The Dutiful Rake (9 page)

By the time they reached the first halt she had quite made up her mind that she would ask. After all, he could only say no.

He came to the door of the chaise to ask politely if she required anything as hostlers rushed out to unharness the sweating team and pole up the new one. His many-caped driving coat hung elegantly from his broad shoulders and she found herself wondering if it could possibly be true that she, Meg Fellowes, was actually married to this man.

She swallowed hard. Her voice seemed to have seized up but she finally managed to say, ‘Yes, my…I mean…Marc.’ She hesitated. Perhaps he preferred his privacy…she usually did after all.

He cocked his head on one side. ‘Something outrageous, my dear?’ His eyes twinkled kindly. ‘Ask away!’

‘May I…may I drive with you for a little?’

His face registered startled disbelief and he hesitated slightly before responding. ‘If you are lonely I will travel in the chaise with you then,’ he said stiffly as though it were the last thing he wanted to do. ‘You will hardly wish to sit in an open carriage for any length of time in this breeze—’

‘Yes, I would!’ She interrupted him without thinking and then blushed. “I…I mean, it is such a nice day…why waste it cooped up in a chaise? At least…if you wouldn’t mind…’

Her voice trailed off uncertainly. Marcus was looking positively stunned. Oh, dear…had she stepped over some invisible line…offended against some obscure social code? She was conscious of a feeling of immense disappointment that he didn’t even want her company just for a stage. She supposed he had found those drives over the last few weeks rather dull…

‘It doesn’t matter my lord, M…Marcus…’

She stopped. He was opening the door and holding out his arms with a faint smile.

‘Come, Meg. I will enjoy some company. In fact, Burnet may take your place in the chaise and we can be quite private.’ A beaming smile lit her eyes as she jumped to her feet and prepared to get down. He forestalled her, setting his hands to her slender waist and swinging her down effortlessly.

It was not the first time Meg had experienced the easy strength in his powerful frame but it
was
the first time since Agnes had explained just what her marital duties would entail and she suddenly felt shy and breathless at the pressure of his hands. Agnes had assured her that his lordship would be considerate, gentle, would understand it was her first time…try not to hurt her too much, but still…She was not frightened of him…but his strength awed her…and he was so much bigger than she was. She was stunned to feel the peculiar shivery sensation that ran through her whole body at the thought of her husband undressing her…kissing her again and—how had Agnes put it?—oh, yes…possessing her body.

Unaware of the tangle of innocent confusion rioting through his bride’s thoughts, Marcus walked her over to the curricle and lifted her up into it. The exquisite softness of her body under his hands sent his imagination into a complete spin. Memories of her body nestled up against his while she was sick transformed themselves into visions of her body nestled up against him tonight…her body yielding and arching in response to his lovemaking…and she would respond…he would make quite sure of that.

He looked up into her eyes as he lifted her to the seat and his hands tightened unconsciously on her waist. That soft blue-grey gaze was wide and startled. He could feel her body trembling…

Again those delicious tremors ran through Meg’s
body. Her breasts seemed to tingle and she was conscious of a feeling of inexpressible yearning which engulfed her as his hands encircled her waist. She thought dazedly that it was as though her body actually wanted him to…to possess her…despite what Agnes had said about it hurting, at least at first…And his eyes! His eyes were so compelling—it was as though he could see what she was thinking.

Then Marcus was up beside her in one easy, athletic movement and Burnet was jumping down and heading off to the chaise. His large body beside her on the seat was even more overwhelming and she gave herself a mental shake. Better not to think of it. Just enjoy the day and leave the night to the future. For now she would pretend that she was just Meg Fellowes, out for a drive with her friend Marc. Not the Countess of Rutherford being driven by her husband to the posting inn where they would spend their wedding night.

‘How long do you think it will take to reach Grantham?’ she asked. She rather hoped it would take most of the afternoon. It was such a perfect day. The sun was actually shining and the scents of the wildflowers in the ditches were rising in perfumed clouds. Birdsong rippled from the hedgerows and the air was full of darting birds.

Marcus glanced down at her, amused to see that she was taking such interest in the scenery. It seemed commonplace enough to him at first, but after a moment he found himself seeing it as though for the first time. The fragrances and delicate hues of flowers were suddenly apparent to him, the arching bowl of blue sky above them and the pale spring sunshine gave him the illusion of youth, of what it must be like to approach everything
fresh…like that frothy lace collar framing her face. Her slender neck rose out of it swanlike…

Dammit all! What was she doing to him? He was five and thirty and a cynical, world-weary rake! Not a dewy-eyed youth about to spout poetry! There was nothing he had experienced which hadn’t, on further sampling, turned out to be a dead bore. If he expected anything more of his marriage he was in for a crashing disappointment. Meg was very sweet, but she was only a woman after all and as such he would do well to keep a decent distance between them. He would enjoy her in bed…make sure she was happy and satisfied, but that would be the extent of their intimacy.

But still the thought persisted.
You could have so much more.
And he could lose it all too. Just as his father had. Every emotion congealed at the mere thought of facing that sort of pain.

It was with all this tumbling through his mind that he answered her question rather more coolly than he had intended.

‘After five, I should think,’ he said, concentrating on steadying his team, which had shied slightly at a hare who dashed across the road under their aristocratic noses. ‘We were rather late starting.’

Meg felt crushed. Doubtless she had kept him waiting while she changed! Then a sensation of irritation seized her. It was all very well for him. He hadn’t had to change his raiment! And she couldn’t believe that he would have expected her to travel in her wedding gown. He couldn’t be that stupid! Besides, she had taken very little time to change. She was willing to bet it had taken him longer to tie his cravat! And she was no longer meek little Meg Fellowes, poor relation! She was Marguerite, Countess of Rutherford, and she would not
allow herself to be squashed like a…a…a beetle! Especially not by the Earl of Rutherford!

‘Oh,’ she said sweetly. ‘If you had told me you were in such a hurry I would have changed in the chaise.’ She gazed straight ahead between the ears of the offside leader, waiting for the inevitable riposte with an expression of complete innocence on her face.

Eventually, as the silence lengthened, she ventured to cast a glance up at her husband. He was frowning slightly but returned the look with a faint lift of one brow, before giving all his attention to his horses.

“Your trick, Meg,” he said evenly. “I did not mean to criticise.’ Little hornet! Who would have thought the quiet, downtrodden Meg had a sting like that on the end of her tongue? Plainly there was more to his bride than met the eye. For the first time he wondered just what Meg really thought of him and their forced marriage. And would she ever tell him? She had said that she would never consent to be someone’s despised poor relation again. She had preferred to seek employment as a governess rather than submit to that.

Obviously the quiet façade hid an unknown Meg that he had glimpsed once or twice when her defences were down. Proud—he knew that. Courageous, certainly—although she would probably laugh at the idea. But what were her dreams? What had she wanted of life before she had learnt to hide everything behind the polite mask? And whatever it was—did she still want it? Uneasily he realised that even if he wanted to understand Meg, she might never let him close enough to do so. She was just as capable of presenting an impenetrable reserve as he was himself.

Satisfied that she had made her point, Meg sat back against the seat and settled down to enjoy the drive. At
least she was out in the fresh air and on her way to London. She spared a contentedly unkind thought for the shock it was going to give her cousin Delian and his horrid wife Henrietta to find their despised cousin suddenly so far above them on the social ladder. She knew that Marcus had written to his sister and charged her to have the marriage advertised in the papers tomorrow. Meg hoped that Lady Diana had not been too shocked. There had been no reply from London. Marcus said he had told Di not to bother. By the time she had written they would be on their way and the letter would miss them.

By the time they reached Grantham Meg was extremely tired and ravenously hungry. It was well past five and she definitely wanted her dinner. It was with considerable relief that she realised that the red brick building ahead of them was the George where they had rooms reserved for the night. As Marcus guided his team through the archway into the yard she heaved a mental sigh of relief.

