Mastering the Marquess (27 page)

 

 

Meredith wandered aimlessly about the rose garden, down the gravel path to the pergola, and back round to the steps of the terrace. Every minute or so she glanced at the doors to the drawing room, waiting for Lady Silverton to appear.

The marchioness was already a half hour late. During that seemingly endless span of time, Meredith convinced herself that Lady Silverton had guessed that she and her son were all but betrothed. If that were the case, then the thought of facing her future mother-in-law alone made her blood run cold, in spite of the day's heat.

Meredith took a shuddering breath and spun on her heel, pacing back to the steps of the terrace. As the minutes ticked by, she grew increasingly anxious. And, she had to admit, she was annoyed with Silverton for putting her in this horrible position in the first place. Why hadn't he warned her that his mother knew about them?

The French doors to the drawing room swung open, and Lady Silverton floated across the terrace. Following closely behind was a nervous-looking young maid carrying a large straw basket.

“My dear Meredith,” purred the marchioness, “do forgive me for keeping you so long in the hot sun. Indeed, my dear, you should not be out here without a hat. You are already turning a most unbecoming shade of red.”

Lady Silverton inspected her with a critical eye before motioning imperiously to the maid. “Give the basket to Miss Burnley, and go up to her room and fetch her bonnet.”

“Oh, your ladyship, that won't be necessary.” Meredith smiled and gently waved the maid away from her. “I'll just run up and fetch it myself. It won't take me but a moment.”

“My dear girl, don't be so foolish,” Lady Silverton exclaimed, raising her eyebrows from under the brim of her huge gauze-trimmed hat. “That's what servants are for.”

She dismissed the maid with a flick of her hand. The young girl scurried up the steps of the terrace and fled into the safety of the house.

Meredith groaned inwardly, acutely aware that she had once again displayed an inappropriate regard for a servant's well-being. It was the kind of behavior Lady Silverton loathed. She sighed as she followed the marchioness into the garden, steeling herself for what she suspected would be a most unpleasant conversation.

But to her surprise, the older woman began to chat amicably about her acquaintances in the city. She clipped roses and dropped them in the basket Meredith held out for her, all the while relating several amusing incidents that had occurred at the end of the Season.

A few minutes later the maid dashed out of the house, clutching Meredith's best summer bonnet tightly in her fist. Lady Silverton frowned, her eyes narrowing ominously, but she apparently decided not to lecture the girl for crushing the brim of the hat. Instead, she curtly dismissed her and led Meredith deeper into the garden, away from the terrace.

“Really, it is a great shame that careless girl ruined your hat. Most of these country servants are just too stupid to train properly.”

“Oh, my lady,” Meredith began, “I'm sure she—”

“My dear,” Lady Silverton ruthlessly interrupted her, “you mustn't ever excuse the help, or allow them to repeat a mistake. If you do, they will be sure to take advantage of you.”

She bent gracefully and clipped another rose, tossing it into Meredith's basket.

“You should realize, Meredith, you are at a disadvantage with the servants. I'm sure they know your background is only somewhat more elevated than theirs. Familiarity with them will only encourage disrespect toward you.”

Meredith felt a burning flush creep into her cheeks. Obviously Lady Silverton meant to insult her, but she had to admit she often did prefer the servants to a good number of people she had met in the ton.

The marchioness suddenly flipped up the gauze trim of her hat, pinning her with a ruthless gaze. Warning prickles flowed down Meredith's spine.

“I only say these things to you, my dear, because you are in such need of guidance,” Lady Silverton intoned solemnly. “Since you are without a mother, I feel it only appropriate that I try to set you on a proper course of conduct.”

Meredith's heart sank as she waited for the blow to fall. The marchioness studied her with a hooded expression and bent to clip another rose.

“I know you will wish me to speak frankly, Meredith. It has become clear to me that my son intends to make you an offer. While this situation is not what his family wished for him, he is a man full grown and will make his own decisions.”

Meredith adopted what she hoped was an impassive expression, even as she sensed the four horsemen of the apocalypse bearing down on the rose garden at Belfield Abbey.

“I suppose I should not be surprised,” sighed Lady Silverton. “My son finds you . . . intriguing. You are certainly not what he is used to. But even though I am his mother, I cannot be blind to certain faults in his character, and I would be remiss in my duties not to warn you of them. Silverton is easily bored. You must expect that his attentions to you will eventually begin to wander. His interest in any woman, you know, is never fixed for more than a few months at a time. Everyone is aware of that.”

Meredith acknowledged bleakly that Lady Silverton had an uncanny ability to find just the right spot to insert her blade. She wanted to deny what she heard, but a voice in her head whispered darkly that her ladyship was likely correct. Who was she to capture the love of a man like the Marquess of Silverton?

