Mastering the Marquess (20 page)

“I love him, Meredith, I really do!”

Meredith gaped at her sister, stunned into immobility by the unexpected declaration. Annabel's eyes were wide and unblinking as she anxiously waited for her sister's response.

“Are you sure?” Meredith managed to croak.

The girl nodded her head vigorously. “Oh, yes. I've known for days now that I will love him forever. He understands me so well, and he makes me feel safe.” Annabel's voice dropped to a whisper as she reached out to fleetingly touch her sister's hand. “Meredith, are you very angry with me for not telling you before?”

Meredith couldn't actually find any words to describe what she felt. Fatigue crushed her in a massive fist, and until a few moments ago, her mind had been fully occupied with the details of Lady Stanton's care.

She had spent the last six days in her ladyship's sickroom, nursing the old woman through the illness that had wracked her frail body with feverish chills. The crisis had passed only yesterday, when Dr. Sibley declared the fever had finally broken. Even so, Meredith had spent the night by Lady Stanton's side—as she had the last five nights—and Tillman had come only a few minutes ago to relieve her of her duties. She desperately wanted to crawl into bed, giving in to the stupefying exhaustion that permeated every part of her body.

But Annabel had stationed herself in her grandmother's dressing room, nervously awaiting an opportunity to speak with her. Her sister had pleaded for just a few minutes of time, anxiously clutching her hands in her dainty sprig muslin skirts.

Meredith had bitten back a curt refusal, remorsefully aware that she had virtually abandoned her sister during Lady Stanton's illness. She had dredged up a smile to assuage the wounded look in Annabel's eyes and led her over to sit on the white silk chaise.

And at that point the girl had lobbed the emotional cannonball, blowing Meredith's wits to the four winds.

“Meredith, please say something!” Her sister's eyes shimmered with tears.

Meredith struggled to disperse the wooliness in her brain, forcing herself to pat Annabel's hand in a comforting manner.

“No, dear. Of course I'm not angry with you, just surprised. When did all this happen?”

Annabel perked up, a shy smile lighting her heart-shaped face. “Well, as you know, Robert, Sophia, and I are very close. When Grandmamma fell ill, and you were so taken up with caring for her, we spent even more time together. I tried to be with Grandpapa as much as possible, but sometimes he was too agitated to sit with me.” Her voice grew wobbly. “That upset me very much because, well, I don't think Grandmamma would have gotten sick if she hadn't been trying to bring me out.”

“Darling, you mustn't feel that way,” Meredith exclaimed, her chest muscles constricting with painful guilt. “This is not the first time your grandmother has fallen ill, and she certainly wouldn't want you to blame yourself. I'm so sorry I didn't take the time to explain that to you. It's all my fault that you have been feeling so badly.”

“No, Meredith, don't you see?” Annabel responded, bouncing slightly with excitement. “You didn't need to tell me—Robert did! He has been with me almost every waking moment, telling me that Grandmamma will be fine, that I was not to blame myself for anything. And he's been so wonderful with Grandpapa, too. If only you could have seen him taking care of both of us this last week—you would have been so proud of him!”

Annabel's eyes now shone with fervent and wholly committed admiration. Meredith recognized the look immediately. She suspected she displayed the same kind of expression whenever she thought of Silverton.

“Darling.” Meredith hesitated. “I don't mean to pry, but has Robert actually asked you to marry him?”

The light in Annabel's eyes now suffused her face. “He asked me last night! And he bought the most beautiful ring, but we agreed I shouldn't wear it until he asked Grandpapa for permission.”

Meredith sighed. It had all sounded much too easy. Obviously Robert had not thought to discuss the matter with his grandfather first.

“What's wrong?” Some of the joy faded from Annabel's face. “Please tell me you approve, Meredith. I couldn't bear it if you didn't.”

Meredith thought longingly of bed and the escape of deep slumber, but immediately shoved the temptation to the back of her mind. She had to find a way to deal with this situation now.

“Annabel,” she said, looking her sister earnestly in the eye, “Robert is a wonderful young man, but you have just begun your Season. Are you sure about this? Are you ready to love him above all others, committing to him for the rest of your life?”

Her sister gazed solemnly back at her with eyes that held a wisdom beyond her years. Although only seventeen, Annabel had endured much in her life, and Meredith knew the girl already possessed a maturity tempered by tragedy and illness.

“Yes, Meredith, I do love him, and I'm ready for a life with him. You must trust me.”

