The Dutiful Rake (15 page)

At last he could stand no more. His body, white hot with desire, was screaming for release, to feel her lissom body under his, arching, pleading for his possession. He broke the kiss and stood up, drawing her with him, the water pouring off them as he assisted her from the bath and scooped her up in his arms.

Her mind completely drugged by his mouth and hands, Meg barely registered that her suspicions about the sofa bed had been quite correct as she was laid tenderly on the silken covers. She reached for him with a smile as he lowered himself to her. He hovered over her for a moment and pulled the comb from her curls, releasing them to tumble in chaotic abandon over the bed. And then his mouth was on hers again, fierce and demanding as he pressed her thighs apart and joined them with a single thrust of his powerful body.

His harsh gasps entwined with her soft cries in the tender counterpoint of passion, finally reaching an overwhelming crescendo as they soared together in the ecstasy of their joy.

When Marcus could at last bring himself to draw away from his wife’s body, he wrapped her tenderly in a towel and carried her through to his own chamber where his bed awaited them. He had no intention of having to come looking for his bride in the middle of the night. That would be far too revealing.

R
eturning to her own room at an advanced hour of the morning, Meg blushed to find her maid there already. With an inward groan she remembered that she had asked Lucy to come up at nine. In future, she would arrange to ring. To her relief the maid did not appear to notice anything amiss and made no comment about the fact that her mistress was enveloped in nothing but a very masculine, red-silk dressing gown that threatened to trip her up at every step.

‘Good morning, m’lady. What are you going to wear this morning?’

Trying to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, Meg gave a reasonable part of her attention to this important consideration. After all, she was to meet her sister-in-law for the first time and it would not do to look a fright. But as she dressed in a morning gown of soft fawn muslin, her confused thoughts persistently turned to her husband, to his tender, passionate lovemaking which contrasted so oddly with the polite formality he had assumed as soon as she had left his bed half an hour ago.

He had draped his dressing gown around her, inform
ing her politely that he had business to attend to for the rest of the day and would see her at dinner. Almost as an afterthought, as she had been leaving, he had warned her that his sister, Lady Diana Carlton, would pay her a morning visit, doubtless to plan her presentation to society at large. Meg had simply nodded, clutching his dressing gown around her with trembling fingers.

How in the world, she wondered, could a man be so cold and formal when twenty minutes earlier he had been making love to her with a slow, sensuous passion that had brought tears of joy to her eyes? It seemed that in bed he was Marc, infinitely loving and tender. Out of it he was my lord, the Earl of Rutherford, with eyes like shards of ice.

Perhaps, she thought, as Lucy dressed her hair, this is what it means to have a marriage of convenience. Not for the first time she wished she were a little more experienced, knew what was expected of her. If Marcus wished to be very formal at all times except in bed, then she could hardly ask him. It seemed that the protective mask which had sheltered Meg Fellowes from the world for the last ten years was still needed.

Lucy obligingly conducted her mistress to the drawing room after breakfast, which she seemed to think was the right place for Lady Rutherford to receive her expected caller. As the very imposing mahogany door closed behind Meg with a soft
thunk
, she gazed around the apartment in wide-eyed awe. She had thought the library very elegantly appointed after the shabby and comfortless state of Fenby House. Now she realised that, in comparison to the neo-classical opulence and grandeur of this salon, the library was a mere private sitting room, relatively cosy and informal.

Wondering what she was supposed to do while she awaited morning callers, Meg occupied herself by exploring the room. An enormous and very soft carpet cushioned her sandalled feet as she moved about examining things. Gilt chairs, luxuriously upholstered in crimson silk brocade, stood against the wall. None of them looked terribly inviting, but the sofa set at right angles to the fire looked as though it would be reasonably comfortable. An Argand lamp stood on the sofa table behind it, and there were numerous other lamps scattered about on occasional tables.

A rectangular pedestal table with claw feet stood near the window, its crimson drapery matching the upholstery of the chairs and the tasteful swathes of fabric adorning the windows. An empty candle stand stood in one corner.

It was a very polite room, Meg thought as she examined a painting. You could not imagine anyone raising their voice, or feeling upset or indeed feeling anything in here except a respectful admiration for the wealth and taste that had created it. She did not dislike the room, but it was not a room for living in. It was, she realised suddenly, a room in which it would be easy to wear the polite mask of Lady Rutherford, which would have to disguise and protect Meg Fellowes and her foolish heart.

