Rules of Refinement (The Marriage Maker)

by Tarah Scott

  The right rear wheel broke, my lord.”

  “So I gathered,” Kennedy said. “My lady.” He took a step to the viscountess. The sleeve of her left shoulder was torn and a gash in her arm oozed blood. Kennedy gently turned her toward the streetlight and examined her. “You must have fallen against the lamp.”

  She nodded. “It is nothing.”

  “We will have a doctor attend to the wound once we reach home.”

  A carriage turned onto the street and slowed as they neared, then stopped. The door opened, and Kennedy’s uncle stepped to the ground.

  He strode to where they stood. “Is everyone unharmed?”

  Kennedy nodded. “Fortunately, we weren’t going fast.”

  “Let me take you home,” Ranald said.

  “Thank you.” Kennedy turned to the driver. “James, I will send Matthew back with a new wheel. You and Michael remain here until they arrive.”

  James nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  Kennedy got the ladies into the carriage, then he and Ranald stepped inside and they started away.

  At home, they gathered in the drawing room while Ranald sent his carriage for the doctor. Kennedy roused Matthew and instructed him to take men to deliver the wheel and repair the carriage.

  The doctor arrived half an hour later. Despite Lady Kinsley’s insistence that she was fine, the doctor insisted on six stitches, then sent her to bed with a small dose of laudanum. The doctor left, and Anne sent Kennedy a grateful look, then went upstairs with her mother and sister.

  “Would you like a drink?” Kennedy asked Ranald when the ladies had gone.

  “Scotch, if you please,” he said. “I’m glad for this opportunity to speak with you, Kennedy. Congratulations on your marriage, by-the-by. I’m sorry I missed the ceremony. I had no idea you were to marry.”

  Kennedy poured two scotches, then turned and motioned to the two hearth chairs. His uncle took the chair to the left. Kennedy handed him a glass of scotch and sat in the chair to the right.

  “We had a very small ceremony by special license,” Kennedy said.

  Ranald nodded. “So I gathered. I feel certain your father had something to do with the marriage. I saw him the day before yesterday. He isn’t looking well.”

  Kennedy took a hefty drink of scotch. He shook his head. “Nae, he isn’t at all looking well.”

  Ranald regarded him. “I should think that you would be rejoicing.”

  “I will not be sorry when he is gone,” Kennedy said.

  “What the devil is going on?” his uncle demanded.

  Kennedy took another drink of his whisky. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s too many strange things afoot. Pray, do not tell me you suddenly fell in love. Marriage was not on your agenda. And where is Rose? I didn’t see her at Chesterfield when I visited your father. When I inquired, he said she was away. What does that mean?”

  Ranald was as different from his brother as Kennedy was from his father. Kennedy had always liked his uncle, who was far too intelligent for his own good. “The earl sent her away and won’t tell me where,” Kennedy said. “He forced my marriage to Anne by threatening to marry Rose to Granbury if I didn’t comply.”

  “By God, that goes too far, even for him,” Ranald growled.

  Kennedy nodded. “We both have underestimated my father for a long time.”

  Ranald nodded slowly. “Now that you’re married, will Rose return home?”

  Kennedy gave a harsh laugh. “Nae, there is more to the blackmail. I must produce an heir in the next year.”

  A rare flush of anger darkened Ranald’s normally tranquil eyes. “By God, what is wrong with the man?”

  “He is dying,” Kennedy said with more calm than he felt. “This is a desperate attempt at eternal life.”

  “We all die,” the older man said with heat. “A moment ago, I would’ve said, in his own way, he loves Rose. Now, I’m no’ sure if even that is true. How long has she been gone?”

  “Seven days.”

  “It’s unlikely she’ll come to any harm.” His mouth thinned. “As long as he doesn’t die. Have ye any idea where she is?”

  “The earl said she wasn’t in Scotland. Based on information I received from his servants, I’m inclined to think that’s true.”

  Ranald nodded slowly. “France.”

  Kennedy nodded. “France is a big country, however. I could search Paris for years and never find her.”

  “Surely you plan to try?”

  Kennedy grunted. “I have already begun. The only thing stopping me from going myself is the fact that I must immediately sire an heir.”

  Ranald frowned. “Does Joseph intend to keep Rose hidden until your first child is born?”