She thought about that for a few moments, realizing she did trust her sister's judgment. And, after all, the point of their escape to London had been to find Annabel a husband. Robert was young, but Meredith had little doubt he would develop into a fine man, and he had adored Annabel from the minute he laid eyes on her. If General and Lady Stanton granted their approval, Robert and Annabel's marriage would be the solution to many of their problems.

Unfortunately, Lady Stanton had other plans for Annabel. Plans that included the Marquess of Silverton.

The guilt in her chest tightened another notch, but Meredith decided to hold her tongue. No good would come of telling Annabel of Lady Stanton's plans for her, since nothing would come of them anyway. Annabel loved Robert, and Silverton—well, she knew that Silverton didn't love Annabel. That didn't mean, however, that Lady Stanton would approve of the events that had transpired during her illness.

As for what Silverton's plans were, Meredith hadn't a clue, since they hadn't exchanged more than a few words in the last week. Truth be told, she didn't really know what he thought about her, other than he seemed to like to kiss her. And she had a very strong suspicion that Lady Stanton wouldn't approve of that, either.

She sighed, the muddle in her head growing worse by the second. With Annabel waiting anxiously for her response, Meredith decided she could only deal with one problem at a time. She took a deep breath and forced a smile.

“Annabel, my love, if you are sure of your feelings, then I will do all in my power to support you. But”—she held up a hand to forestall Annabel's attempt to throw her arms around her—“I insist that you and Robert wait a few days before speaking with the general. He will no doubt want to discuss the situation with Lady Stanton, and she must be allowed to rest before he speaks to her about this.”

Annabel subsided back onto the chaise. She frowned before glancing at Meredith, her reluctance to comply clearly written on her face.

“Annabel, you must learn patience.”

The girl sighed and slumped against the upholstered cushions. “I know. You're right, Meredith, and it's ghastly to be thinking only of myself. I'll tell Robert we must wait for Grandmamma to recover.” A mischievous gleam crept into her eyes. “He won't like it, but I think I know a way to keep him quiet.”

“Annabel!” Meredith blinked, shocked by the knowing expression on her sister's face.

Annabel laughed, kissed her on the cheek, and danced over to the door of the dressing room. “You're not the only one who knows what it's like to have a beau, you know. The only difference is, some of us don't try to keep it a secret!”

Meredith groaned and rubbed her throbbing temples, wishing she were in bed, with the covers pulled safely over her head.

 

 

Silverton stretched his top-booted legs toward the low flames flickering in the cast-iron grate. He swirled his brandy in the crystal glass, sprawling against the pillows of the plush, red velvet settee. The general had just retired to his chambers for the night, leaving Silverton alone to nurse his drink in the library.

He supposed he ought to get his coat and stroll the few blocks to his own mansion, but he couldn't seem to rouse himself from his comfortable position in front of the fireplace.

It was the first time in a hellish week that he could finally relax. The first time since Aunt Georgina had fallen ill that they knew she was really on the mend. And the first time he could think clearly about the night he had rescued Meredith from Jacob Burnley's assault.

Silverton grew cold at the thought of what could have occurred had he not arrived when he did. The bastard was lucky he hadn't killed him.

He shook his head, still puzzled by the aggressive attempts to force Meredith and Annabel back to Swallow Hill. He had his suspicions, but he needed more information about the Burnleys and the state of their finances before he could develop a concrete theory.

Silverton had been forced to postpone any investigation, however, when Lady Stanton had taken ill. The ensuing week had been marked by several crises, as Lady Stanton's infection developed into a dangerous fever. Meredith had spent every night with his aunt, but he knew she had also passed many hours of the day in the sickroom as well. Her devotion and careful nursing had won even the admiration of Tillman, Lady Stanton's long-time, fiercely possessive dresser.

In fact, the entire household had come to depend on Meredith. It seemed a gradual but natural process when the servants began to ask her to resolve a variety of domestic questions during Lady Stanton's illness. She responded to every problem with a quiet, unassuming ability that had won the respect of all the inhabitants of Stanton House, including the general.

Meredith had gracefully risen to every challenge. Silverton no longer harbored the slightest doubt about her ability to function as his marchioness.
She
might not believe she was fit to move among the ton, but in every way that mattered she was more a lady than any woman he had ever known.

Yesterday, Meredith and Dr. Sibley had come to tell the general that Lady Stanton's fever had broken. By this morning, she had improved so much that Sibley declared her out of danger. Annabel wept tears of joy, and his uncle had practically wrung the doctor's hand off his wrist.

“Don't thank me,” said Sibley, “thank Miss Burnley. Her expert care made all the difference to your wife's recovery. You should be exceedingly grateful to her.”

Silverton had smiled while his uncle hemmed and hawed, still reluctant to express his gratitude to Meredith but fair enough to know he should.