She looked around again. Seen in this new light the room appeared much less daunting. Its splendour was only a stage for her masquerade, a protective colouring like that fawn she had stumbled on once, its dappled coat rendering it practically invisible until she had nearly stepped on it. In this room and others like it she would be safe. No one would try to see behind the mask
in these surroundings. No one would even realise that there was anyone there.

Just as she was laughing at herself for these fanciful thoughts, the door opened and a confident, feminine voice said, ‘Don’t be so idiotish, Delafield! You are not going to announce me to my sister as though I were Royalty! If his lordship has had the unmitigated gall to go out and leave the poor girl to receive me alone, then I’m sure we will manage!’

Meg braced herself for the ordeal and turned to greet her visitor with a polite smile firmly pinned in place.

Her visitor stopped dead inside the door, saying, ‘Good heavens! Marc didn’t tell me how lovely you are! How very typical!’

Whatever else Meg had expected, she certainly hadn’t expected that! She was horrified to feel a wave of crimson wash over her face. How stupidly gauche this elegant creature would think her! And how like Marc she looked!

A friendly chuckle rippled from Lady Diana as she swept forward to enfold Meg in a scented embrace. ‘Oh, dear! I am sorry! I didn’t mean to put you to the blush literally. Now do come and sit down and we shall ring for Delafield to come back and bring us some wine and cakes! Poor lamb, it will give him something to do!’

Meg allowed herself to be drawn to the sofa and said weakly, ‘Won’t you sit down, my lady?’

Her sister-in-law shook her head. ‘My lady won’t. Di will.’ She smiled at Meg. ‘Don’t be formal with me, my dear. Marcus has told me all about it, you know. And while it is not what I would have chosen for him, frankly I am so relieved that he has in the end married a girl of character, rather than the alliance he had in mind, that I vow I could kiss you!’ She continued with
disarming candour. ‘Don’t feel that you have committed a social crime in marrying him, my dear! From what he has told me, you will do very well. With Rutherford to protect you, your family scandal does not matter in the least. We have quite enough of our own to cancel yours out.’

‘It…it is not a love match, you know,’ said Meg shyly. She didn’t want this kind new sister-in-law to be under any misconception about the marriage.

‘I should be surprised if it were,’ said Di gently. ‘Marc prefers to hold aloof from caring too much, you know. But he will look after you well, of that you may be sure! Now tell me, where is the wretch?’

She frowned slightly at Meg’s explanation and said, ‘Men! They’re all hopeless, even Marc!’

Then she determinedly led the conversation into happier topics, telling Meg that once the staff got over the shock they would be fine, and if they weren’t then they had only to resign. Marcus would never tolerate any slight to his wife, so she had only to carry on as normal.

Hesitantly Meg explained that she was quite unused to any sort of staff. Di listened in disbelief and then gave it as her considered opinion that Samuel Langley had been all about in his head.

‘For you may depend upon it, my love, it must have greatly reduced his own comfort and that is something most men will go to any lengths to preserve!’

‘Even Marc?’ asked Meg with the rare smile that lit up her whole face.

‘Especially Marc,’ affirmed Di, noting the smile and proceeding to impart a great deal of excellent advice on how to deal with her new status.

‘Above all, my dear, don’t pretend to be other than what you are!’ she said wisely. ‘The servants here are
all devoted to Marc. Once they see that he is happy with you then they will be your staunchest allies. Why, they even adored our mother and
she
was a Frenchwoman! Papa always said jokingly that it was a mark of the respect in which they held
him
that they accepted her, but I think it had as much to do with herself in the end. And I am sure they will accept you!’

‘Oh, I didn’t know your mother was French,’ said Meg, resolutely ignoring the suggestion that Marc would be happy with her. He had made it quite obvious that while he was happy to enjoy her company and charms in bed, he would pursue his own course independently.

Di chuckled mischievously. ‘What did you think of your bedchamber and bathroom? You don’t think any self-respecting
Englishwoman
would have installed that shameless bathroom! Maman followed
all
the French fashions and took great delight in scandalising society with them!’

Meg blushed again as she recalled my lord’s reaction to finding her in the bath. Had she been shameless in using it? Should she not, in future?

Before she could stop herself she asked, ‘Should I…?’

‘Yes,’ said Di firmly. ‘As often as you like! London has long since recovered from the scandal of Lady Rutherford’s shocking bathroom.’ It would do Marc good, she thought, to find Meg in there. Shake him up a bit. God knows he needed it!

