The Dangerous Love of a Rogue (31 page)

He looked disappointed.

“I have a better idea.” She dropped to her knees and his gaze burned bright, gleaming in the lamplight. This would win his attention and change everything between them.

Drew forgot pain – forgot about anything but her – this beautiful woman, whom he loved, his wife, as she undid his flap.
Hell
. This was Mary. The prim Miss Marlow. His fingernails dug into the arms of the chair. But she was not Miss Marlow any more, she was Lady Framlington. Perhaps his name had tainted her.
God
, his arousal was agony.

Her dark ebony hair was a vivid contrast against his skin as he watched her.

This morning she’d cried when he’d made love to her, this evening…

“You do not have to do this.” His voice only came out on a whisper as her lips encompassed him, and he gritted his teeth and hung on.
God in heaven.

She did not stop, and she did not answer.
Lord.

He slipped the comb out of her hair, set it aside and then pulled out the pins.

Her hair fell down her back and his fingers slipped through it.

“Mary, darling,” he groaned.

She focused on what she did, ignoring his noises and his attention.

Lord.
It was like he didn’t know how to breathe anymore.

“Mary…”

His hips took up her rhythm – claiming what she gave.

Hell and the devil.

“Mary.” If she did not stop, he was going to come undone. His fingers gripped her arms, to urge her up, but she didn’t stop, ignoring his insistence.

He could not bear it. His fingers gripped the arms of the chair again and he shut is eyes and gritted his teeth, hanging on, fighting…
Lord… Damn
. “
Mary!
”

He came into her mouth on an overwhelming rush, and could not believe he’d done it. She’d been respectable, an innocent women, until a couple of days ago. He sucked a deep breath into his lungs, his fingers clasping in her hair as he waited for sanity to return. When it did she was already moving away, standing up.

“Now you know how it feels to be seduced,” she said, leaving him in the chair, hot and drained, and
fucking hell
… She could seduce him anytime.

“Mary.” He wanted to rise and follow her but his limbs refused to move.

She did not come back.

Damn
. Had that been a lesson? If so he had not learned it.

After a moment, he rose, holding his trousers up with one hand, as he followed.

She was undressing in the bedchamber. “Mary, I love–”

“Don’t spoil it,” she answered bluntly, glancing at him.

He moved across the room, caught her arm and made her look at him. “Mary, I do love you.”

Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked at him. “You do not have to lie to me, anymore, Andrew, you have my money. I know you like me, that is enough.”

“I’m not lying!”
God
, how could she have done what she’d done, then act like it meant nothing. Other woman had done the same of course, but it had never felt like that.

She stared at him.

He let her go and she turned away.

He wanted normality, happiness, he’d hoped to have it with her, yet she knew him for who he was – worthless.

She’d found him out, and found him lacking.

Who was he trying to fool? He could not be happy with her. He did not know how to love her. A part of him wanted to go out and find the others. They would still be in the clubs, and he could do with a bloody good drink and a few laughs.

She sniffed as she let her dress fall to the floor and began awkwardly trying to unlace her corset.

She was crying.

Damn.
He secured his trousers as he moved to hold her. He could not leave her alone. Doing that would prove her right. But she was wrong – he did love her.

One hand brushed through her hair, while his other stroked her back. She was his alpha and omega, his first and last, no matter what else. “It will be right between us, Mary. It will. I promise.”

Her arms gripped about his midriff, holding him too tightly and jarring his broken rib.

“Let us get into bed,” he said over her hair. If she would not accept his words of love, then he would show her with his body, he had to find some way to make her believe.

Chapter 22

When Drew woke the next day, Mary slept. He rose, washed and shaved quietly, in the dressing room, and then once he was clothed he ordered breakfast.

He ordered bread, eggs, fried bacon, coffee and chocolate, and when it arrived his rooms became full of appetite stirring scents.

The bed chamber door opened and Mary stood there, her hair mussed, her eyes sleepy and her cheeks strawberry and cream.

He ignored the impulse to take her straight back to bed, that would be crass.