Later in the day, he had sat with his uncle in the library while Annabel and Robert huddled on the settee, their heads together as they perused Meredith's sketchbook. The girl had decided they all needed a distraction after the week's ordeal and proposed that her sister paint a portrait of General Stanton.

“She's awfully good, you know,” Annabel explained after fetching the sketchbook from their townhouse. “I'm sure she would be happy to do a painting of Grandpapa. Grandmamma told me she has wanted to get a portrait of him forever, but he will simply not sit still for it.”

Silverton smothered a laugh at the appalled look on his uncle's face as he flipped through the sketches. Meredith had talent, but her chosen subjects were not what the general would consider appropriate for a genteel young lady.

A sly grin crossed Robert's face as he inspected a graphic depiction of Theseus slaying the Minotaur. “I say,” he said, pointing at the snarling beast Meredith had created, “that does rather resemble the expression on Grandfather's face first thing in the morning!”

Only Annabel's immediate and stern rebuke had saved Robert from General Stanton's wrath.

Yes, everything seemed to be returning to normal. Now he could turn his full attention back to Meredith and the questions tugging persistently at the edges of his mind.

Silverton exhaled a tired breath as he placed his snifter on the low table in front of the settee. Standing slowly, he reached his arms over his head, gradually stretching the knots from his cramped muscles. Despite the brandy his nerves felt raw. He suspected the only remedy for that irritation would be the sensation of Meredith's lush body against his, and the taste of her sweet tongue in his mouth. That was not to be his luck tonight, however, so he might as well take himself home.

Silverton glanced around for the coat he had tossed on a chair earlier in the evening. As he crossed the floor to retrieve it, the flames of the candles suddenly flickered as the library door opened quietly behind him. His senses leapt to full awareness at the sound of a quickly stifled gasp. He pivoted quickly on his heel, knowing precisely who would be standing before him.

Meredith paused just inside the doorway. Her mouth dropped open in startled surprise, and he could see in the reflected light of the candles that her eyes were wide and wary. He slowly but deliberately crossed the room to her.

As he did, Silverton took the time to appreciate that his luck was finally about to change.

Meredith's eyes darted nervously around the room. She took a small step back toward the door as Silverton approached her.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she apologized as she touched her hand fleetingly to her hair. “I didn't realize anyone was still in the library.”

Silverton held his tongue as he studied her. Although still dressed in the same burgundy silk gown she had worn for dinner, she had released her hair from its pins. The glossy, sable waves tumbled around her shoulders and flowed down her back to her elbows. Her hair was unfashionably long, and for that Silverton was exceedingly grateful. All that glorious, unbound beauty made him think of bed things, and what he would do once he got her into his.

“There is nothing to forgive, Meredith.” He smiled down at her as he smoothly crowded her body against the doorframe. The faint scent of violets wafted up from her thick hair, teasing his nostrils with a delicate sweetness. “I'm very pleased to finally have you to myself, if only for a little while.”

She blushed and looked doubtfully up at him. He grasped her by the elbow, drawing her gently but inexorably into the room.

“Lord Silverton,” she protested faintly as he shut the door behind her, “I really don't think it proper that you call me by my first name. Lady Stanton would surely object.”

“Well, since she isn't here,” he replied, “I suggest that we not worry about it.”

He quickly turned the key in the lock before guiding her to the settee. Although he could feel the tension in her arm as she tried to pull away, he ignored her attempt to resist him. With an irritated sigh, Meredith reluctantly gave in to his superior strength.

“I take it the general has gone to bed?” She cautiously scanned the darkened room.

“Yes, my dear,” he murmured. “You are, for the moment, safe from any criticism or evaluation, artistic or otherwise.”

She grimaced at him but acknowledged the hit with a short laugh. Silverton released her arm and nudged the small of her back, urging her to sit down on the settee. She complied, although she threw him a dubious glance as she did so.

“I suppose I should be grateful life is beginning to resume its regular course,” she muttered with a sigh, relaxing back into the overstuffed cushions.

Silverton took a moment to appreciate the contrast of her shimmering mane against the crimson velvet of the settee.

“Thanks mostly to you,” he said as he crossed the room to the sideboard holding a number of crystal decanters.

Meredith leaned her head against the back of the settee. She closed her eyes and exhaled a long, whispering breath, as if all the week's tension were suddenly flowing out of her.

“Dr. Sibley is an excellent physician.” She stifled a yawn. “And Tillman is an experienced and devoted nurse. I don't know what we would have done without her.”