  “Kennedy nodded. “That is exactly what he intends. I demanded that he bring Rose home once it is confirmed that my wife is pregnant. In truth, he could just as easily not comply.”

  Ranald leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Tell me how I can help.”

  Chapter Eight

  The following morning, Anne found her way into the conservatory. The building was set off from the house in a secluded corner of the gardens. The paned glass structure rested on a foundation of waist-high stones. She entered the building and knew she was home. A light rain began to patter on the glass. Anne looked up at the gray clouds that inched across the sky. Even on an overcast day like today, she could remain here for hours. She strolled through the aisles, marveling at the variety of flowers, ferns and dwarfed trees. She found roses, thistle, and even heather. Anne paused to brush her finger against the petals of a lavender sweet pea and caught sight of a chaise lounge, table and chairs in the far corner. This was even better than she’d expected.

  She stepped around a fig tree, then an apricot and plum, and continued to the chaise. A modest hearth was located nearby. Too bad she hadn’t brought a book. Rain pattered a little harder on the glass. She looked up at the sky. The clouds had darkened. Next time she would bring a book. For now, she would start a fire and spend a little time with her thoughts.

  With a sigh, Anne knelt at the hearth. She got a low fire burning, then sat on the chaise and stared up at the black clouds. What kind of family had she married into? The earl was clearly a bitter and power-hungry man. His wife. Anne shuddered. Lady Buchanen was far too familiar with her stepson. Were she and Kennedy having an affair? Kennedy seemed to want to avoid her, and Anne had detected no affinity on his part for her. Had she made advances toward him? Anne could well believe it.

  Kennedy didn’t fit with them. Yesterday, when he told Louisa that he didn’t mind buying dresses for her, and that he would gladly take them to the ball, he’d spoken like a real brother. The way he had hugged Anne to him and grabbed Louisa when the carriage wheel broke had caught her off guard. He was a man of action, and he cared about them—in some way, at any rate.

  She wasn’t certain what to make of the fact that he hadn’t come to her room last night. True, the night had been more eventful than expected. Still, shouldn’t a husband want to bed his wife? Despite his father’s demands that they have a child immediately, perhaps Kennedy didn’t want her. She recalled their wedding night. He had seemed… enthusiastic, until, that is, she’d learned he thought she was loose. Would the man never get it through his head that she cared about her honor? Whatever the case, she had to demand her wifely rights. It simply wasn’t right that a marriage wasn’t consummated. Her mother would be aghast if she learned they were not yet truly married.

  She started from her thoughts at a sudden gust of air that swept through the conservatory. She straightened and realized the door had been opened. The door slammed closed and she jumped to her feet. An instant later, she glimpsed Kennedy amongst the foliage. He neared and his gaze met hers. He wore a dark coat with no tie and his collar lay open, revealing tanned flesh.

  He neared her and said, “What the devil are you doing out here?” Then he saw the fire and nodded. “I can see this is already a favorite s
pot of yours.”

  Anne smiled. “Even on a day like today, it’s a very pleasant room to be in.”

  He took off his dripping coat and shook the water from it. “My mother used to spend a lot of time here.” He hung the coat over the back of a chair. “It’s raining hard. I imagine we can wait just a little while to see if the rain will let up before returning to the house.”

  A tremor rippled through her. Stuck alone with him in a room with nowhere to go?

  “If you have work to do, you needn’t worry about keeping me company,” she said. “I don’t mind being alone.”

  He pinned her with his gaze. “Is my company so terrible that you can’t bear to be alone with me for a short while?”

  “Oh no, that is not at all what I meant.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what it is about you, but I always end up saying the wrong thing.”

  Amusement glittered in his eyes. “You wouldn’t, per chance, be speaking of a similar effect to that which Louisa mentioned yesterday about her friend Robert always saying the wrong thing about her?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Hardly. That would imply some sort of affection, and I know how much you abhor such feelings from your wife.”

  To her surprise, he laughed. “You prove my point. You have some, if only a little, affection for me.”

  “Affection? How can I have affection for you? I hardly know you.”

  He grinned. “I’m a charming fellow.”

  Damn his soul, he was. But she wasn’t about to admit that. “I feel certain you have charmed many a lady, my lord.”

  “The only lady I’m interested in charming is you.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I believe you understand me,” he said.

  “Well, of course, I understand you. That is, I know what you said. As to your meaning, that could be anything.”

