The Earl's Return (Marriage Mart Mayhem) (10 page)

“Soon after that he left for the Continent and I had hoped never to see him again.”

Redgrave’s entire body tensed. Claremont was a dead man. To dishonor a lady in that manner was appalling, even for one of Claremont’s ilk.

“Did you not tell your brother?”

“No. I was embarrassed at allowing myself to be put into such a situation and feared what Drake would do if he found out. He would have probably called the man out and ended up dead or fleeing the country. He has a wife, and children. No. I never told anyone.”

“Ah, sweetheart.” He reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as her body shook with sobs, her face pressed into his chest. He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief that he handed to her. What had the man been thinking? No one in his right mind would ever try to compromise a duke’s sister. Claremont and his crowd were of the absolute worst reputation, but even for him that was stepping way over the line. He was fortunate Manchester hadn’t been told anything.

The anger rushing through him had him wanting to hunt down the jackass and beat him to a pulp.

Mary sat up. “I can’t go home looking like this.”

He had to agree. Her eyes were swollen, her nose red, and her skin pale. And she’d never looked more beautiful to him. So innocent, so broken. Another surge of rage twisted his gut. “I will instruct my driver to continue on for a little while until you compose yourself.”

She nodded and moved away from him. He immediately felt the loss of her body, of the softness pressed against him. The protectiveness that overcame him was frightening. He wanted so badly to be the one who would protect her from harm. Who would be the one to show her that intimacy between a man and woman could be wonderful and pleasurable. But that right would belong to her husband.

Something he could never hope or deserve to be.

Chapter Ten

“My lady, His Grace has requested you join him in the library when you are finished with breakfast.” The young parlor maid delivered the message to Mary as she wiped her mouth and took a final sip of tea.

“Thank you.”

It was the morning after the disastrous carriage ride with Claremont and Jeanette. After riding around for another half hour, Redgrave had delivered her to her home and gone on his way. They’d made small talk during that time, most likely Redgrave realizing if he brought up the subject of Claremont it would upset her again.

Once she was safely soaking in a hot bath followed by a tray in her room, she sent her regrets to Lady Donovan that she would not be attending her soiree. Mother had visited her room to make sure she was all right, but Mary had dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

“Go and enjoy yourself, Mother. I just need a quiet evening at home.”

After kissing her on the head, Mother had departed, leaving Mary to enjoy her solitude. Instead of reading the book that sat on her lap most of the time, she’d thought about Redgrave. Even though he had yet to tell her what had happened that made him run out on Abigail, she knew in her heart there had to be a good reason for what he’d done.

Was she merely trying to excuse his behavior because of the feelings that seemed to be growing for the man? Pouring out the Claremont story to him had been cathartic. Somehow, she knew he didn’t blame her, even though, at the time, Claremont’s harsh words had indicated she was at fault.

Curious about her brother’s summons, she left the breakfast room and knocked on the library door. Hopefully, it was not a problem with Penelope and her confinement.

“Come in.”

She never entered the library that she didn’t think of her beloved father. The late duke had been such a presence in all of their lives. He had adored his wife and children and had spent as much time with them as he could. He had been loving and caring, and had made her childhood one of immense pleasure.

Six years ago he’d left for one of his usual rides, was thrown from his horse, and had broken his neck. In some ways, the family still hadn’t gotten over his absence. Now her brother sat in his stead, although his unexpected assumption of the title had caused problems for him at the beginning. Once he’d fallen in love with his duchess, his uncertainty about his role had vanished.

Drake sat behind his desk. He looked up at her entrance, and she was surprised to see him scowl at her. Generally, he was of a moderate temperament.

“Good morning, brother. Have I done something that will require me to peel potatoes in the kitchen?”

Drake didn’t smile, and waved at the chair in front of his desk. “This is a serious matter, Mary. Have a seat.”

She settled on the edge of the chair, her hands in her lap. The only thing she could imagine that had set him off was Redgrave. But Mother had been busy in the card rooms at each event they’d attended and, since Drake remained close by Penelope’s side, he could not possibly have heard gossip at a
ton
event.

Her brother stood, clasped his hands behind his back, and made his way around the desk, facing her. “It has come to my attention that you have been spending time with Lord Redgrave.”

She blew out a breath. Despite his current reclusive lifestyle, apparently he had heard. As she studied him glaring at her, she wondered exactly what he knew. The kiss? The carriage ride home yesterday when she’d sobbed on Redgrave’s chest? Both of them unchaperoned in the carriage? A definite inappropriate situation.