Silverton didn't comment. It was in Meredith's nature to be self-effacing, and he knew she would argue with him if he tried to praise her any further. Instead, he poured a small glass of sherry and brought it to her. As he reached the settee she raised her lids, focusing on him in spite of the fatigue that clouded her silvery eyes.

He paused for just a few seconds, carefully studying the face that had become so dear to him. Her pale complexion made the dark smudges under her eyes stand out like painful bruises. His heart wrenched with compassion.

Poor darling. She's obviously exhausted from nursing Aunt Georgina
. With a sigh, he consigned his amorous plans to a future time when she was not half-dead with fatigue. He handed her the glass, and unlike before when he had brought her a drink in this very room, she didn't refuse him. She sipped and closed her eyes again, murmuring her appreciation softly in her throat.

Silverton's gaze drifted down to the generous curves of her breasts, which were snugly framed by the shimmering delicacy of the lightweight silk. He could feel the ache in his groin slowly beginning to build, along with the frustration of his continually thwarted desire. If he didn't get some relief soon, he was sure he would end up a cripple.

He muttered a curse under his breath and seated himself at the other end of the settee, careful to keep at least two feet between them. Silverton grabbed his brandy from the table and took a large gulp, hoping the burn of alcohol would somehow cancel out the fire that coursed through his veins.

Meredith slowly opened her eyes and moved her head against the cushions to look at him.

“Did you say something, my lord?”

“It's late, Meredith,” he replied abruptly. “You should be asleep by now. I understood that Tillman would stay in Aunt Georgina's dressing room tonight so you could get some rest. Surely it's no longer necessary for you to sit up all night with her?”

She smothered another yawn behind a slender hand. “No, Lady Stanton is much improved. I looked in on her, and she is sleeping peacefully. Dr. Sibley said she should be well enough to travel into Kent in a few days time.”

The doctor had advised that Lady Stanton remove to the country for several weeks to aid her recovery. The general and Silverton had decided the entire family would decamp to Belfield Abbey, Silverton's closest estate, rather than to Stanton Park in Yorkshire. The Abbey was an easy journey from London—one that could be accomplished in less than a day, placing as little stress as possible on his aunt.

Silverton again inspected the smudges under Meredith's eyes. She looked like she needed rest as much as his aunt.

“Meredith, you should be in bed,” he repeated.
Preferably with me,
he added mentally, but that would have to wait until they were at the Abbey.

“I know,” she sighed, “but I just can't seem to sleep. Perhaps I have become too used to being up at this time of night. I did try to lie down, but that only made me feel more awake than before.”

She glanced at him, touching her hair again as if embarrassed that he should see her in such a state of disarray. “I only meant to borrow a book from the general's library and take it back to my room.”

For long moment they stared at each other. Silverton swore he could feel a lash of heat whip between them. Meredith wrenched her gaze away to stare into the fire, a sweet blush flaring across her cheeks.

“But, somehow,” she said, swallowing nervously, “I seem to be much too restless to even read.”

Silverton smiled to himself. He slid over to her end of the settee, plucked the glass of sherry from her hand, and carefully set it down on the table. Snaking his arm behind her, he reached his fingers into her hair and gently combed them through the silky mass.

Meredith jumped slightly in her seat, but did not pull away. A myriad of emotions flickered across her face until they settled into one clear expression of mute and almost desperate yearning.

“I . . . I should probably go upstairs now,” she stammered as her eyes dropped to his mouth.

Silverton could feel his lips curve into a rapacious smile as he wrapped his other arm around her waist.

“In a minute, my sweet,” he whispered before swooping down to capture her strawberry-colored lips under his mouth.

 

 

Meredith felt herself opening to him like a flower opens to the morning light. All the fatigue and tension that had dragged on her for days was suddenly blasted away by the exhilarating heat of his kiss. She opened her lips and his tongue surged into her mouth. He devoured her like a man who had not taken sustenance for a week.

She whimpered, collapsing slowly back into the cushions. Silverton answered with a low murmur deep in his throat, and the sound of it was so delicious her stomach clenched with an unfamiliar excitement. Her legs grew so weak she knew she could not escape him even if she wanted to.

Meredith had nearly fainted when she saw him standing in the gleaming light of the fire, his golden hair burnished to the color of flame. He had looked so big and powerful, like an ancient god or spirit who had come to sweep her away to his enchanted realm. Her instinctive self had told her to flee the room before he could dominate her, but her rational mind had argued that she had the fortitude to resist him. She reasoned that no harm could result from spending a few stolen moments in his company.

Now she knew how foolish it was to think she could ever say no to him. And she knew in the depths of her soul that she didn't want to, because Silverton was everything she had ever longed for.