Smiling he encouraged her to come and eat instead, even though she was still in her nightgown. He poured her chocolate while she buttered bread, her bare feet resting on the rung of the chair, while her ebony hair spilled about her shoulders over her cotton nightgown.

He swallowed back another lustful itch as he passed her the drink. How had this beautiful girl become his wife… How the hell had a scoundrel, an unwanted bastard like him, won her.

They ate in silence for a moment but then her eyes lifted, and her pale translucent gaze fixed on him.

The food in his mouth lost its flavour.

Her gaze asked questions he knew he would not want to answer…

Her gaze caught on Drew’s. He was different when they were alone. What she’d done last night, to teach him a lesson, had made him think. She knew afterwards when he’d made love to her, in bed, that there had been repentance in his tenderness.

But it had made her think too. She’d thought about how happy John and Kate were; how happy all her married cousins were with their husbands. That is what she’d wanted for herself.

But what she’d said last night was true. He might not love her, but he did care, he was seeking to make her happy today, and he had yesterday.

His cheeks darkened with a blush, then his gaze dropped to his food.

“Will you ride this morning?”

He glanced at her, throwing her a smile, then shook his head. “It’s raining.”

She looked out the window. It was only drizzling. She looked back at him. “That is not rain. You cannot even call it a shower. It is falling dew. I’ve been riding before in a deluge with Robbie. Riding in the rain is fun. Can we not go together? I have my habit in my trunks.”

“And when I take you to your Papa’s later and you’ve caught a chill, it will be me he’ll blame.”

“Papa knows me well enough to realise who to blame, and I have a far better constitution than to catch a chill from a pathetic attempt at rainfall such as that.”

His eyes shone with amusement. “I ride my carriage horses, I’ve no others; they’re spirited, Mary.”

“I can handle a spirited horse. I’d be bored by a tame animal.”

He laughed. “Well that explains much.”

“Can we ride then?”

“Yes, we will ride.”

Oh, she felt happy for the first time in days. It would be wonderful to do something normal. Rising and leaning over she hugged him and kissed his cheek. Then whispered, “Thank you.” Before letting him go and saying, “I’ll go and get ready, will you help me?”

“Yes. You find out your clothes, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Their ride was exhilarating, the fine rain only served to keep her cool, although it dampened her hair and habit. Yet due to the rain, they had Hyde Park virtually to themselves so they rode across the lawns at pace, laughing and shouting without a care for what others thought. She felt as good as she always did when she rode at home with Robbie.

Andrew’s horses were fast, she’d no need for a whip to make them run, they’d wonderful temperaments too. That was because he spoiled them with affection. He had petted them and whispered to them, when he’d greeted them in the stables. No wonder he’d been moody when he’d had to leave them at the inn. The animals seemed as important to him as his friends.

She glanced at him as they rode back from the park, at a trot, side by side, his eyes were gleaming and his damp hair was plastered to his head beneath the brim of his hat, while his wet riding coat moulded his body.

He sat a horse well, his strong slender thighs and calves gripping at the animals flanks, while his posture held straight.

If she saw him from a distance across a field, she would think him handsome, without even seeing his face. He oozed untamed strength and masculinity. It seemed she liked spirited men, as much as spirited horses.

When they reached the stables, he swung down from his horse, dropping easily and then came to help her.

“I understand another fragment of you Andrew Framlington,” she said, gripping his shoulders as he took her weight.

“Do you,” he smiled, lifting her down. “Should I be concerned?”

“You are an escapist.” They faced one another, her hands on his shoulders, his at her waist.

“Am I?”

“You are. I’ve found you out, my lord. This is why you’ve hunted an heiress, rather than settle to a trade, you’d rather escape for an hour’s ride, than work…”

He smiled still. “I suppose that is not a compliment, but you can hardly judge, you are the same. I’d guess you’d much rather be out riding than sewing or reading…”

“Guilty.” She laughed. But then she sobered as he let her go and turned to pet the horse she’d ridden. “I understand something else about you too; you are not as uncaring as you want people think?”

