Mastering the Marquess (26 page)

An unfamiliar weakness began to invade her limbs, captivating her with a delicious sense of enervation as her hips rose to meet his languid strokes. Meredith had imagined their first joining as breathless and wrenching. Instead, she felt herself melting beneath him in a luxurious swirl of acute sensation.

She slowly arched into him, dizzy with the joy of it, the feel of his utterly masculine body pressing her woman's softness into the cool linen sheets. Enveloping her so completely she thought she
might
actually swoon from the sheer physical pleasure of the act.

Silverton bent to capture her lips as he began to thrust more quickly and powerfully into her body. She cried out softly in surprise as the tip of his erection nudged her womb.

“God, Meredith,” he moaned into her mouth, “I want to devour you.”

The tight heat coiled unbearably within her, and she heard herself pleading once more for release. He reached a hand down, found the little bud nesting in her drenched curls, and gently rubbed it. Her climax suddenly burned through her. The sweet fire poured through her trembling limbs as he continued to drive into her.

She could feel the soft flesh of her sheath contract around him, as if to draw him more deeply into her. He cried out her name as he thrust—hard—one last time. He buried his face in her neck, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders as he ground his hips in a shuddering release.

For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the gasping of their mingled breaths.

Then Meredith curled tightly around him and surprised herself by bursting into tears. She could hardly believe it, but her heart had finally torn free of the terrible loneliness that had plagued her for as long as she could remember. She was no longer alone.

 

 

Her emotional outburst had startled him. Silverton had barely caught his breath when Meredith had buried her face in his chest and started to weep. Given her passionate response to him only moments ago, he felt relatively certain his lovemaking was not the cause of her distress. But when he had gently prompted her to tell him why she cried, she had simply huddled close and sobbed even harder.

He had petted and soothed her, of course, murmuring soft love words as he rocked her in his arms. She managed to hiccup out a few broken sentences, claiming only that she was exhausted by the events of the last few days. And although he suspected there was more to it than that, he decided to leave any questions for a later, less emotional time.

Instead, he had stopped her tears by rolling her onto her back and making love to her once more. She had caught fire with a sweet ardor that drove him wild. Silverton knew he could never get enough of her.

The intensity of their lovemaking had not surprised him. He had always known Meredith held great passion within her. Indeed, nature would not have made her so lush if it had not intended her to respond sexually to the right man.

And Silverton knew beyond all doubt he was that man.

As far as he was concerned, it was only a short matter of time before she became his wife. No other man would ever enjoy the pleasure of her intimate companionship, the sweet generosity of her sensuality, or the riches of the body that currently rested under his hand.

Meredith had surrendered heart and soul to him, and he would never let her go. She had truly astonished him by holding nothing back, boldly initiating their lovemaking and sweeping aside his worries that he might hurt her. More than that, when finally sheathed inside her, he had experienced a sense of rightness and belonging he had never felt before.

Silverton knew full well the value of such a gift, and no one would prevent him from claiming it. As soon as he secured her promise to marry him, he would leave for London and obtain a special license.

Of course, he had another equally compelling reason to return to London. Silverton had written to his private secretary, instructing him to contact Bow Street and begin an investigation into the attempt on Meredith's life. He felt a driving urgency to run Isaac and Jacob Burnley to ground. As long as Meredith and Annabel remained unmarried, Silverton could not completely protect them. Fortunately, Robert and Annabel's betrothal announcement had already been sent to the papers, and soon they would all be returning to Stanton House to prepare for the nuptials.

As to what should happen to Isaac and Jacob Burnley when he
did
finally run them to ground, all Silverton knew for sure was that the sisters shouldn't be subjected to the scandal of a public trial. Whatever he decided to do, however, he needed real evidence in hand to prove a murder plot against Annabel. Trask had written his business contacts in Bristol, hoping to scare up information on the Burnley family's finances, and Silverton intended to speak to Annabel's bankers in London himself. He sincerely hoped those sources could shed some light on the convoluted, dangerous situation, and soon.

The thought of bankers and money reminded him of the question he had intended to ask Meredith a few hours ago. He glanced down at the profusion of shiny black curls tumbled across his chest and gently nudged the warm softness that lay cuddled in his arms.