She was exhausted and stiff with sitting for so long and could only marvel as Marcus swung down from the curricle with unimpaired grace. Had she attempted anything of the sort, she was tolerably certain that she would have collapsed in a heap on the cobbles. It was only sheer pigheadedness that had kept her from leaning against Marcus’s broad shoulder for the last couple of hours.

He came around to her and looked up with a smile. ‘Tired, my dear? I bespoke dinner for six so you will have time to freshen up. It is only half past five.’

She stared down at him in consternation. Half an hour? She would starve if she had to wait so long! Her
stomach, heartily in agreement, gave an audible and unladylike rumble just as Marcus placed his hands on her waist to lift her down. Judging by the lift of his brows and the severely repressed twitch at the corner of his mouth he had heard and probably felt the rebellious organ’s response. The intimacy unnerved her…she tried not to think just how much more intimately he would probably know her in a very few hours.

Marcus set her down very gently, keeping his hands firmly on her waist until he was assured she was quite steady on her feet. Despite her silence on the subject he was fairly certain that Meg was utterly exhausted. Hungry too, he thought with an inward smile.

Tucking her arm in his, he strolled across the yard towards the inn door, wondering if she were so tired that it would be better not to insist on his matrimonial rights and allow her an uninterrupted night’s sleep. He had booked two bedchambers to give her some privacy, so it would not be such a strain on his control as if he had to share a bed with her. Still pondering the question, he bowed to allow her to precede him into the inn. His mind on his dinner and his intentions for the night ahead, he heard a rumble of wheels and a rattle of hooves on the cobbles, but did not observe the natty gentleman who had just tooled a phaeton and pair into the yard.

Sir Blaise Winterbourne stared after Lord Rutherford in patent disbelief. Good God! How did the fellow do it? He had even found an attractive filly to mount in the wilds of Yorkshire. Must be a lively little piece too for his lordship to bother bringing her back to town and rigging her out in the first style of elegance like that. My, my, my! A pity Althea Hartleigh had been so virtuous…well, circumspect…in ignoring the lures he had
cast out to her, but by the look of things this little game pullet might be even more worthwhile…She looked rather younger than Rutherford’s usual fancies…no doubt she would refresh his somewhat jaded palate nicely…especially if he could have his way with her right under Rutherford’s nose. That would add a certain spice to the occasion.

Humming to himself, Sir Blaise sauntered into the inn after giving his orders to the ostler who took charge of his horses. It would be as well if Rutherford did not realise that his little bit of game had been sighted. No need to put the fellow on his guard.

With not the least idea that he needed to be on his guard, Marcus dined with his bride in the private parlour he had bespoken and continued to ponder the question of how to spend his wedding night. He had no doubt of his own inclinations…he wanted to take Meg to bed and make love to her…probably for most of the night. But she sat there before him, gallantly pretending that she wasn’t exhausted and trying not to look scared.

When they had finished he stood up and went around the table to her. He intended merely to assist her to her feet, but she smiled up at him with such devastating sweetness that he found himself pulling her into his arms with no warning at all.

For a moment he felt her stiffen in his embrace and then she melted against him, her soft curves moulding to the hard arrogance of his body. With a groan he lowered his mouth to hers in a searing kiss. He was gentle with her, but his passion was undeniable. He wanted her in his bed, wanted to feel her body yielding under him just as her mouth was doing now. Her lips had parted in response to the subtle command of his probing tongue and he took instant advantage, tasting
and exploring her sweetness in sensuous assault. And she was responding with an innocent delight that fanned his desire to a blaze. Her tongue was curling around his in shy, untutored abandon. Small, uncertain hands crept up over his shoulders to thread themselves in his thick, tawny locks and he shuddered in pleasure.

And then confusion hit him. This was not what he had intended for his marriage. Enjoy her, yes. But this was not mere enjoyment. This was sheer intoxication. It wasn’t just her body he wanted, it was her!

Time! He needed time to get himself under control. Besides, he thought in frantic justification, better not to be too eager her first time and run the risk of really hurting her.