His gaze met hers, and his smile twisted as he patted the animal’s rump, when a groom led it away. “Pray do not tell a soul.”

He gripped her arm then. “Come, let’s eat luncheon before we go to your brother’s.”

* * *

When he arrived at the Duke of Pembroke’s town house two hours later, Drew felt like a king as he stood on the doorstep, solely because Mary was in charity with him.

They’d walked as the rain had ceased and they both liked exercise, and she’d donned a bright indigo blue day dress, beneath a navy pelisse. Her bonnet was also navy, and sported a small clutch of bluebells above her right ear. She looked charming, and he was not the only one who thought so, many men had noticed her as they’d walked. It had not dampened his mood. It felt good owning something so prized. He’d told her his horses were the most valuable thing he owned, they were not now, she was priceless.

The large door opened. Drew faced Pembroke’s imperious butler.

“Mr Finch,” Mary acknowledged, stepping inside as the man stepped back. She clung to Drew’s arm and took him with her. “Is everyone in the upstairs sitting-room?”

Drew’s discomfort rose like mercury in heat. He did not want to be here, and he doubted he’d be welcome. He was here for Mary’s sake.

The butler bowed, aiming his supplication at Mary. “Yes, my Lady. They are. Shall I show you up?”

She laughed. “I cannot get used to being my Lady… Don’t worry Finch, we can take ourselves up.”

The stiff-looking butler gave Mary a hint of a smile, then glared at Drew. Drew’s devil-may-care side shifted into place, and he answered with a nonchalant smile.
Think what you will
…

“May I take your outdoor garments, my Lady?” the butler offered, ignoring Drew. Mary let go of Drew’s arm and pulled the ribbons of her bonnet loose. Drew took it, and her pelisse, and handed both to the butler, along with his hat and gloves. Let the man know his place.

A moment later they climbed the stairs; she eager, he reluctant but enduring.

He’d gone no farther than the hall, the other day. The landing was lined by two dozen intimidating portraits, Mary’s ancestors, and artefacts gathered on grand tours. Some he guessed Pembroke had brought back from Egypt.

Voices reached them from further along the hall and Mary’s pace quickened.

A drowning sensation took hold. He was tempted to stop and refuse to go further. Why had he said he would come?

You are an escapist – he heard her words. Or a coward…

Instead of running, he set his jaw and walked on beside her, as her fingers clasped his arm. He was here for her.

“Papa!” When they entered the drawing room she let go of Drew and rushed to her father.

He’d been ambushed. Not only her mother and father and her brother and his wife, but her aunts and uncles were here; the Duke and Duchess of Arundel and Bradford, and the Earl of Barrington, Marlow’s brother, and his wife. There were others too, her cousins.

He’d been thrown to the Pembroke lions.

Looks were cast across the room, aimed at him, all judgemental and accusing.

His jaw set and his lips pressed together. Mary came back and pulled him towards a woman he’d not yet been introduced to. It was then he noticed the children in the room too, a couple of dozen of them, seated on the floor playing games, laughing and talking, and younger ones settled on the knees of their mothers, or beside them in chairs.

His heart clenched.

Family life like this was a thing of books – a fairytale.

A group of boys captured his attention. They sat crossed legged on the floor in the corner of the room playing cards, and it was hard to tell which child belonged to whom, so many of them bore the Pembroke’s dark hair and pale eyed colouring.

Mary completed an introduction. Drew had not listened.

But he knew the woman, it was Arundel’s Duchess. She bid two of the girls to move from a sofa and make room for him and Mary to sit together. Then she offered him tea.

The whole occasion felt surreal. He could not recall ever in his lifetime attending an afternoon tea.

He had been confined to the nursery as a child, out of sight and mind, and as an adult, well he’d never been invited to take tea.

Mary’s family laughed and chatted around him. He accepted a cup from her mother, but could not force any words of gratitude from his throat.

Lifting the cup to his mouth he did not drink, as he watched the girl who’d moved to let him sit bring an embroidery hoop to Mary and ask advice on some stitches. The child was her sister…