Loving Lady Marcia Read Free Page A

thrown like a gauntlet to Lord Chadwick came back to her: And someday I’ll prove to you there is such a thing as a perfect love.
    With Finn, Marcia knew it could be so.
    It was so.
    Already.
    *   *   *
    It had been a whirlwind two weeks in Dublin. She’d spent every possible moment she could with Finn. Janice was completely oblivious to her strong feelings for him, caught up as she was in the excitement of being in Dublin with two of her oldest and best friends.
    And now it was the night of Marcia’s sixteenth birthday.
    Her family had rented a private residence on Dublin’s southside with a beautiful conservatory attached. Long after the rest of the family had gone to bed, in the deepest, stillest part of the night, she and Finn lay on their backs, cradled in each other’s arms, and looked up through the glass ceiling at the stars barely visible—“but still there,” Finn insisted—through the clouds.
    “You only have to be sixteen to marry in Scotland,” he murmured against her hair.
    She almost stopped breathing. “Really?”
    “Yes,” he said, and ran his hand down her flank. “When we get back to England, we’re going to run away. To Gretna Green.”
    “Yes,” she whispered, and held tighter to him, suddenly feeling small.
    This was genuine, their love. All too genuine. And although most of the time, she embraced it bravely and with great joy, like a feather dancing in the wind, at the moment she felt its all-consuming power, its potential to sweep her away to parts unknown.
    “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered back, and kissed her, his mouth tender upon her own.
    No. She wouldn’t be.
    He pulled her ties loose at her back, gently pushing her sleeves and bodice down while he murmured sweet nothings in her ear.
    That night, Marcia let love take her where it would. She gave Finn everything. Everything .
    In the dark, their coupling was awkward. Fast. The fear of discovery was strong between them. And then much to Marcia’s surprise, there had been pain. Blood.
    More awkwardness.
    But as was typical with Finn, he didn’t dwell on unpleasantness.
    After she’d fumbled about and restored herself to order, he merely pulled her close again. “Right,” he said, and released a long sigh.
    She waited a few seconds. They’d given themselves to each other. It was a profound moment. But when Finn didn’t speak, she realized he might be nervous. Her father and mother slept nearby, as did her siblings. If they were discovered, there’d be hell to pay.
    “I love you,” she reassured him and snuggled close. “You’re the one and only man I will ever love.”
    He stroked her hair a few moments. “We’re splendid together,” he said after a few seconds. “More than splendid.” He kissed the top of her head.
    “We’re perfect,” she sighed, and looked up at him with a grin.
    He grinned back and kissed her once more—a long, lingering kiss—then pulled her to her feet from the extremely crude bed they’d made of pillows stolen from a few chairs.
    “And now I must go,” he said, sounding nervous, as she’d guessed he must be. “We can’t be found out.”
    “I know.” She clung to him. “But I wish you didn’t have to go.”
    This was their last night together. Tomorrow, she’d be off to Ballybrook, and he’d travel to Cork with Lord Chadwick to visit friends and then take a packet back across the Irish Sea to England.
    Soon, though, they’d be together forever.
    “Where and when will we meet to go to Gretna?” she asked him.
    “I’ll plan it all out when I get back to England and write you a letter, of course.” He pinched her cheek. “Silly.” And then he laughed.
    She did, too. She couldn’t help it. Seeing him laugh made her happier than anything else in the world.
    She was still brimming over with it when the next morning dawned cold and gray. Her first thought wasn’t even a thought—it was a feeling that ran like a slow, lazy, warm, wonderful river through her body: