The Dutiful Rake (16 page)

Lady Di, it appeared, was looking for someone in particular. She muttered to herself, ‘Now where is the wretch? Not like him to fail…ah!’ With an exclamation of satisfaction she indicated a tall, dark-haired gentleman on a dapple-grey horse approaching the carriage. Meg’s heart plummeted straight into her kid boots. For one joyous moment she had thought Diana had seen Marc approaching. Sternly she told herself not to be such a sentimental little pea goose.

‘Jack Hamilton,’ said Lady Di. ‘He is one of the Leicestershire Hamiltons, their head actually, and Marc’s closest friend. We have known him for ever.’

The tall man brought his horse up beside the carriage and said easily, ‘Hullo, Di. Thanks for your note. I’m honoured. Not but what I have observed that most of the world has been before me.’

Lady Di chuckled. ‘Sad, isn’t it? Here’s poor Meg, fresh from Yorkshire and the ordeal of marrying Marc; and all people can do is come and stare at her as though she were a rare beast at the Royal Exchange!’ She turned to Meg and said, ‘You must allow me to present Jack Hamilton, my dear.’

‘I am happy to make Mr Hamilton’s acquaintance,’ said Meg with a shy smile. She held her hand up to him and he leant down from his horse to clasp it warmly.

‘Lady Rutherford, the pleasure is mine, I assure you,’ he said with obvious sincerity.

Lady Di opened her mouth to deprecate this formality between two who were bound to become good friends, but shut it again as she caught a warning look from Jack. Instead she turned to Lady Wragby, who was rid
ing on the other side of the barouche, and left Jack and Meg to further their acquaintance.

Jack was in no hurry to rush his friend’s bride into familiarity. He had seen the unmistakable reserve in her eyes. She was not a girl to be rushed into anything, this one. Had Marc had the brains to see that? She was not at all what he had expected. Di’s hurried note to say that it was all for the best and Marc’s appalling
mésalliance
a godsend, had not prepared him for this. He was not quite sure what he had expected, but it had not been this vision of shy, dignified loveliness.

Accordingly he confined his conversation to topics of general interest, and, finding that she had an ardent desire to visit Hatchard’s as soon as possible, promptly offered to escort her there as soon as she liked. ‘Tomorrow, if you care for it, Lady Rutherford. Just name the day.’

She blinked up at him. ‘But won’t you find it rather dull? I can very easily go with my maid, you know.’

Hamilton gave her to understand that he had never been dealt such a setdown. Her maid preferred as escort!

‘I didn’t mean that!’ said Meg indignantly. ‘You know I didn’t!’

Jack laughed. ‘I assure you, I am too well known at Hatchard’s myself for my going in there to occasion the least remark. And who knows? If I take them a new and wealthy customer, they may even give me a handsome reduction!’

‘What’s that?’ asked Lady Diana, turning to them after promising Lady Wragby a card for her ‘forthcoming assembly and accepting in turn a vicarious invitation for Meg to attend a ball. ‘Hatchard’s? Are you going to take her there, Jack? How thoroughly typical of you. I vow if you ever fall in love, it will be with a girl who
can help you catalogue that overstocked library of yours! Oh!’ She broke off with an exclamation of annoyance. ‘Would you look at that? How odiously provoking!’

Marcus had looked in vain for Meg at first. The park was crowded and people kept on coming up to him with words of congratulations and sly comments about keeping his intentions very
sub rosa.
He fended off his well-wishers with practised ease, but they delayed him and it was hard to keep an eye on all the strolling ladies while still being polite.

It was not until he met Maria Sefton, who told him that she had just had the honour of being presented to his bride by Lady Diana, that he realised his mistake. What the devil was he about, charging into Hyde Park for all the world like Perseus rescuing Andromeda, when the wretched chit was apparently sitting up in Di’s barouche being presented to the world? He’d been imagining her bogged in all sorts of social quagmires requiring his protection, and it was no such thing.

With a polite murmur of an urgent appointment, Lord Rutherford bade Lady Sefton farewell and turned for home. Far too late.

A delicate hand was laid on his sleeve and an arch voice said, ‘Is this the future you mentioned, my lord?’ Wincing inwardly, he turned to confront Althea Hartleigh’s peridot-green eyes, which held his in mocking challenge.

‘Good afternoon, Althea,’ he said politely.

‘Is it?’ she responded. ‘I understood, my lord, that we were to discuss the future when you returned to town. No doubt we can still do so?’ There was the very faintest of questions in her light voice.

Marcus’s lips firmed in a hard line. Not at Lady Hartleigh’s shameless advance to a newly married man, but at the shocking realisation that he had not the least inclination to avail himself of her offer. Plainly she was willing to swallow his marriage with a good grace, equally plainly she assumed that he wished to continue their connection as though nothing had changed. A week ago he would have said she was perfectly right.

Little though he might relish the thought, things had changed, himself not least of them. It was not merely that he felt it would be insulting to Meg and, in view of their circumstances, unwise to pursue the liaison; it was simply that he no longer had the slightest interest in Lady Hartleigh’s experienced expertise. Meg’s innocent passion had seared itself into his senses, making the thought of taking his pleasure with another woman seem ridiculous.

‘No, Althea,’ he said quietly. ‘I am afraid that is not possible now.’

He attempted to lift her hand from his sleeve, but the green eyes blazed and she gripped hard suddenly, hissing, ‘How dare you dismiss me like a common whore!’ Then, seeming to regain control in a flash, she glanced past him, and said blandly, ‘Why, I do believe you are right, Marcus. It
is
a delightful afternoon. Is not that Lady Diana? How very pleasant! I wonder who her charming companion can be?’

With a feeling of impending doom, Marcus turned slowly to encounter his sister’s furious glare, Jack Hamilton’s disbelieving gaze and, by far the worst of all, his wife’s look of shocked hurt, which vanished instantly in calm, indifferent acceptance.

And this pattern card of wifely correctitude said in
the lightest of voices, ‘Good gracious. It is my lord! How very singular!’

Jack Hamilton’s head snapped around in amazement. The little devil! He wouldn’t have thought she had it in her. But there she sat with cool composure, just as though Marc had not exposed her to ridicule and contemptuous pity. Perhaps she didn’t understand, he thought. But a glance at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap, assured him that Lady Rutherford understood only too well. He found himself wishing heartily that he could be privy to Marc’s thoughts right now.

They were indeed worth being privy to. His wife’s reaction to his supposed misdemeanour aroused all sorts of conflicting emotions in Marcus’s breast. Anger that she thought him so base that he would intentionally compromise their situation further was mingled with pain that he had hurt her. For he had. For that split second he had seen the truth in her eyes. And then she had withdrawn behind a mask of well-bred indifference. She had turned a blind eye, just as he had wanted his wife to do. What he hadn’t counted on was seeing it happen. Seeing transparent, trusting Meg whisk herself out of sight, leaving behind a lovely, elegant stranger, who sat in his sister’s carriage making polite conversation to Jack Hamilton.

Damn it all! She was smiling up at Jack as though she hadn’t a care in the world. And he, the unprincipled rake, was smiling back in a way that made Marcus long to tear his throat out!

Lady Di instructed her coachman to pull up.

With a silent commendation for Meg’s attitude, she opened fire. ‘Good afternoon, Marcus. You see I persuaded dear Meg to take a little carriage exercise with me. Lady Hartleigh, how delightful to see you! I believe
you have not been presented to my brother’s bride yet. Meg, dear, permit me to present Lady Hartleigh.’

The two ladies exchanged the friendliest of acknowledgments while Di calmly watched her little brother practically grind his teeth in suppressed fury at the impropriety of presenting Althea to Meg in this way. Propriety, thought Di savagely, could be a two-edged sword!

She continued with her rifle fire. ‘May we take you up, Lady Hartleigh? I’m sure it would be no trouble to deposit you where you belong!’ A strange sound from Jack Hamilton made her say, ‘Dear Jack, I do hope you are not feeling unwell. That sounded very like a cough.’

‘Just some dust in my throat,’ explained the afflicted Hamilton, still spluttering.

‘Yes, do take Lady Hartleigh home, Di,’ said Marcus, in what was obviously an attempt to take control of a situation that was fast deteriorating. ‘You will be a trifle crowded with three, so I will escort my lady home.’

His hitherto biddable bride raised her dark brows at that. Get out of this nice comfortable barouche and walk home with
him
just so he could appease his conscience and silence the
on-dits?
When snow lay in hell, she would!

