The Dutiful Rake (24 page)

Marc looked up and met the blandest query in her eyes. The hunter, he realised belatedly, had become the hunted…and was enjoying it immensely. His shy bride had turned out to be an unprincipled little hussy.

‘How long would you like me to be?’ he drawled. Two could play this game.

‘Oh, take your time,’ she responded.

That went without saying, thought Marc, as one silken leg grazed his shoulder in seeming innocence. He would be only too pleased to take his time with her. Within reason, of course, he amended, as that leg slid past again.

Casually he stretched and slid one wet, powerfully muscled arm behind her bottom to scoop her off the edge and into the bath. She came unresistingly and met his fiery gaze with a becoming blush. He smiled wickedly. So, she was not quite as calm as she was pretending to be. Good.

Keeping his voice light, despite the screaming demands of his body, Marcus enquired, ‘Just what do you think you are doing?’

‘What do
you
think I’m doing?’ countered Meg, a trifle breathlessly as he manoeuvred her with one compelling hand in the small of her back to straddle his hips. The other hand was lazily caressing one puckered and aching nipple. She gasped in pleasure, her eyes widening in shock at the novelty of her position.

Marcus did not reply at once. Her response was so spontaneous, so lovely, he just wanted to watch her, adore her with his eyes and hands.

But at last he said, ‘Seducing me?’ The hand at her breast trailed down her stomach, leaving a track of fire, and slid between her thighs. The hand at her back drew her closer and she felt his mouth close possessively on first one breast and then the other. She pressed small, moist kisses on his nape, under his ear and sobbed with desire as he loved her, gently, thoroughly.

In a voice husky with passion she asked, ‘Do you mind being seduced?’ She had a feeling that the tables were well and truly turned now anyway.

A little laugh shook him as he lifted her to ease her against his throbbing body. ‘Does it feel as though I mind?’ He gave her no chance to reply, reaching up to tangle his long fingers in her silken tresses, and taking her mouth in a kiss of raw, unfettered passion as he brought her quivering body down to meet his possessive thrust in absolute mastery.

Meg’s last coherent thought was that if he did mind, he was certainly going to a great deal of effort to disguise the fact. They hadn’t even made it to the sofa-bed this time.

Meg lay nestled safely in Marc’s arms, wondering dreamily if they ought to get up and dress for dinner. It felt so lovely just to lie here with his hard, warm body pressed against her, his gentle, knowing hands caressing her shoulder and the occasional pressure of his lips as he dropped a light kiss on her still-damp hair.

Marc had dried her so tenderly after they had finally left the bath and somehow they had ended up in his bed making love again. And now they lay together in a tender intimacy which nearly broke her heart. At times like this it was so easy to pretend that he loved her, know that she loved him…The words welled up in her
heart, straining, desperate to escape. She held them back, not wishing to destroy the fragile joy of the moment. Instead she turned her face slightly and pressed a kiss on the hard wall of his chest, revelling in the contrast of smooth skin and underlying steel of muscle, drinking in the warm, musky scent of his body.

His arms tightened to iron around her and she heard a soft groan deep in his throat. And then his voice, inexpressibly tender, ‘Meg, dearest, loveliest Meg. My little love…’

She couldn’t bear it. The endearment shattered her joy into fragments which pierced her heart like a storm of arrows. For a moment she just froze, trying to ignore her pain, but it was impossible to pretend any longer. Her eyes filled with tears which spilt over in a flood of grief. ‘Don’t…please, Marc…don’t say that,’ she whispered.

The words nearly tore his heart out. It was too late, he thought despairingly as he turned her gently to face him. She didn’t want his love. He had hurt her too badly, confused her with his contradictory behaviour. Then, as he saw the tear-drowned eyes and the trembling mouth, hope surged in him.
’Don’t say it?’
he asked. ‘Why not, my darling?’

She saw him through a blur of tears. ‘I can’t bear it,’ she said brokenly. ‘Not…not unless you love me.’ Oh, God, what had she said? He didn’t want her love. No one had ever wanted her love. Numbly, she waited for the inevitable rejection, for him to tell her gently that he could not love her, that he was sorry, but he was just fond of her. His very kindness would make it the worst rejection of all.

His voice was barely recognisable, tearing with emotion. ‘Then you love me, Meg?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry, Marc…I can’t help it.’ She tried to pull away from him, but found that his arms were drawing her back, cradling her against him as he kissed the tears away.

‘I think we need to renegotiate our bargain then, my little love,’ he said, shakenly. ‘Something along the lines of
a heart for a heart.
Mine was yours long ago, even if I was too proud to admit it and ask for yours in return. As I do now.’

Her heart completely overflowed in its frantic joy. ‘Oh, Marc,’ she sobbed. ‘It was always yours. I knew when you asked me to marry you that I would love you. You were always so kind to me…looked after me, but you never seemed to
pity
me. Even when you offered to marry me, you offered a bargain between equals. Always before people either despised me or pitied me. You were the only one who ever accepted me and didn’t care about my family.’

A surge of shame ripped through him. That vile bargain he had struck with her! All these weeks it had kept them apart, tormenting him, nearly destroying Meg. Yet she had continued to love him and he, fool that he was, had never seen it.

‘And you never told me.’ He kissed her gently. ‘Because of our stupid bargain. And because I shut you out.’

She shook her head. ‘No. Not just that. I was too scared anyway. You see, when I went to Yorkshire I thought that Cousin Euphemia and Cousin Samuel had sent for me because they cared about me. But they…they didn’t. And Henrietta had told me I was a disgrace. So…I…I couldn’t tell you. Why on earth
would you, of all people, want me to love you? No one else did.’

‘Because I can’t live without it, Meg,’ he said passionately. And lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss of total possession and dedication.

G
ala Night at Vauxhall Gardens was always enjoyable, thought Meg. She had attended several times before in company with Di and Toby, who included her in their parties as a matter of course. Jack Hamilton had been her escort on these occasions. Handsome, kind, attentive to her every need, he was an escort any lady might preen herself on. But nothing, thought Meg, could possibly rival the delight of wandering the groves in the company of her absurd and over-protective husband. Unless it was waltzing with him, pressed to his body in a way that made every nerve tingle as his powerful thighs moved intimately against hers as they danced.

Her eyes, raised to his, shone with her love and Marcus had to bring every vestige of self-discipline to bear not to bend and accept the invitation of her softly parted lips. His arm tightened appreciably around her, drawing her even closer. He was aware that quite a number of persons were watching them in scandalised amusement. He couldn’t have cared less. She was his! And he wanted the whole world to know it!

And in a couple of days he’d have her all to himself. Her morning sickness was so much better, now she was
getting enough sleep, that they were leaving for Yorkshire. After that he’d take her straight down to Alston Court. The thought of seeing Meg in the place he’d always thought of as home sent a warm glow right through him. She’d never had a proper home, one full of love and happiness. And of late years, he’d known deep down that Alston Court was crying out for a mistress, to be the happy home it had been in his mother’s day. Seeing Meg there would finally lay that ghost to rest as well.

Watching them as he chatted casually to Di, Jack thought that, until now, even he had never seen the real Meg. Oh, he had seen past the glittering façade of Lady Rutherford, but he had never seen the glowing, adoring girl who was circling the floor in Marc’s arms.

Di was saying something of the sort about Marc. ‘Such a change in the pair of them! Oh, Jack, I’ve not seen Marc like this since he was a boy.’ Consideringly she said, ‘Not even then! No boy could look like that!’

She was right, thought Jack. Finally surrendering to love in his mid-thirties, Marc was mature enough to know the value of what he had been granted. He had seen Marc with enough women to recognise the difference. For the first time ever Marc was letting his feelings show and obviously didn’t give a damn who saw it.

‘And Meg!’ continued Di, with an almost maternal pride. ‘I vow she is lovelier than ever. Such a bloom!’ She stopped short, and Jack waited with a slightly quirked eyebrow.

Taking pity on her sudden embarrassment, he said smoothly, ‘Better start thinking of christening presents, hadn’t we? I understand you and Toby and I have to do our duty early next year.’

‘Oh, good!’ said Di, in relieved accents. ‘I’m so glad they asked you as well. Now I must get back to our box. Aunt Regina will be grilling poor Toby mercilessly.’ She rustled away after giving him an affectionate pat on the arm.

Jack stayed to watch the dancers as they swirled past him in a scented whirl of silk and superfine. A discreet cough at his elbow drew his attention. He turned and blinked in surprise. Lady Hartleigh stood just behind him, her gaze fixed on a tall, tawny-headed figure as he whirled his laughing partner through a turn.

Without looking at Jack, she said in amusement, ‘He never danced with me like that.’

‘Did you want him to?’ asked Jack curiously. And then thought, what a tactless question!

But Althea Hartleigh gave a genuine laugh. ‘No, Mr Hamilton, I did not. Heavens! Only think of the
scandal
had he done so!’ Then with a faint smile she added, ‘As you so rightly thought, I wanted Rutherford’s money and his title.’ She paused for a moment and added, ‘And his, shall we say, physical prowess.’

Whatever answer he had expected, it hadn’t been that! ‘You’re very honest,’ he said gently, wondering if she had been hurt by Marc’s defection.

She shrugged. ‘Not my worst enemy could accuse me of deluding myself. And it did not occur to me that Marcus wanted more. Well, he didn’t, did he? Not from me.’ She was silent for a moment and then said deliberately, ‘Any more than I wished to give it.’

‘I’m sorry—’ began Jack.

He was interrupted at once. ‘Don’t be. We would not have been happy. I thought Marcus as cold and calculating as myself. Had I known he could be like this, I
should have run a mile!’ There was no mistaking the sincerity in her voice.

There was a moment’s silence and then she said, ‘Tell Marcus to watch his bride. Winterbourne is out of town at the moment but when he gets back…I have heard some things that worried me about Lady Rutherford and Blaise Winterbourne. And he watches her all the time. Both he and Henrietta Fellowes are out to do the chit a mischief.’

Jack stiffened and she laughed harshly. ‘Don’t be a fool, Hamilton! I can see what’s under my nose. That child is as much in love with Marcus as he is with her. But that would not deter Winterbourne. As a woman, I cannot stand by and acquiesce in what he would do to her. And I have as much affection for Marcus as for any man—I do not wish to see him hurt. Warn them for me. I cannot approach either without causing trouble.’ She smiled up at him with something of her old glimmer in the green eyes. ‘As I did that day in the park! Add to your kindness by apologising to Lady Rutherford for my tactlessness and wishing her happy for me. I took a liking to her that day. Unlike most wives, she was furious with her husband, not me. I found it a refreshingly honest perspective.’ She drew a sharp breath. ‘The dance is over. I must rejoin my party.’

Before Jack could do more than nod in assent she was gone, lost in the fashionable crowd coming off the dance floor.

Marcus had Meg’s hand tucked securely in his arm. He felt as though he were still floating in a haze of music and silk. Slanting a glance down at her, he found her soft eyes raised to his face. This was the real Meg, warm, giving, vibrant. The mask was gone for good.
Thank God he had finally had the sense and courage to accept the joy he had been offered.

‘I love you, sweetheart,’ he murmured.

‘I…I…’ Her breath failed her totally. Despite the fact that he hadn’t lost a single opportunity in the last week to tell her how much he loved her, it still reduced her to jelly. And the last thing she had expected was that he would say it in the middle of a crowded dance floor. Dammit all, she couldn’t even speak! The words she longed to say could not make it past the lump in her throat, but lodged there quivering, useless. But her eyes, shimmering with sudden tears, said enough for Marcus.

Understandingly he caressed the small hand clutching his sleeve. ‘A terrible place to make a declaration, my darling. I’ll make it again later in more appropriate surroundings.’ Probably several times, he mused. Now that the words were out, he suspected that he might never be tired of saying them. Especially if they were going to bring that look into her eyes.

‘Time to rejoin the others for supper,’ said Jack as they came up to him. He would have to try to get Marc alone to pass on Althea’s message. No point in alarming Meg. Not in her condition. He grinned at her, ‘Come and draw Lady Grafton’s fire, Meg. She’s grilling Toby at the moment, apparently.’

Marcus grinned. ‘Poor chap must be exhausted. Aunt Regina won’t just sit there and let him chunter on about his dogs. Come along, Meg. Do your duty!’

There was a teasing twinkle in his eye, which deepened as Meg said naughtily, ‘Dear me, how is it that such a small word as
duty,
can encompass such a
varied
multitude of tasks?’

‘You, my lady, are a baggage!’ her husband informed her. ‘Furthermore, you are embarrassing Jack.’

‘Behold my blush,’ said Jack laconically.

Back at the box Marcus had hired for the evening, Jack found it worse than impossible to drop a quiet word in his host’s ear. The formidable Lady Grafton was intent on giving both Meg and her iniquitous nephew the once over. Persuaded by Di to return from Bath and give the union her blessing, she was determined not to do so without first enjoying herself.

And after supper she insisted that her nephew escort her for a brief stroll and then to view the fireworks, taking as an insult his suggestion that she might find it too much.

‘Hmph! I’m not in my winding sheet yet, Rutherford. Nor likely to be after a stroll around the gardens.’ She paused to consider. ‘Not but what the scandalous behaviour of most of your generation is enough to send anyone to their grave!’

The party, accordingly, got up. Sir Toby claimed Meg’s escort, saying to Jack in an undertone, ‘Exhausted, dear boy! You take Di. Couldn’t cope with any more of the Langley women tonight.’

The fireworks were magnificent and Meg, who never tired of them, was utterly entranced. But she found that standing still for so long was far more tiring than walking. In fact, she began to feel slightly unwell due to the warmth of the crush of people and an overpowering aroma of scent.