“Meredith, are you awake?”

“Hmmm . . . ,” she murmured, sounding very content and very sleepy. He smiled, well satisfied with the state he had reduced her to.

“If something were to happen to Annabel, who would inherit her fortune?”

She stirred against him. “I would,” she yawned.

He lapsed into silence. After a few moments, he felt her body begin to stiffen as she slowly came fully awake. There was a long pause, and then she exclaimed, “Oh . . . Jacob!”

“Yes,” he replied. “Jacob indeed.”

Silverton's boots rang out on the yellow ironstone floor as he crossed the Abbey's entrance hall and strode down the wide gallery leading to the morning room. Contentment flowed through his veins, and he felt happier than he could ever remember.

Meredith loved him. Whatever problems stood in the way of their marriage, he knew he could resolve them. The only thing that nagged at him was her refusal last night to discuss a wedding date. Her qualms obviously stemmed from her fears about his family's reaction to their impending betrothal, but, with the exception of his mother, Silverton confidently believed those closest to him would wholeheartedly approve of his bride.

He had left Meredith's bed at dawn, reluctantly pulling himself from her arms in spite of her sleepy protests. It had killed him to leave her. She looked so beautiful, her midnight hair tousled on the pillow, her body warm and flushed from a night of lovemaking. But the house would soon begin to stir, so he had simply brushed his lips across her kiss-swollen mouth and told her he would see her after breakfast.

Too restless to go back to bed, Silverton had dressed, met with his land agent, and visited the stables to check on a new foal. The ladies, as usual, had risen hours later and had just adjourned to the morning room after a leisurely breakfast.

As he walked down the tapestry-hung gallery, he smiled to himself, wondering what Meredith's reaction to him would be this morning. She was dignity personified, and last night he had coaxed her into some very undignified positions. For a virgin, she had taken to the act of lovemaking like a bird to flight.

He forced himself to banish the image of her naked body from his brain, having no desire to face a roomful of people with an idiot's grin on his face.

The door to the morning room stood open, the quiet chatter of feminine voices drifting into the corridor. He paused on the threshold of the cheerful, sun-lit parlor, searching the room for Meredith.

She sat on a low divan, clad in a simple, cream-colored muslin dress that emphasized her lush beauty more than the most elegant evening gown ever could. Glossy tendrils of hair tumbled from a knot on top of her head, caressing the soft skin of her neck and shoulders. Her lips were deep cherry and slightly swollen, stained crimson not by cosmetics but by his devouring kisses. Just looking at her mouth made him want to drag her back up to her room, yank her clothes off, and start all over again.

Silverton took a deep breath, clamping down on the surge of lust that threatened to expose him to the scrutiny of his family and friends. He schooled his face appropriately and walked into the room to greet the other members of the party.

Lady Silverton reclined in an overstuffed armchair opposite Meredith, her embroidery thrown to the side as she languidly fanned herself with an exquisite and, he knew, very expensive fan of ivory and lace. Annabel and Robert were seated in front of the pianoforte at the opposite end of the morning room, totally engrossed in each other as usual. And Trask sat on a padded bench in one of the window alcoves, impatiently tapping a riding crop against his boots as he scowled at the room in general.

Silverton crossed to his mother, took her hand, and carried it to his lips. “Good morning, Mother. I hope you slept well last night?”

“As well as anyone can in this heat.” She sighed as she reached up to pat his cheek. “How did you sleep? Did the heat bother you?”

“I also found it hot, but it didn't seem to trouble me,” he said, letting a hint of laughter creep into his voice.

Meredith's head jerked up, her cheeks blushing to a rosy hue. He bowed to her and to Sophia, who also sat on the divan, encompassing them both with his smile.

“Good morning, ladies. How are you today?”

Meredith glanced shyly up at him, her eyes shining with an ardent glow. That innocent but sensual look made him want to puff out his chest and roar.

“I am well, sir. Thank you,” she replied, her calm voice at odds with the flustered-but-happy expression on her face.