“You mustn't worry too much about that, my dear,” Lady Silverton added, her eyes glittering like frost. “Silverton will always be the most punctilious of husbands. He is never vulgar, and he would never expose you to any kind of mortification. But you have lived such a sheltered life, and how could you know that men like my son have other needs—needs their wives are not able to fulfill.”

The marchioness gave a delicate shudder. “Nor should they. A lady should never have concourse with the baser appetites of men. And men should only indulge in those appetites with a different kind of woman.”

Meredith swallowed a gasp of dismay. What did it say about her—and what Silverton might think of her—that she had so thoroughly enjoyed their lovemaking last night? Was it even remotely possible what his mother said about him was true?

Lady Silverton turned and began to stroll back toward the house. Meredith stumbled after her, even though she wanted to drop the basket laden with roses and escape into the dense woods.

The older woman glanced at Meredith over her shoulder. “A good wife never questions her husband's activities, of course,” she said, intent on her gruesome lecture. “As the Marchioness of Silverton, it is your duty to present him with an heir, run his household, and entertain his friends and relations in the ton. You must always maintain an air of decorum and gentility that keeps you above reproach, and above any hint of scandal.”

Lady Silverton stopped at the foot of the terrace, smiling graciously. “If you can do all that, Meredith, then I am convinced you will be an acceptable choice for my son.”

The marchioness reached over and stroked her wrist. Meredith felt as if an asp had just wound its way around her heart. Perspiration began to trickle down her back.

“I know it will be difficult at first, my dear.” Lady Silverton's smile seemed etched in glass. “But I will be constantly at your side to assist you. It will be so lovely to have another woman in the house, especially on those nights when Silverton is busy with his friends, doing whatever it is that men do with their time.”

Meredith's stomach began to churn, almost as if she had been poisoned again. In all the excitement of the last twenty-four hours, it had never occurred to her that she and Silverton would be living with his mother.

The marchioness withdrew her hand from her wrist and lifted the delicate skirts of her gown as she walked up the steps of the terrace.

“Don't stay out in the sun too much longer, my dear. You are ruining your complexion.” Lady Silverton blew her a kiss and floated through the French doors, disappearing into the house.

Meredith gazed blankly out into the rose garden, all but unconscious of the heavily scented air and the sharp buzz of the honeybees as they zoomed from bush to bush. The minutes passed, but she seemed unable to force her limbs to move.

As she stood there, her heart turning to stone, she heard masculine voices coming from the direction of the stables. A moment later, Silverton and Lord Trask rounded a large yew hedge. They strode together up the gravel path that led through the rose garden and up to the terrace where she waited.

Silverton looked up at her and smiled, his gaze warm with affection and laughter. Meredith stared at him for a few seconds, then dropped the basket full of roses and fled into the house.

Meredith carefully folded her paisley shawl and placed it in the trunk at the foot of her bed. She and Annabel were leaving for London in the morning to meet with the dressmaker who would design her sister's wedding clothes.

Meredith's last evening at Belfield Abbey had been a nightmare as she tried to conceal the turmoil afflicting her spirit. She had managed to evade Silverton all day, although she knew she couldn't avoid him much longer.

He was furious with her, of course. After fleeing from him in the garden, Meredith had stayed in Annabel's room for the rest of the afternoon. Then she had slipped away right after dinner, before the men could join the ladies for tea in the drawing room.

Lady Silverton had smiled beatifically when Meredith had asked to be excused in order to finish her packing.

“Certainly, my love,” she had murmured, giving Meredith her hand. “I will see you later this week in London. You must come to tea as soon as I am back in town. We have so much to talk about, don't we?”

Meredith shuddered just thinking about the malicious gleam in the marchioness's eyes. She knew full well the other woman had manipulated her, but that provided little consolation against the brutal certainty that marriage to Silverton would be disastrous. As much as she longed to deny it, Meredith knew she would never be at home in the world of the ton.

She sat on the bed and stared listlessly at the small pile of gloves on top of the coverlet. One of the maids had packed most of the contents of her trunks, but Meredith had finally dismissed the young girl, unable to bear her nonstop prattle. Her chest tightened with pain whenever she thought of the heartbreaking conversation that lay ahead of her.

She glanced over at the ornately figured silver clock on the mantel. It was almost midnight. Silverton would no doubt come barging into her room at any minute. She supposed the sensible thing to do would be to lock her door and not talk to him until they had all returned to London. But Meredith had already decided she might as well cut her heart out now and get it over with.

As she expected, her door swung open a moment later without even the barest hint of a knock. Silverton closed it behind him, twisting the key in the lock before turning to face her.