Meredith clutched his arms, digging her fingers into the soft linen of his shirt. He lifted her hand and placed it around the back of his neck, shifting her closer into his embrace. The tender swell of her breasts brushed against his satin waistcoat, the rasp of her nipples against the fabric like nothing she had ever felt before. Hard and pointed, they tingled with an intensity that was almost painful.

She pressed against him urgently, seeking to ease the delicious agony.

Silverton seemed to know exactly what she needed. As he invaded her mouth with the stroke of his tongue, his hand smoothed over the front of her bodice until he captured her right breast between his long fingers. When he touched her nipple, it beaded even more tightly. That obviously pleased him, because he made a humming noise deep in his throat as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.

Meredith pulled back and stared at him, shocked by the stab of sensation that jolted straight to her loins. Silverton's blue eyes had darkened to indigo, and the expression on his face was so fiercely exultant that she quailed before the force of it. He gazed back, his eyes softening as he sensed her trepidation.

“Easy, love,” he whispered in her ear. “There's nothing to be afraid of. I just want to hold you tonight—taste you a bit and soothe you so you can sleep.”

His hand rested quietly on her breast as his mouth moved in soft kisses over her cheek, her ear, and down her neck. She relaxed under his soothing caress, the tension once more flowing from her body as he cuddled her against him. Her momentary flash of anxiety faded, banished by the feel of his strong arms enfolding her so securely.

Meredith began to breathe in long, slow surges as she slid her hands up his chest. As if they had a will of their own, her fingers unbuttoned his waistcoat, parting the material to stroke the hard muscles through his shirt. Silverton's hand left her breast, reaching up to tug the knot in his cravat, pulling it away from his neck and tossing it on the floor. She slowly walked her fingers to the opening of his shirt and slipped them inside.

Meredith marveled at the coiled strength she sensed in him, at the heat that flowed into her tired body as she nestled in the crook of his arm. She stroked and played, weaving her fingers through the wiry blond hair scattered over his bronzed skin.

He stilled beneath her hands, letting her explore him. Pleasure built inside her as she felt his muscles flex under her sensitized fingertips.

Meredith couldn't resist stretching up and touching the edge of her tongue to the base of his throat. She tentatively licked the rapid pulse that beat there as she whispered an incoherent appreciation for his intoxicating and potent masculinity.

For a long moment he seemed to freeze. Then, in a movement so swift that she felt it before she saw it, he dragged her across his lap, settling her on his thighs. She opened her mouth in a surprised squeak, but he dipped between her lips, ruthlessly capturing her breath and drawing it into him. One hand wrapped hard around her shoulders, keeping her still, while the other grasped her hip, stroking and kneading through the thin layers of her dress and chemise.

Meredith felt as if she were melting, the soft flesh between her legs turning hot and damp. She wanted to writhe against him even as she thought she might collapse into his arms in a heated swoon.

Silverton's kiss tasted like hot brandy. He smelled faintly of the spice of his snuff, and something intangible and yet so wonderful she wanted to burrow against him like a kitten searching for warmth.

She returned his kiss with an eagerness that some dim part of her mind knew she should be ashamed of. But instead of shame she felt only growing excitement and need—a sense that she was about to launch herself off a precipice into a glittering place where every sense would be heightened, every feeling magnified.

Grasping the edges of his open collar, she pushed herself into his kiss, sucking his tongue in a wicked imitation of what he had done to her only moments ago. Silverton pulled back gently and nuzzled her cheek, pushing her head sideways to expose the side of her neck to his questing mouth. He made her shudder with pleasure as he hungrily licked and bit the sensitive flesh beneath her ear.

Meredith let her head fall back, the slide of his wet tongue across her skin so intense that it made her dizzy. Her eyes were shut now, but she could feel his hand move leisurely to her bodice, clever fingers searching, tugging at ties and pulling the delicate silk away from her breasts. She forced herself to raise her lids as something inside compelled her to watch his face as he exposed her body to his gaze for the first time.

He cradled her on his lap, one hand moving up her back to hold her steady across his thighs. His other hand pulled at the ribbons of her chemise, carefully lowering the lace-trimmed garment to her waist.

Meredith couldn't help but moan at the feral expression on his face—a mewling sound that brought his eyes up to hers. His features were as hard as granite, but his eyes shone with a tenderness that made her want to weep. He lowered his mouth to hers, brushing a gentle kiss across her lips as if to reassure her. But he immediately returned his gaze to her breasts, and she understood that he would not be distracted again until he had gotten exactly what he wanted from her.