She decided to sidestep the issue. Let him lay his cards on the table before she gave him too much information. “Yes. As a matter of fact, Redgrave and I are both on the committee for the Orphan Asylum. I assume there is no problem with us both working for the betterment of the children?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Not at all. Though I must admit I am not happy about the fact that he is here in London seeking a wife and is now pretending he is a gentleman who wants to help the underclass.”

“He is not pretending.” She bristled at his words. “He is genuinely interested in the children. He even paid for three hackneys to transport them to a picnic last week.”

Drake leaned his hip on the edge of the desk and studied her. “Is that right? Why are you championing him?”

Heat arose from her middle to her face, which she tried to ignore. Instead she flicked at invisible lint on her skirt. “I am not championing him, merely setting the record straight.”

“In addition to the picnic, I understand the two of you went riding in Hyde Park yesterday.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Without your maid.”

Mary rolled her eyes and sighed. “There was a carriage full of people. You remember Jeanette Belkin? She invited me to go riding. Redgrave just happened to be part of the group.”

“Not according to Claremont.”

She gasped and her mouth dried up. “What?” The word barely came out through her stiffened lips.

“I saw Claremont at my club last night. He congratulated me on being so forgiving to allow Redgrave to court you, in view of what he did to Abigail.”

Mary jumped from her seat as if it had exploded. “How dare him!” She pushed the chair back and fisted her hands at her side. “Redgrave is not ‘courting’ me, and the last person you should believe is Claremont.”

She collapsed in the seat. If Drake had discovered what had happened between them he would have killed the man. Thank God it had not come to that.

Drake moved back around the desk and settled in his chair. “Never the less, you are not to see Redgrave again. I understand you share an interest in the orphans’ home, but aside from that, you are to stay away from him.”

“Excuse me?” She was three and twenty, and old enough to decide with whom she would associate. Perhaps not with light-skirts and rakes, but Redgrave was neither.

Drake picked up his pen to continue writing. “I am sure you understand what I said. ’Tis very simple. The cad ran out on Abigail. Now it appears he is toying with you. I won’t have another sister ruined by the man.”

She quelled the desire to throw in his face that the man who had carried tales to him had nearly raped her. Biting down on her tongue, lest she make the situation worse, and still confused about her feelings toward Redgrave, anyway, she turned on her heel and flounced from the room, closing the door with more enthusiasm than necessary.

With a great deal of satisfaction, she stormed up to her room and slammed that door as well. How dare he demand she not see someone? She was not a child to be ordered about.

And Claremont! The snake had told her brother she’d been with Redgrave. His nerve was beyond compare. If she told her brother what Claremont had done to her two years ago, the man would be missing vital parts by morning. The Duke of Manchester was nothing if not protective of his women.

Which brought her right back to where she’d started. Drake obviously felt it was in her best interests not to see Redgrave. Why she still believed in the man was peculiar.

If he had a good reason, why won’t he share it? It would certainly clear his name.

What she hated more than anything was thinking back on the succession of men she’d met since the disaster with Claremont. The scoundrels and blackguards interested not in her, but in her family’s connections and money. Although they’d tried, not one among them had produced the reaction in her body that Redgrave had. All they had evoked were feelings of fear and panic, not the warm rush of excitement that accompanied her time with Redgrave. When the two of them were in the same room, it was as if there were a connection so strong, it was almost visible.

She seemed to know where he was at all times, to whom he was speaking, and what he was doing. Had he found it to be the same with her? Was he as aware of her as she was of him? She sighed and picked up her needlepoint to work on until it was time to attend to her afternoon calls.

Tonight they would meet again at the Ashbourne ball. Her stomach clenched when she realized Jeanette and Claremont would be there as well. Although, now that she’d told Redgrave what had happened, she’d lost some of her fear of seeing the man.

As long as Redgrave was nearby.

…

Redgrave descended the steps after being announced at Lord and Lady Ashbourne’s ball. Their youngest daughter, Miranda, was being showcased at her coming-out. The girl had already been named a diamond of the first water by those who cared about such things. Not that Redgrave had his eye on her. Much too young, too sweet, too innocent.

His attentions these days were taken up by a smart, witty, albeit fragile woman, whom he had no right to consider in any way. Yet here he was scanning the room for Lady Mary, hoping to catch her before her dance card was full.