Meredith swallowed in dismay at the hard, angry expression on his face. Two long strides brought him to the bed, and he observed her in stony silence as she slowly came to her feet. He had discarded his coat and waistcoat, his shirt already open at the throat and chest. She found the sight of all that bronzed skin covering broad muscles distinctly unnerving.

“Good evening, my lord. I've been expecting you.” Her voice was shockingly calm—a miracle, she thought, given how furious he looked.

“Yes, Meredith, I'm sure you have.” His eyes skated over her figure. If possible, his gaze grew even colder.

Although she wore a thin lawn nightrail, she had wrapped herself in a voluminous robe that effectively covered every inch of her body. She had also scraped her hair into a painfully tight braid that fell down her back. Meredith thought she only needed a fusty old mobcap and spectacles to transform her into the old maid she was destined to become.

“What in hell have you done to your hair?” Silverton demanded.

Meredith slid around him to the other side of the bed. She desperately needed to put some distance between them.

“Lord Silverton,” she began, determined to take control of the situation, “I'm sure you are wondering . . .”

“Yes, Meredith, I am wondering. I'm wondering why you would choose to act like the ninnyhammer I know you are not, especially after what happened between us last night. It seems impossible to me that you could be having second thoughts, given that you chose to relinquish your innocence to me. Or,” he asked sardonically, “did I somehow misinterpret what took place here?” He gestured to the bed as he stalked around it to join her.

Meredith's face bloomed with an intense heat. “N-no my lord,” she stammered as she recalled all the things he had done to her last night. “You did not misinterpret what happened between us.”

Some of the blazing heat seemed to fade from his eyes. He gently cupped her cheek. Meredith had to fight an overwhelming desire to nestle her face into his hand.

“Then tell me what's wrong, my love,” he urged softly.

Steeling herself, she moved away from him again. He frowned, but didn't follow her.

“Lord Silverton,” she began, “I will always be profoundly honored by your generous offer of marriage.”

He snorted in derision.

She took a deep breath and continued. “But after careful consideration, I must refuse your offer. The differences between us are too great. I'm convinced that, in time, we would come to realize that marriage between us would be a mistake.”

Silverton gave another impatient snort, but she put up her hand to silence him.

“You are too generous to admit it, but you must know how unsuited I am to be your marchioness. Eventually you would comprehend this, even though your kindness would prevent you from ever acknowledging my lack of suitability.”

He blinked, clearly startled by her words. Silverton's angry expression faded as he shook his head in rueful denial. He looked so sympathetic that Meredith had to fight back a rush of tears. She turned from him, determined not to cry.

“I, however, am all too aware of my own inadequacies, and I couldn't bear to disappoint you.”

“Meredith.” He grasped her shoulders, bringing her around to face him. “Didn't last night show you how well suited we are to each other?” He slid his hands down to her elbows. “There is no other woman I can ever imagine having in my home or my bed.”

Meredith looked up into his eyes; she saw only tenderness and honesty in his gaze. Clearly she had to save him from himself, she thought wretchedly, even though it meant slicing her own heart in two.

“As I said, you are generous, my lord. But the life you envision for me is not the life I wish for myself.” She tugged away from his grasp. “After Annabel is married I will return to the country. Our time together will always be precious to me, but, I assure you, I am most content to return to my former existence. In fact, I prefer it.” She squeezed her eyes shut, certain that God would strike her dead for telling such dreadful lies.

When Meredith opened her eyes, the kind expression on Silverton's face had vanished. In fact, he now looked positively menacing, and she couldn't help retreating a few steps.

“And what will you do when you go back to Swallow Hill, Meredith? Will you marry some local squire who will surround you with a passel of squalling brats? Or do you so long for your barren spinster's life that you reject the offer of a man who honestly professes his love for you?”

She froze while he shook his head at her.

“It's strange,” he said bitterly, “but I never took you for a coward. Apparently, I was wrong.”

Meredith jerked back, more stung by his words than she could have imagined. She drew herself up to her full height.

“Lord Silverton, I'm sure I do not deserve your insults. If you're not willing to discuss this matter in a rational fashion, then I must ask you to leave my room. We can continue this conversation when we have both returned to London.”

The anger in his eyes slowly transmuted into something else. Meredith felt a warning chill shoot up her spine as his lips parted in a slow smile—the one that always made her knees grow so weak. She forced herself to move away from him, but he matched her step for step.

“As a matter of fact, Meredith, I'm not feeling rational at all. And I would like to point out this is my house, not yours. I have no intention of going anywhere.”

“My lord,” Meredith quavered. She swallowed, taking one more stab at fending him off. “When your mother and I spoke this morning . . .”

Silverton laughed. The unexpected, husky sound caused her heart to beat erratically against her breastbone.