Having set Meg’s mind at rest, she outlined her plans for Meg’s social life. She would hold a select assembly next week to launch her. Rather late notice, but people would come, never doubt it. Marc had a box at the opera, Lady Rutherford must be seen there. Marc would
make up a party. Almack’s, of course: she had already secured a promise of vouchers from Sally Jersey, who had a soft spot for Marc. He would escort her there, the first time at least. After that she could choose to attend under the escort of any number of unexceptionable, single men.

It all sounded quite dazzling to Meg. The only aspect which concerned her was Di’s unquestioning assumption that Marc would be willing to have so many demands made on his time. She did not doubt he would do it, but she did not think he would like it and she had no wish to tease him.

Very hesitantly she explained to Di that she did not think Marc would wish to do all this.

‘Why in heaven’s name not?’ asked Di.

‘We…we promised not to interfere with each other,’ said Meg, awkwardly. ‘He only married me for an heir and because he…he had to.’ She met Di’s searching gaze proudly. ‘So we are agreed to lead our own lives, not to tease each other.’

‘Marc,’ said Lady Diana Carlton, ominously, ‘will do his duty to
my
satisfaction and that is all there is to it. Don’t you worry, Meg. I’ll deal with my little brother!’ She snorted indignantly.

After promising to return to take Meg up for a drive in the Park at the fashionable hour of five, Lady Di took her leave, perfectly satisfied with her brother’s wife. The child was quite lovely, she thought approvingly. Rather shy, but that would do her no harm—quite the opposite. She was not at all farouche; on the contrary, she had a certain dignity.

It would do very well. Unless Marc were more inhuman than she would credit, he would at least have to become fond of the child. And that would be a great
deal better for him than the marriage he had been contemplating, which was exactly the sort of thing he had been so cynical about for years. Di didn’t pretend to understand the logic behind her brother’s conviction that he would only be married for his money and therefore might as well go into it with his eyes open.

All she knew was that, in marrying Meg Fellowes, he taken on quite a different sort of relationship. She wondered if he were entirely aware of just what he had done. Meg was not the sort of girl to embark lightly on anything, let alone marriage. Di had known perfectly well that Marc had been prepared to offer his wife a
carte blanche
to take lovers as long as she were discreet. And Meg had married him on those terms. Did he expect her to take him up on it? And how would he react if he thought she was doing so?

Di was willing to wager that her cynical brother would be quite surprised by his own jealousy if his bride so much as glanced aside at another man. She would wait with interest to see what Jack Hamilton made of the situation. Perhaps he would join them in the park this afternoon. She must send a note around to his lodgings.

Dressed in a modish, Turkey-red walking dress, Lady Rutherford was handed up into Lady Diana Carlton’s glossy barouche that afternoon with an air of confidence that she was far from feeling. The thought of braving London society terrified her but it would never do for anyone to know that. Not even Di, who was being so kind. And it would certainly never do for Marc to think she could not bear her part in his world.

Besides, she was damned if she’d sit around the house all day doing nothing, hoping against hope that
his lordship would come home early and be a little less chilly. No, she would go out and enjoy herself and find out from Di exactly how she was meant to entertain herself in London. And if Marc did happen to come home before dinner then it would do him good to hear that his bride was out making her own way in the world.

Accordingly, when Marcus came home fifteen minutes after her departure, with a small box nestling in his waistcoat pocket and a feeling that he had been rather cowardly niggling in his conscience, he was greeted with the intelligence that Lady Rutherford had just gone for an airing in the park.

Marcus paled slightly. Meg? Alone in the park? At this hour? Dear God! He should have warned her! If anyone realised who she was…that he had not bothered to escort her on her first appearance! Without waiting to be told that his bride had gone in the unexceptionable company of Lady Di, he turned on his heel and strode out the door, fully intent on showing his world that Lord Rutherford was more than happy with his bride.

Rather to her surprise, Meg did not have to exert herself to enjoy the outing. People were actually very kind. It seemed Lady Di knew everyone, and the high-stepping bays which drew the carriage became quite fidgety at being halted so often in response to greetings and demands to be presented to Rutherford’s bride.

Lady Jersey and her friend and fellow patroness of Almack’s, Lady Sefton, both promised vouchers independently of each other. If Lady Gwdyr was cold and haughty that was nothing at all to tease oneself about, Lady Di assured Meg. She was always thus! Even when she had merely been Mrs Drummond Burrell! And so
it went until Meg’s head was in a whirl and she could scarcely remember the names of all the grand people who had been presented to her.