Mastering the Marquess (29 page)

While all the poison flowed out of her, Silverton never moved. Only his eyes followed her restless movements about the room as her emotional torrent poured forth, as she demanded that he understand.

Finally, she ran out of words. Meredith stumbled to a halt by the window, trying to calm her heaving breath, appalled that she had revealed so much. She stole a glance at Silverton, who looked at her so sympathetically she wanted to cringe. What in God's name had come over her? How could she have been so foolish as to reveal all that ugliness to him?

“Don't look at me like that!” she blurted out, turning her head away. Meredith hated how bereft she sounded, but her voice no longer seemed her own.

Silverton bowed his head and frowned at the floor, either pondering her words seriously this time or simply giving her the chance to recover herself. It seemed forever before he lifted his head to speak. When he did, his deep voice pierced her to the depths of her soul.

“Meredith, I understand your fears, I truly do. But I do not foresee one obstacle we cannot overcome together. You would be the Marchioness of Silverton, my wife. Who you are, your place in the world, would never be in question. With me by your side, no one would dare challenge you.”

Meredith fought a desperate impulse to give in. She wanted so much to believe they were capable of transcending the cold banalities of the fashionable world.

Unfortunately, his hesitation in those moments before he replied to her illuminated more than he probably realized. Clearly, Silverton had made a calculated decision to dismiss her concerns. He wanted her for his wife, and he would drive over whatever obstacles stood in his path.

But Meredith couldn't bring herself to ignore his mother's censure or the disapproval of his friends. Nor could she promise she would ever move comfortably in the ton. More than anything, she feared he would come to regret their union, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing his love or his respect. Or of losing hers for him.

Meredith finally admitted to herself that sleeping with Silverton was the worst mistake of her life.
No
, she silently amended, stealing a look at him.
The worst mistake would be to marry him
.

“No, Meredith, it would not be a mistake to marry me.”

She gasped, stunned by his perception. How could he read her thoughts so easily? She gazed into his eyes, which looked back at her with avid tenderness. She felt a tear slide down her face, born of fatigue and an anguished desire to ignore her doubts and give him what he wanted.

“Come and sit beside me, my sweet.” He reached for her, coaxing her away from the window to sit on the comfortable velvet sofa. Wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders, he brushed the dampness away from her cheek. She was so tired she allowed herself to lean into him, sighing with a kind of brokenhearted relief.

“Meredith, do you love me?”

She lifted her head from his shoulder, stung that he could even ask her the question. “You know I do!”

“Then listen well, my love. All those things that concern you—my life in London, the Season, the endless round of boring and pointless parties—they mean almost nothing to me anymore, especially if you are not in my life.”

She stared mutely back at him, but he must have seen the skepticism on her face. He frowned thoughtfully for a few moments and then appeared to reach a decision.

“Meredith, when I was young—not much more than a boy—I fell in love.”

She blinked in surprise, both at his words and at his clipped tone. His furrowed expression relaxed into a wry smile, but his voice still held a touch of acid.

“Madly in love, in fact,” he continued, “or at least I thought so at the time. She was an enchanting little slip of a thing named Esme Newton. I was convinced she returned my feelings, and had every intention of asking her to marry me.”

Meredith felt a sharp little stab of jealousy toward the petite and, she was certain, blond Esme Newton. But at the somber look on Silverton's face, she felt her petty anger fade away. Her hand slid across his hard thigh to grasp his fingers in a comforting grip.

“What happened?” she ventured.

“Much to my surprise, she fell in love with someone else, someone I knew very well.”

“A friend?”

He hesitated. “At the time, yes.”

There was no mistaking the brooding resentment in his voice. Part of her wished him to stop, not wanting to hear the story of bitterness and lost love, but Meredith knew he was telling her something important.

“What happened?”

He shrugged his shoulders, looking down at her fingers intertwined with his. “Nothing, really, which makes the whole sorry tale so foolish. Esme and I obviously didn't marry, nor did she marry . . . my friend. He went off to join Wellington's army and came back a war hero several years later. Esme became the wife of a Scottish earl, rarely coming down to London after her marriage. As far as I know, she has always been content with her choice.”

Silverton raised his eyes to hers, and her nerves jumped at the fierceness reflected there. “I, however, allowed myself to become bitter and cold, never wishing to love again. And I believed I never would, until we met. You rescued me, Meredith, from my own stupidity and selfishness.”

His admission melted her heart. She knew how it must have cost him—so proud and in control as he always was—to reveal the pain of his youthful infatuation. Meredith also sensed he held his emotions in check, especially those regarding the betrayal of his friend. But instead of pressing for answers, she simply stroked the back of his hand, trying to convey comfort and love with her touch.

He smiled at her, and the warmth returned to his voice. “The point is, my love, I am no longer that callow youth. I am a man, and know exactly what I want. I want a wife to cherish, and children to protect and care for until they are old enough to have families of their own. That is what I wish for my life. That is what I desire with you.”

She drew in a shuddering breath, searching his face. She saw truth in his expression, heard it in the tone of his voice. Silverton carefully took her face between his hands, gazing at her with eyes as clear, deep, and blue as the sky on a hot summer morning. Meredith had the oddest feeling he comprehended everything about her, and that she didn't have to say another word.

“Meredith, before I met you I was . . . adrift. I understood my purpose in life, my duty to my family, and my responsibilities to the title and estate. But I could never really seem to
feel
it, to know it in my heart, as I should.”

His firm lips brushed her forehead, and another stone in the wall of her resistance tumbled to the ground.

“All that changed when I met you. I have the chance to become the man I should be, thanks to you. You are the kindest, most loving person I have ever known. I need you more than you will ever realize.”

