Willoughby's Return_ A Tale of Almost Irresistible Temptation - Jane Odiwe [86]
Marianne watched from the side. It was impossible not to have noticed the almost cold manner in which Henry had regarded Margaret. At least her sister did not appear to be too upset. Perhaps her feelings were not as strong as Marianne believed; she hoped it would all blow over soon as a matter of course. Brandon was still talking to his sister and Sir Edgar, with Lucy and Anne attentive to every word that passed. Then, just as she was thinking what a charming couple Margaret and Charles made, a couple dancing in another set on the other side of the room caught her attention. His dark head was unmistakable and as her eyes followed him, watching his athletic form move gracefully around the floor, her heart involuntarily missed a beat. It was Willoughby: handsome, impeccably groomed in black, his shock of ebony curls framing his face. He was dancing with his wife, partnering her with grace and all due attention. They were both laughing and Willoughby had an expression of true affection on his countenance. As the dance came to a close, he stepped up to kiss his wife's hand with a flourish. Marianne saw him tuck a piece of her hair that had escaped from her headdress back into place, before tenderly stroking her cheek. She could look no longer. But despite turning away from the scene, her mind's eye was filled with an image from long ago. Marianne was in a Devonshire lane, sitting next to Willoughby in his curricle where they sat sheltering under some trees, waiting for the rain to stop. He teased out the wet autumn leaves caught in the brim of her bedraggled bonnet, before catching a curl that kept being blown across her eyes, tucking it into place behind her ear. His fingers didn’t stop there, moving down to brush her face and throat. Tilting her chin, clasping it firmly, he leaned forward and she felt his lips on hers.
“Marianne, shall we dance?”
She came to with the sudden awareness that her husband was speaking to her. Managing a nod and a smile, she slipped her hand inside William's arm. How reassuring it felt to be touching him. Towering above her, he covered her small hand with his large one and for the first time in days, she felt their confidence and closeness return. Any thoughts of the past faded rapidly into insignificance. With luck the Willoughbys would not be seen again. There were so many people and they were bound to be with their own party. In such a large assembly there was little chance that they would meet. Looking about her, Marianne was thankful that they had disappeared from view.
The dance began. Brandon took her hand, escorting her with care. William's eyes held hers during the entire dance and once, when they came together, he whispered so gently, that she wondered if he had really spoken, saying that he loved her. Making up had to be the most wonderful part of being estranged, she decided. Falling in love all over again with an even greater intensity was the usual outcome. Marianne chuckled.
“Why do you laugh so?” William asked.
“You will think me a very wicked and licentious creature if I tell you,” his wife answered.
“I could never think anything other than that I am the luckiest man in the world, even if my wife does have a fiendish streak,” he teased.
Marianne looked into William's eyes. “I feel an overwhelming urge to lie down,” she said quietly, squeezing his hand surreptitiously, “with you.”
William returned her touch, with a firm pressure. “That is an invitation which I regard as binding as a promise. The very moment we can get out of here and go home, I intend to have you fulfil your pledge immediately, Mrs Brandon,” he whispered.
“It will not be too soon, my love.”
Brandon tightened his grip on Marianne's hand. Pure happiness seemed to flow through her veins. At last, everything was as it should be.
For all Margaret's