“Blast!” muttered Sophia, ignoring him as she struggled with her embroidery.

Silverton grinned. Like his mother, Sophia hated needlework. But unlike his mother, who preferred to gossip or simply lie about, Sophia would rather be in motion, riding about the countryside in her little phaeton, checking on the tenants or discussing improvements to the parish with the vicar's wife.

“Sophia,” Lady Silverton admonished, frowning severely at her niece, “it is most unseemly to use such unladylike language.”

Trask glanced over from the window and snorted, the noise suggesting that Sophia's unladylike behavior was her natural state of existence. The girl's eyes slid over to the earl, narrowing thoughtfully for a moment before she looked back down at her work.

“Yes, Aunt Alexandra,” Sophia replied meekly.

Silverton returned his attention to Meredith, whose cheeks turned an even brighter pink under his steady gaze. She bent diligently over her needlework, but her hand trembled slightly as she pulled at a thread. It pleased him that she could not control herself in his presence, even though she obviously wanted to.

As much as he wanted to stand about all day and stare at her, Silverton had work to do. Tonight would come soon enough, and then he would have Meredith all to himself again, he vowed.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother sit bolt upright in her chair, her startled gaze fixing intently on Meredith. Silverton fought the urge to grind his teeth, resigning himself to the inevitable. His mother clearly had the scent and, if left to her own devices, would cause him no end of trouble. He resolved to speak to her about Meredith after lunch.

As he walked from the room, he looked over his shoulder at the earl, who still lounged in the alcove. “Well, Trask, are you ready to go, or shall we just sit about with the ladies all day?”

“I've been ready for hours,” growled his friend, joining him by the door. “As well you know.”

Silverton smiled wryly before turning back to the room. “Mother, Simon and I are riding over to the north farm to inspect the new bridge. We'll be back in time for luncheon.”

Sophia looked up eagerly from her stitching. “Silverton, while you are out that way, you might think to check on Jonas Cooper. He fell from a ladder and broke his leg. Dr. Burns says it will be several weeks before he walks again.”

She tapped her index finger to her cheek as if to remind herself of something. “Oh, and please ensure that the cattle hauling the stones for the bridge are adequately watered. I passed by the site yesterday, and I thought the poor things looked very hot and labored.”

Silverton laughed. Sophia had a marked inclination to treat him like a simpleton, a trait he found rather endearing. Before he could reply, however, Trask snapped at her in an irritated voice.

“Really, Sophia, I'm sure Silverton knows his own business. And may I point out, those concerns belong to the lady of the house, not you.”

Lady Silverton's eyes widened in alarm, as if the earl expected her to jump up and immediately begin caring for all the sick and injured on the estate, including the overworked animals.

Sophia carefully folded her needlework before answering him. “My lord, I'm simply assisting my aunt in her very substantial duties here at Belfield Abbey. I don't understand why you should object to that.”

“Because,” Trask retorted, “it's not your place to do so. Why can't you just concentrate on your embroidery and music like other proper young ladies?”

Instead of answering him, Sophia lifted her eyes to the ceiling and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

“Sophia, did you just roll your eyes at me?” The earl looked outraged.

She blinked at him, the picture of wounded innocence. “Why, my lord, how could you imagine I would ever have the nerve to show you such disrespect?”

Lady Silverton clucked her tongue at her niece. Trask opened his mouth, looking as if he would argue with the girl, but then seemed to realize how ridiculous the situation had become. He glared at her instead as he walked to the door. Sophia returned his fiery look with a vague smile, although her cheeks turned very pink.

His interest piqued, Silverton looked from Sophia's blushing countenance to Trask's stony expression as his friend brushed past him and out the room. He followed him along the gallery. Trask seemed to be muttering something under his breath.

“Pardon me, Simon,” he asked politely. “What did you say?” Trask threw him an impatient look as he slowed to walk beside him. “Nothing,” he replied abruptly.

Biting back a smile, Silverton paused and then commented innocently, “Lovely girl, Sophia, wouldn't you agree?”

“Shut up, Silverton,” retorted his friend as he stomped through the entrance hall and out the front door.

Silverton grinned, more thankful than ever that he would soon be a married man.