He was still rattled by his body’s reaction when he’d held her close as she’d cried in his arms. Even through their clothing, her softness next to his hardness had made him stiffen in places over which he seemed to have very little control. She’d been warm, and surrounded by the scent of something floral and fresh. Something that he could spend the rest of his life breathing in.

Now, Lady Mary stood with a group of gentlemen and ladies. Although she appeared to be enjoying herself, he sensed her tension as she licked her lips and kept glancing toward the stairs, as if expecting someone. The lavender with cream trim gown she wore accentuated her pale skin and rosy lips. Her golden brown hair caught the light from the hundreds of candles glowing around the room and reflected in the numerous mirrors placed strategically in the space. Just her presence was a siren’s call to him.

He made his way through the crowd and was pleased to see her eyes light up as she spotted him. Had he imagined it, or did she appear to relax? One day they would need to have a serious talk about where this attraction between them was headed. He knew where he wanted it to go, but there seemed to be too many obstacles in his way. The major one, of course, being the Duke of Manchester.

He also seemed to have forgotten his original purpose in finding a bride. Someone he could respect and for whom he could feel a certain amount of fondness. He hadn’t wanted, or expected, love. In fact, he didn’t feel he deserved it, due to what he’d done to Abigail. He merely needed an heir.

Why was being around Mary making that so difficult to remember?

“Good evening, my lady.” Redgrave bowed to Lady Mary before addressing the other ladies. He nodded at Danvers, Milltown, and Appleby, who made up the rest of the group.

“Where is the dowager duchess this evening? She is not ill, I hope.” Although Lady Mary’s mother had been, if not friendly, at least not unpleasant when they’d met, he would have a better chance of spending time with Lady Mary if her mother was not about.

“She is fine. In the card room once again.” He could get lost in her smoky eyes dancing with mirth. “She has had some luck recently and wants to continue.”

One obstacle out of the way. “Dare I hope there is space on your dance card for one more entry?”

Lady Mary smiled and held her card out. “Yes. I believe there are one or two left.”

He was pleased to see the supper waltz free. Could he believe that absence was on purpose? Or just the kind of luck the dowager duchess was enjoying?

Redgrave added his name to the slot and turned to the other ladies, requesting dances with them, as well. Within minutes, Dumont arrived to escort Lady Mary to the dance floor for a cotillion, and Redgrave turned to Lady Catherine and extended his arm for their dance.

He was aware of Mary through the entire dance. Something had changed between them since she had cried out her story. Once he’d dropped her off, it had taken all his control to not rout out Claremont and pound the man senseless. Although with the amount of sense the man had it wouldn’t be much of a beating.

He tried his best to concentrate on Lady Catherine, but constantly found himself looking down the row to where Mary danced with Dumont. He scowled when Mary smiled at her partner, and glared at Dumont when he smiled back.

“Is something wrong, my lord?” Lady Catherine viewed him with furrowed brows as they came together, joined hands, and turned.

“No. Not at all.” He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile and vowed to keep his attention away from the end of the line. It would be a long night until the supper dance.

An hour later Redgrave stood with a group of friends who had attended Tattersalls auction earlier in the week and were regaling him with tales of all the wonderful horseflesh he’d missed. Dumont was particularly thrilled with the gelding he’d purchased.

“The Right Honorable, the Earl of Claremont.”

“Miss Jeanette Belkin.”

The announcement ringing in his ears, Redgrave immediately searched out Lady Mary, who apparently had not heard the butler, busy laughing with her friends. He excused himself, and anger causing his blood to pound in his head, he moved through the crowd until he reached the newly arrived couple.

“Miss Belkin,” he said, bowing to her. “I believe Lady Mary is with a group of ladies across from the musicians.”

The young girl offered him a bright smile. “Good evening, Lord Redgrave. It is so nice to see you once again. I hope Mary is feeling better.”

“I believe she is.” He turned to Claremont. “A word, Claremont?”

Claremont’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed? I have just arrived.”

Already annoyed with the smirk Claremont cast in his direction, Redgrave growled, “On the terrace.” He turned and headed across the ballroom to the terrace doors. He had to get the man away from the crowd lest he pummel him right in the middle of the ballroom. Perhaps this was not his battle to fight, but he would still have his say.

The two of them passed through the doors and down the steps leading to the rose garden. A few couples strolled the area, but Redgrave led them to the darkened part of the garden. The fewer people who heard what he had to say, the better for Mary’s reputation.

“What is so important, Redgrave, that I need be dragged out here the minute I arrived?” Claremont brushed the front of his jacket, his face a picture of boredom.