Meredith looked up into his dear face, and what she saw there both terrified and exhilarated her. She felt something new and unexpected stir within her. It took her a moment to recognize it as the dawning of hope.

“Really?” In spite of herself, she couldn't keep a little doubt from creeping into her voice.

“Meredith!” Now his tone was an impatient growl. “I love you. That will never change, I promise.”

The wall crumbled to dust, but then an alarming thought flashed unbidden into her mind.

“But what about your mother?” she blurted out.

He sighed as his arms tightened around her. “My sweet, I am truly sorry my mother has caused you such distress. I can assure you, however, she will raise no further objection to our marriage.”

From the look on his face, she suspected that Silverton had given the marchioness very little choice in the matter. Meredith knew she should regret coming between mother and son, but where Lady Silverton was concerned she found it difficult to muster up more than a twinge of guilt.

“Would we have to live with her?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to offend him. “At least, all the time?”

“Good God,” he replied, looking more than slightly appalled. “Of course not. We would certainly live separately from her while in London. As for Belfield Abbey, my mother only visits twice a year, and almost never comes to my estates in the north.”

Meredith slowly, very slowly, allowed herself to relax into his arms. Silverton smiled—a trifle smugly, she thought—as a knowing gleam lit his eyes.

“It may also interest you to know,” he added, “that I much prefer the country to the city. You mustn't assume that you know everything about me, my sweet. I would rather spend all my time at Belfield Abbey or in the north, mucking about in the dirt like the dull farmer I really am.”

“My lord,” Meredith protested, stunned by the absurd vision of Silverton covered in mud, “I find that difficult to accept.”

“Well, you'd better accept it, because you're about to become a farmer's wife.” Bending his head, he captured her mouth with a searing possession. She melted into his arms as he pressed hungry, open-mouth kisses against her lips. Silverton's arms slid around her back, one hand reaching up, fingers threading through her hair. He gently pulled her head back as his tongue traced a fiery trail down her throat.

Passion and relief poured through her veins like an elixir, sweeping aside fatigue and sorrow. A tiny voice in her head still murmured that trouble lay before her, but Meredith had finally come to the end of her resistance. For now, at least, she would put her trust and confidence into Silverton's capable hands.

He nuzzled her ear before looking up to study her as she lay in his arms. His eyes glittered with a soul-stealing desire.

“I trust I have finally answered all your doubts.” His husky voice sent shivers down her spine.

She nodded, so dazzled she couldn't speak. He pressed one more impossibly masterful kiss on her lips and then sat up straight, bringing her with him.

“I have something for you.” He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a small velvet bag, tipping the contents into his hand.

“It was my grandmother's,” he said softly.

Meredith opened her eyes wide as a tumble of gold slid from the bag into his palm. It was a very old, very beautiful mesh bracelet. Gold filigree threads in a delicate weave shimmered in the candlelight. Studded at random intervals along the band were small, glittering emeralds and cabochon opals that gleamed a milky white. She raised her eyes to his in awe.

“It's beautiful,” she breathed. “But much too fine for me!”

Silverton cast his gaze heavenward again, as if imploring the gods for patience. Pushing up the ruffled trim of her long sleeve, he fastened the bracelet securely around her wrist. Meredith held it up to the light, fascinated by the play of colors that seemed to emanate from deep within the stones. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss on his jaw.

“Thank you, my lord. I will cherish it always.”

He smiled and wrapped his arms about her, returning her eager display of gratitude. “Meredith, you really must call me Stephen. At least when we're alone.”

“Yes, Stephen,” she replied absently as she returned her gaze to the bracelet. She stroked it lovingly with one finger, thinking that she would never own anything so wonderful or precious if she lived to be a hundred.

“Now,” Silverton said in an amused voice, “perhaps we could discuss the date of our wedding.”

She jerked her head up as reality came flooding back.

“Oh, my lord—Stephen—do we really have to talk about this now? It's been such a long day.” She gave him a wavering smile, trying to remove the sting of rejection from her words, but she was simply too tired to argue with him anymore.

He started to look grim again. She placed her hand on his sleeve and massaged the corded muscle that lay under the fine broadcloth of his coat.

“There is so much to do for Annabel's wedding. Don't you think seeing her safely bestowed is the most important thing right now? We have plenty of time to discuss our own marriage later.” She batted her eyelashes at him, hoping he would respond to a display of feminine wiles.

Silverton looked ready to dispute the matter, but after examining her face through narrowed eyes, he capitulated. “All right, my love. Annabel and Robert will be married by the end of the month. I suppose I can wait till then.”

She sighed in relief. One side of his mouth quirked up wryly.

“Meredith, you worry too much.”

“I know,” she replied solemnly. “I have always found it a most vexing trait.”

He laughed. “Well, we have to see what we can do to change that.” He dropped a soft kiss on her lips before standing and pulling her to her feet.

“As much as I want to stay,” he murmured huskily, “I think you need your sleep more than you need lovemaking.”

Silverton grinned like a schoolboy at her undoubtedly shocked expression. He raised both her hands to his mouth and pressed them, one after the other, to his lips. “Rest, sweetheart. I will see you in the morning.”

He strode to the door, gave her one last, lingering look, and left the room.

Meredith sighed and sank back down onto the sofa. Her emotions were a jumble. Part of her still believed she was making a mistake, but if Silverton wanted to marry her in a month's time, she would find the courage to be the best wife possible. In any event, she thought ruefully, it certainly seemed that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

“Meredith?”

She looked up as Annabel peeked into the room.

“Was Lord Silverton just here?” the girl inquired innocently.