 

 

Meredith's pulse finally began to slow when Silverton and Lord Trask left the morning room. She had hardly dared lift her head for fear of exposing her feelings in front of his mother.

Silverton loved her! He had said so last night, and then proceeded to demonstrate it in more ways than she could ever have imagined. Their lovemaking had seared a brand on her heart, and Meredith knew without a doubt she belonged to him forever. She still feared the censure of his family and friends, of course, but she hoped his love would give her the courage to face their disapproval.

For today, though, she must act as if nothing had happened between them. She and Silverton still faced many challenges—Annabel's safety, for one—and Meredith refused to even consider her own future until her sister's happiness and security were assured. Silverton hadn't liked it, but Annabel must come first.

Across from her, Lady Silverton sighed and finally stopped pretending to work on her embroidery. She fussed briefly with the material before stuffing it back into an elaborately woven workbasket.

“Well, my dears,” the older woman trilled, “I must write some letters to London before the morning grows any later. Meredith, I'd like to pick some roses in the garden to replace the blooms in the Great Hall. I find they fade so quickly in this heat.” The marchioness rose gracefully from her chair. “Would you be so kind as to join me to hold the basket while I clip?”

Meredith blinked, astonished by the request. Lady Silverton much preferred Annabel's company to hers, but perhaps the marchioness was reluctant to disturb the young lovers. She swallowed a groan, struggling to conceal her dismay.

“Of course, your ladyship. Whenever you desire.”

“Shall we say in an hour, then? I will meet you out in the rose garden.” Lady Silverton graced Meredith with a charming smile before rustling from the room in a flutter of delicate silks.

Meredith repressed the impulse to grumble, and glanced at Sophia. The girl looked harassed, wrestling with her needle and repeatedly pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Can I assist you?” Meredith asked gently.

Sophia jumped slightly in her seat and then bent her head to apply herself diligently to her work.

“Oh, no, thank you, Miss Burnley. I'm fine.” She smiled apologetically.

Sophia's cheeks were very flushed, and Meredith thought she spied the glimmer of a tear in the girl's eye. They stitched in silence while Meredith pondered the little scene that had occurred between Sophia and the Earl of Trask.

“How long have you known Lord Trask?” she eventually asked, trying to sound as if she were just making casual conversation.

“Forever,” came the terse answer.

Meredith wrinkled her brow as she reflected on the girl's behavior. She had often noticed that Sophia's eyes were in the habit of following the earl whenever he was in her company.

“And you know him very well, I believe?” Meredith gently prodded.

Sophia glanced over at Robert, still at the pianoforte with Annabel, laughing with her as they stumbled through a new piece of music.

“They can't hear us,” Meredith said dryly. “I doubt there is little we could do to distract them, in any event.”

“I'm sure you're right,” grimaced Sophia, who gazed at her brother with an expression of affection mingled with sadness. It suddenly occurred to Meredith that she was not the only one who would soon lose the company of a beloved sibling. Sophia and Robert were very close, and no doubt the girl would feel keenly the change in circumstances after her brother married Annabel.

Meredith waited patiently for her to answer the query about Lord Trask. Finally, Sophia glanced up with a crooked smile.

“Perhaps I know him too well,” she said in a gruff tone. “You see, he has been almost part of my family since I was a child. When I was twelve years old he pulled me out of a lake after I tumbled from a boat. Ever since then he has treated me as a little sister.” The crooked smile faded away. “Unfortunately, he never even looks at me now except to reprimand me or bite my head off. It's most annoying.”

She stared grimly at the fabric that had fallen unheeded into her lap. Meredith cast about in her mind for something to say that might console the girl. Before she could think of anything, Sophia shrugged her shoulders and smiled ruefully at Meredith.

“And why should he not treat me so?” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I'm sure he finds me a great nuisance, but tolerates me for Silverton's sake. It's only to be expected. After all, he has known me for so long.”

Sophia began to rummage busily around in her workbasket, clearly signaling her desire to end the conversation.

Meredith lapsed into silence and returned to her stitching, profoundly grateful that her own days as a spinster were finally coming to an end.