“My sweet, there are two words no man wants to hear when he is about to make love to his woman, and they are,
your mother!
”

“But I'm not your woman,” she protested.

“After last night you are most certainly my woman.”

He advanced toward her with a dangerous gleam in his eye. Meredith retreated again, but he continued to stalk her across the room until she found herself backed against the wall. He quickly pinned her by placing his hands on either side of her shoulders as he pressed his lower body against her. With a sense of shock, she registered the heavy length of his arousal through her nightclothes.

“I'm not letting you go, so you might as well get used to it,” he said harshly, dropping his head to nuzzle the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

Meredith whimpered, unwilling to surrender but unable to help herself. She grew weak when he touched her like this, and she loved him too much to deny herself one last night in his arms. Their passion could not change the future, but, for now at least, she would not refuse him. She flattened her hands against the wall, turning her head to meet his lips in a breathless kiss.

Silverton groaned with satisfaction as his tongue surged into her mouth. Meredith's legs shook with the intensity of his response, but he held her up by pressing his strong thighs into her body. His hands reached down to untie her robe, quickly stripping the garment away from her.

Pulling slightly back, Silverton let his eyes roam over her breasts, only thinly veiled by her nightrail. He gently traced the delicate lace collar that framed her shoulders.

“Don't you know you can drive a man insane wearing something like this?”

“I didn't wear it with you in mind,” she whispered. The roughness in his voice made her insides melt with longing.

“Are you sure about that?”

Silverton licked the throbbing pulse at the base of her neck. He kissed his way down the collar of her nightrail, hot breath through lace, before pulling her nipple into his mouth. The feel of his tongue rasping wetly through the fabric both irritated and excited her body in a way she didn't understand. She shifted restlessly, captivated by the sight of his head at her breast, suckling her plump curves.

Meredith choked back a protest when his mouth left her, but he paused only to lift her nightrail away from her body. She watched in a daze as the filmy material drifted to the floor. Silverton's large hands flexed around her waist, and the scalding heat of his tongue once again found her breasts. He laved the nipples until they pebbled into stiff little buds. She moaned again, arching into him as she sought relief from the intoxicating ache that flowed across her skin.

Suddenly, he slid down her body, kneeling on the floor in front of her. She almost stumbled when he released her, grabbing his shoulders to keep from falling. His hands moved to her hips as he gently pushed her back against the wall.

“What . . . what are you doing?” Meredith gasped.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he murmured.

A small shriek escaped her lips when he pressed a moist kiss to the tender cleft between her thighs. Apparently satisfied with her reaction, he used his tongue to gently probe and tease the sensitive flesh that lay hidden in her nest of curls. Just when Meredith thought she would dissolve under the sensual assault, Silverton slowly pushed a finger into her damp sheath, all the while continuing to lick her quivering softness. She felt her knees begin to crumple.

“My lord!” she finally managed in a strangled voice.

“Meredith,” Silverton murmured before kissing her throbbing bud, “call me Stephen.”

“Oh, I couldn't possibly do that,” she responded automatically. “That wouldn't be proper.”

Silverton stopped licking her, and she froze, suddenly realizing how absurd their conversation was, given that his head rested between her legs. He looked up at her.

“Oh, really,” he replied, one eyebrow arching up. Then he returned to his task, and her insides begin to tremble from the soft but relentless pressure of his tongue.

“Stephen!” she cried a moment later as she clutched at his shoulders to maintain her balance.

“That's better,” he growled.

She suddenly caught sight of herself in the large pier glass that hung next to her dressing table. Her pale skin glowed ivory against the red cotton damask that covered the walls. Candlelight glinted off Silverton's golden hair as she watched him nuzzling between her thighs. His hands, bronzed by the sun, looked large and powerful as they held her against the wall.

Meredith felt a strange disorientation as she gazed at their reflection in the mirror. The sight of his broad shoulders between her legs, the feel of his scalding mouth branding her body as he licked that most secret part of her—all sensation coalesced until her head swam from the intensity of his lovemaking.

She started a slide to the floor, but he gripped her hips firmly and held her in place.

“Stephen!” she implored breathlessly. He looked up, a fierce lust darkening his blue eyes to indigo.

Silverton flexed his long fingers as he gentled his grasp on her hips. He began once more to tease the tight, hidden bud, stroking through the tangle of curls with a steady lap of his tongue. A piercing warmth unfurled deep inside her sheath as an unbearable tension burgeoned in the place where he worked his mouth. Just then, he slid a hand between her thighs and slowly pushed two fingers into her now-drenched passage.

She cried out as she arched her back, shoulder blades pressing into the wall as tremors rippled out from her core and down into her legs. Her lungs seized as a cataclysmic wave of pleasure raced through her body.