled with the scent of exotic perfumes and spices and the conversation that buzzed in the air. A small dark-eyed child in his mother's arms waved a doll at Marlowe as he stepped out of the carriage. Marlowe sighed. Reluctantly, he extended his hand to Arabella, helping her step down. A thread of her golden hair had slipped from her bonnet and it caught the light like gold. The hot sun shone into her emerald eyes, lightening them to an unearthly jade and she beamed at Marlowe.
Her beauty almost made his throat close up. He had been so frustrated by her wild behavior and escalating attentions that he had almost forgotten how incredibly breathtaking she was. Was this what it would have been if he would have met her before Nicholas? If it was his wife he was escorting out on this beautiful day?
A moment later and the carriage jolted off, carrying Nicholas away to his engagement. Arabella took Marlowe's arm, and he sighed at the feeling of her warm, feminine weight against him. Her thoughts seemed to mirror his. "Out in public like this, no one would know that it is not you who is my husband."
"And if I were, would you be his lover as you are now mine?"
Hot color rose in her cheeks. "How can you ask me such a thing?"
"It matters not. I am not your husband, and you are not my wife." Marlowe raked a free hand through his hair. It was so hard to organize his thoughts around her. Especially so close and with the sweet scent of her perfume clogging his mind. It would be so easy to melt into her presence and forget the rest of the world. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly resisting it.
"Does that suddenly concern you?" her voice was careful and calm, but he thought he detected a tint of anger around the edges.
Marlowe felt a tide of emotion riding in him. "If you have any children, they will be his. They will not be mine." It was a topic that he had been almost studiously avoiding, even in his thoughts-the fact that even now his dearest friend's wife could be carrying his child. He wasn't sure why it was bubbling out of him now when it would be so much easier to relax and enjoy the beauty of the moment.
Arabella tensed beside him. "What do you mean? Why do you bring that up now?"
He dropped her arm and faced her in the street. "What I mean, Arabella, is that..." he cleared his throat and steeled himself. "What I wish to know is: are you with child? Nicholas said something to me the other day, and I can't bear to see you without thinking of it!" The words fell out of his mouth quickly, as if a dam had been broken. In a way it was a relief to say them, to let out the dark secret that had been gnawing away in his gut.
