The Marquis Is Trapped

CHAPTER ONE 1886-1

CHAPTER ONE

1886The Marquis of Kexley closed his eyes.

He was feeling incredibly tired, which was hardly surprising considering his lovemaking had been extremely fiery.

Not only that evening, but for the previous nights.

He felt sleepy and yawned,

“It’s time I went home. Otherwise when I wake up it will be morning.”

“In fact, my dearest Oliver,” a soft voice came from beside him, “that would be very much easier and happier for both of us.”

For a moment the Marquis did not understand what she was saying.

Then he stiffened.

It had never for one moment entered his head that Lady Heywood would want to marry him.

He thought now that he had been very stupid.

He had not remembered that, as she was a widow, it would be a big step up the Social ladder for her to become a Marchioness.

After being pursued by women from the moment he left school, the Marquis was only too well aware of his own importance.

He not only held an old and respected title, but he was exceedingly rich.

And, although he tried not to think about it for fear of being conceited, he was outstandingly handsome.

Now as he felt Isobel Heywood moving closer and still closer to him, every instinct in his body warned him of danger.

“If we were to be married, my dearest,” Isobel was whispering so that he could only just hear her, “I know we would be very very happy. You are undoubtedly the most wonderful lover any woman could want and I would make you a dedicated and devoted wife.”

The Marquis had to admit that this was true.

Lady Isobel Heywood had taken the Social world by storm when she first married Lord Heywood, who was nearly thirty years her senior.

He had brought her proudly to Court and naturally the Beau Monde had a great deal to say about the stupidity of any man who married a woman young enough to be his daughter.

However, Lord Heywood was infatuated, as a great number of other men were to be in the years to come

Isobel was the daughter of a country Squire, who was of local significance, but not rich enough to give her a Season in London – that would have involved a ball and innumerable luncheon and dinner parties.

All of which would have cost money and he much preferred to spend his rather meagre income on his horses and the crops on his estate.

Isobel had thus remained somewhat unnoticed in a County where most of the men were near her father’s age.

It was by chance that Lord Heywood, whilst visiting the Lord Lieutenant of Herefordshire, had asked to see the horses of his neighbour.

Lord Heywood had been a widower for many years after his wife had died in childbirth, meaning that he had never had the son he longed for.

“I hear he has some outstanding mares,” said Lord Heywood, “and I would like to purchase one or two of his as my own mares are getting old.”

Isobel’s father was suffering badly from an arthritic leg that prevented him from walking far.

So it had fallen to Isobel to take Lord Heywood around the stables and paddock where the mares were grazing.

By the time he had left Isobel to return to the Lord Lieutenant’s house, he had acquired two horses and lost his heart.

There was certainly no question of the Squire and his daughter not being thrilled by the offer of marriage – in her wildest dreams Isobel had never thought of herself ever marrying a gentleman with a title.

Nor of being feted by the Beau Monde that she had read all about in newspapers and magazines.

When she was presented to the Prince of Wales, she thought she must have been dreaming.

She became hostess at one of the most impressive houses in Park Lane and she was well aware of the power and attraction of her beauty.

Six years later Lord Heywood had a stroke and died after being unconscious for over three months.

After the funeral Isobel felt she had everything she could ever desire in life, and she had only to cast her green eyes in the direction of a man to know that he was entirely captivated.

However, she harboured no intention whatsoever of marrying again and letting a man gain control of the money her husband had left her.

Yet when she first met the Marquis of Kexley her world turned a somersault.

She fell in love – definitely something she had never done before.

She realised that what she desired above all else was to be the Marchioness of Kexley, but she was far too intelligent by this time in her life to rush any fences.

She smiled at the Marquis invitingly, but she did not send him any invitations to dinner or luncheon.

These had to come from him.

Eventually he did ask if he could dine with her one evening after they had been seated side by side at a dinner party at Marlborough House with the Prince of Wales.

Isobel hesitated for a second and then she suggested a date at the end of the week.

“Would you like a large party?” she had asked.

“You know perfectly well,” the Marquis responded, “that I want to talk to you and learn a great deal more about you than I know at the moment.”

Isobel smiled at him and did not say anything more, as she had achieved just what she desired.

She had bought a new dress for the occasion, which was even more expensive than those she usually wore.

She took a great deal of trouble over choosing the food and, of course, the wine.

When the Marquis arrived at her fashionable house in Mayfair, she thought he might have been a Greek God coming down from Mount Olympus.

She was very aware of the admiration in his eyes as she moved towards him glittering with diamonds.

Her exquisite figure was displayed by the tightness of her gown and the smallness of her waist.

The Marquis was expecting a large party, but was not all that surprised to find that he was the only guest.

Every word over dinner had a double entendre.