Before she could say anything, Sir Toby, experienced in the ways of ladies in delicate condition, remarked, ‘I say, m’dear, it’s getting a trifle crowded. Shall we take a stroll?’

Marcus heard this and turned around in time to see Meg’s relieved face as she assented. He cocked his head at her in an unspoken question and she smiled back
reassuringly. A stroll, she thought, would be lovely. No need to annoy Lady Grafton by dragging Marc away.

There were innumerable walks in the gardens, which were lit by well over thirty thousand lamps. Meg and Sir Toby wandered up and down, meeting very few other couples. Those they did see seemed perfectly content to lose themselves in a fashion Meg did not doubt Lady Grafton would label as scandalous with unconvincing righteousness.

As they strolled in companionable silence Meg reflected on her new happiness. During the past week since their reconciliation she and Marc had gradually come to a full understanding. At last Meg could see why he had been so confused. Why, even when he fell in love, he had been so reluctant to tell her. Their bargain had just been an excuse, for both of them. He had hidden his fear and pain over his mother’s death behind its terms and she had used it to disguise her fear of rejection.

Now the pretences were over, leaving them free to acknowledge the truth. That they loved each other and would take the joy offered with both hands.

Her mind was brought back to earth by an audible snap as her garter gave way.

‘Oh, bother!’ she said, as, with a disconcerting slither, her silk stocking came down.

‘Eh?’ Sir Toby was rather startled.

‘My garter,’ she said with a blush. ‘It’s broken…Would you mind…could you…?’

‘Oh, certainly, m’dear,’ said Sir Toby cheerfully. ‘I’ll just pop around the corner and wait for you.’ He bowed elegantly and took himself off.

Meg battled with the garter for several moments be
fore deciding to give up and just stuff the offending item, along with her stocking, into her reticule.

Just as she straightened up an amused voice said, ‘How very convenient. That will be one less article to strip from you. And I don’t even have to draw off that dolt Carlton.’

She whirled to meet Sir Blaise Winterbourne’s cruel eyes. Shock rendered her speechless for a moment and then she opened her mouth to scream.

Sir Blaise was too fast. He moved like lightning and had one arm twisted behind her back while his free hand was clamped mercilessly over her mouth. She could do nothing as he forced her away, the pain in her arm was making her dizzy. She barely noticed the pearl bracelet she had been wearing snap and drop to the ground.

‘Do not think that Rutherford will be able to save you this time, my dear,’ he mocked. ‘He is at the other end of the gardens. And even if you tell him you went with me unwillingly, our dear mutual cousin Henrietta will assure the world that she saw us leaving together via the water gate, a most happy couple.’ His voice was light as he continued. ‘So you see, you are ruined anyway. It remains only to be seen whether you will drag your husband’s name in the mud or submit to your fate quietly.’

Sheer terror held Meg in its relentless grip. She had been right, then, that evening at Almack’s. No doubt Henrietta would be delighted to see her ruined and be able to say,
Like mother, like daughter!
And if Marc, knowing the truth, stood by her, then his proud name would be ruined as well. Not for one moment did Meg doubt that he would stand by her.

The pain in her arm grew worse as Sir Blaise, enjoying his triumph, twisted it harder. The dim walk seemed
to swirl and tilt before her eyes. They had reached an unfrequented part of the grounds. He turned her to face him, still with her arm twisted cruelly. She could not doubt that he meant to ravish her, but suddenly her terror and pain scorched into sheer flaming rage. She would
not
tamely submit and let him destroy her and Marc. Furiously she began to squirm and wriggle, stamping at his feet, striking at him with her free hand.

He caught it and laughed. ‘Remember, my dear, if you scream, your cousin will swear you came willingly.’

And then she remembered something: Agnes Barlow’s gruff tones as she advised Nellie Bates, one afternoon in the kitchen at Fenby, on how to deal with a suitor who’d become too forward for Nellie’s liking. She couldn’t for the life of her see what use it would be, but Agnes had seemed quite sure.

She jerked her knee upwards—hard.

After some ten minutes Sir Toby succumbed to his concern about the inordinate length of time his sister-in-law was taking over a mere broken garter. Strolling back around the corner, he was most surprised to find her gone.

‘Extraordinary,’ he said to himself. It was most unlike the chit. She ought not to be wandering about alone. If Marc found out he’d be fit to be tied. Or had Marc come to find her? Just as he was pondering the likelihood of this, his eye was caught by something half hidden under a bush. Pink and shiny, it shimmered in the lamplight.

Suddenly his air of languor dropped from him as he strode over to pick it up. Meg’s reticule! At least it looked like hers. He opened it and, sure enough, there was a silk stocking with a broken garter on top.