‘How very kind of you, my lord,’ she said sweetly. ‘But I should not like to put you to so much trouble. And, indeed, if Lady Hartleigh does not mind a little crowding, I should like to further our acquaintance. I feel sure we have a great deal in common.’

Diana nearly broke her jaw keeping a straight face as Meg rolled up her husband, horse, foot and guns. Short of ordering her out of the carriage, he could do nothing but accept this masterly dismissal.

Biting back all the things he would have liked to say,
Marcus inclined his head, saying ironically, ‘I am my lady’s servant to command. I will see you at dinner, madam. Good afternoon, Di, Jack.
Au revoir,
Lady Hartleigh.’

He stalked off, wondering what on earth had possessed him to farewell Althea like that. Now she would think he intended to maintain their relationship! As would Meg, Diana and possibly even Jack. And he had no intention of doing anything of the sort! Not even to put his impertinent bride in her rightful place!

By the time Meg left him to the enjoyment of his wine that night Marcus was about ready to strangle her. It was not that she had said anything she should not have, or indeed given him the slightest reason to suppose she minded in the least if he had an affair. On the contrary, she had spoken cheerfully of how unexpectedly kind everyone had been, of whom Diana had presented to her, of the prospect of visiting Almack’s and the opera. All in all she gave a convincing impression of a young bride intent upon cutting a dash in the world of the
ton.

It was just that; an impression. By the time she left Marcus, Meg had a splitting headache and wished only for the privacy of her bedchamber. Accordingly she went straight upstairs, summoned Lucy to assist her and went to bed. She didn’t even feel like reading. Her headache was making her slightly dizzy so she blew her lamp out and snuggled down in the silken sheets. For a few minutes she managed to pretend that everything was perfectly fine, that she had not a care in the world, that Marc was welcome to take his pleasures elsewhere. And then she dissolved into tears.

Despite having gone into her marriage with her eyes
wide open to what he intended, despite knowing the danger of caring for him, she realised that she had completely underestimated the pain involved in knowing he had another interest and the sense of betrayal in suspecting he had spent all, or part of, the day in Lady Hartleigh’s no doubt experienced and expert embrace.

What chance did nave, inexperienced Meg have against a sophisticated beauty like Althea Hartleigh? Oh, he had enjoyed her, had been kind enough to ensure her pleasure, but after seeing her rival, Meg could not believe that he would rate her charms above that green-eyed beauty. In fact, it did not even cross her mind that such might be the case.

Her shock, when she heard the door into the bathroom open and saw the light of her husband’s candle, was intense. Surely he was not going to come to her bed now! Not after spending the day with…With her cheeks still wet with tears, Meg knew if he touched her now she was lost, would end up sobbing her heart out in his arms, revealing how deeply she had fallen in love. And he would resent it, would feel trapped by his pitying kindness. She didn’t dare. His rejection she would not be able to bear. And pitying forbearance would be even worse.

‘Meg? Are you asleep?’ His voice was very soft, a velvet growl in the faint glow of his candle.

Lie still! Pretend to be asleep! She lay unmoving, hoping he might go away.

But the candle came closer, was set down on the night table and blown out as she felt her husband’s large, naked body slide into bed beside her.

Unfortunately, since Marcus had not spent the day or even part of it in the enjoyment of Althea Hartleigh’s charms, he did not go away. Since he had, in fact, spent
a very large proportion of the day in pleasurable contemplation of his wife’s enthralling passion, he was in no way minded to do so. If Meg were asleep, he would be content to snuggle her into his arms and hold her until she should chance to awaken, but he fully intended to spend the night with her, one way or another.

He wanted to reassure her somehow that he had not been so cruel as to betray her so early in their marriage. Short of telling her outright that he was innocent, the only way he could think of was to bed her and tell her that he wanted no one else.

So he gathered his supposedly sleeping wife into his arms with the utmost gentleness.

And felt her freeze and then jerk herself away from him to the other side of the bed.

Shocked, he lay still and then said reassuringly, ‘Meg, sweetheart, it’s me, Marc.’ Perhaps, after her experience on their wedding night, he should not have just slid into bed with her in the dark.

‘I know,’ came the devastating response. ‘I…I have the headache. Please, my lord, not tonight.’