They went into the drawing room when dinner was finished, but they were both so well aware that it would be much pleasanter and more comfortable to move down the passage towards the State Apartments.

When they met again three nights later, there was no question of going first to the drawing room.

At the age of thirty Isobel was at the height of her great beauty and charm and she was extremely experienced where men were concerned.

She had been faithful to her elderly husband for more than two years, but after that whenever he was sent on Government missions abroad or to the country whilst she remained in London, she took a lover.

With her beauty and her husband’s position, it was very easy.

There were always gentlemen eager to make love to a new beauty, especially if every member of their Clubs in St. James’s Street admired her.

Where Isobel was concerned, it made them feel as proud as if they had just won the Gold Cup at Ascot – or, as one admirer told her, his horse had been first past the winning post in the Derby!

Whilst Isobel enjoyed the admiration and attention she received from her many lovers, they were not of any real significance to her.

Only when she met the Marquis did her heart begin to rule her head.

She definitely wanted to be a Marchioness and at the same time she wanted to possess his heart and body.

Now as she snuggled closer to him, she thought he must feel the same as she did.

After what she had just said, he would tell her they would find eternal happiness together as man and wife.

Instead, to her great surprise, she suddenly realised that he was asleep – his eyes were closed and he seemed to be breathing evenly.

He had obviously not heard a word of what she had just said to him!

Another woman might have been stupid enough to wake him up and repeat her suggestion.

But Isobel was too clever for that.

‘I will ask him again tomorrow,’ she told herself.

Then she laid her head gently onto his shoulder.

It was several minutes before he awoke with a jerk and for a moment he seemed to look round the room as if he was not certain where he was.

Then he exclaimed,

“Forgive me – I fell asleep! I can only apologise.”

“You are tired, my dearest, and it’s not surprising!”

“How could I be so foolish as to sleep when I am so close to you?” the Marquis asked, shaking his head.

Then he turned towards her and added,

“I must go home. Otherwise we shall be woken up by your lady’s maid, who will be extremely shocked to find you are not alone.”

“There is no hurry,” cooed Isobel softly.

“I have to think of your reputation.”

The Marquis kissed her cheek and then quickly got out of bed.

Too late she put out her arms to stop him.

“It must be nearly four o’clock,” he remarked as he began to dress. “And now I think of it, I have an important engagement this morning. I must hurry home and snatch some rest or I will not make any sense at all.”

“You do know that I want you to stay with me,” she murmured softly. “I shall be very lonely without you.”

“I can only thank you for an entrancing evening – ”

“When can we dine together again? Tomorrow, or rather tonight?”

The Marquis shook his head.

“I have a feeling I have accepted an invitation from Marlborough House. I will let you know in the morning.”

He was dressing with a swiftness and expertise that always annoyed his valet.

He had learnt to tie his tie better than anyone could tie it for him and he smoothed his hair back in front of the mirror.

It would have been difficult for anyone to guess at what he had been doing for the last three hours.

He turned from the ornate dressing table to Isobel who was watching him closely.

She was lying back languidly against lace-trimmed pillows with her dark hair falling over her white shoulders in a most alluring manner.

As the Marquis walked towards her, she held out both her arms.

“Kiss me good morning, my darling,” she begged.

The Marquis smiled at her.

Then, taking one of her hands in his, he raised it to his lips.

“I have been caught in that trap before,” he joked.

If a man allowed a woman to place her arms around his neck when she was lying below him, he would topple over her.

And then it would be difficult to escape.

Isobel’s fingers closed over his.

“You will not forget me, darling Oliver?”

“That is seriously impossible.”

“Do stay just a little longer,” she implored. “I have something of importance to say to you.”

“You are not to tempt me, Isobel, as otherwise my business meeting this morning will be a farce.”

He moved away to the door before she could reply.

As he pulled it open, she gave a little cry,

“Oliver! Oliver! I cannot let you go!”

He smiled benignly at her.

Then without another word he went out of the room closing the door gently behind him.

She could hear his footsteps going quietly along the passage as she bent forward to listen.

Then she threw herself back against the pillows.

‘I will ask him again,’ she decided, ‘the next time he comes. I should have suggested it before he became so sleepy. It was stupid of me.’

She was almost angry with herself.

Then, sitting up in bed, she pulled on the soft chiffon nightgown that had been lying on the foot of her bed.

*

The Marquis walked briskly up Park Lane feeling the morning breeze on his face.

The stars were disappearing and in a short time the first rays of dawn would be creeping into the sky.

He walked with determination.

He felt somehow it was absolutely essential for him to distance himself from Isobel as soon as possible.

How on earth, he asked himself, could he have been so foolish?

How had he not anticipated that sooner or later she would want to marry him as so many other women had?