  “Come now, Anne, my meaning really can’t be just anything.”

  The way he said ‘anything’ left little doubt as to what he meant. Heaven help her, it had gotten awfully warm in the room.

  “They will probably begin to worry about us back at the house,” she said. “Perhaps we should return.”

  He crossed to where she stood and stopped inches away. “I don’t think they will worry about us overly much.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her against him.

  She immediately detected his hard length against her abdomen. “Oh dear,” she breathed.”

  “Oh dear, indeed,” he said, and covered her mouth with his.

  Her knees weakened and she grasped his shoulders to keep herself upright. He laughed low and deep, then gently thrust his tongue between her lips and into her mouth. He tasted of scotch. His hold tightened around her waist, pulling her impossibly close. Her head swam. He broke the kiss and pressed warm kisses along her cheek to her neck. She shivered.

  “Perhaps we should go to your bed chambers, my lord.”

  “We would never make it there without being waylaid by a family member,” he murmured against her flesh, “and I have no desire to be interrupted.”

  She cried out when he swung her into his arms. He laid her on the chaise lounge and came down on top of her. For an instant, he felt too heavy, though she found she liked the feeling. Then he levered up on his elbows and kissed her neck. He tugged her sleeve down and kissed her shoulder. An intense ache thrummed between her legs in rhythm with her heartbeat. She started at the realization that they were surrounded by glass.

  “My lord, anyone can see inside the conservatory. Perhaps we really should return to the house.”

  “At the very least, while I am making love to you, you could try calling me by my Christian name,” he said.

  She blinked. Was he reprimanding her—now? “As you wish, Kennedy,” she retorted.

  He froze, then slowly lifted his head and met her gaze. “Have I peeved you again, my sweet?”

  “You seem to make a habit of it,” she said.

  “This time, you may be as peeved with me as you like,” he said. “But we shall consummate our marriage.”

  She should have been ashamed, but, in truth, that was exactly what she wanted.

  Eyes locked with hers, he began inching up her skirt. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move. At last, his fingers made contact with her outer thigh. He flattened his palm against her flesh and slid his hand upward. His hand was so warm. No man had ever touched her so intimately. He slid off her onto the chaise beside her and continued his hand’s upward climb. When he neared the apex between her legs, she tensed. He gently kissed her cheek then nibbled her ear. She twisted slightly at the tickle. Then realized his fingers were brushing the intimate curls. Gently, he slipped a finger between her moist folds. She jammed her eyes shut and gripped his arm.

  “Relax, love,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She wasn’t afraid of being hurt, it’s just, she had never imagined a man would touch her there. However, to her surprise when his fingers brushed the sensitive nub, a tingle of pleasure rippled through her. She drew a breath. He began nibbling her ear again and the tingle traveled from her ear to the place where he brushed her sex. He applied a little more pressure and began massaging her.

  “Good heavens,” she breathed.

  The ache intensified. He flicked his tongue against her ear. The sensation was almost sinful. She started when he slid a finger inside her.

  “My goodness, Kennedy, do you think you should be doing that?”

  He laughed. “That and much more, if you will allow me.”

  Much more? She couldn’t imagine anything more--then he began to slide his finger in and out of her. A strange sense of pleasure rippled deep within her. He swirled his tongue. Heaven help her, how could something so innocent illicit such a decedent response?

  “You set me on fire,” he whispered, and her insides turned to jelly.

  He quickened his movements inside her. She should be ashamed. But she liked the sensation, liked the slide of his warm digit in and out of her. Was she supposed to like this? Her mother had explained what took place between a man and a woman, but she hadn’t told Anne about this, about the need that made her want to close her legs around Kennedy’s hand and beg him to end the torture.

  She became aware of his kisses moving down along her neck. His tongue flicked the sensitive flesh, then he gently sucked.

  “Let go,” he whispered. “Give in to the pleasure.”

  He nipped at her neck. A string of pleasure shot from her neck to the nub he massaged. She cried out with a pleasure that caused spots to race across her vision. Anne seized his arm and squeezed as the spasm rolled over her a second time.

  Gently, he stroked her until the pleasure dissipated into a soft echo. She was still breathing hard as he unfastened the falls on his breeches. She didn’t look down at his manhood—she’d seen that and didn’t need to be reminded that it was much larger than his finger. When he levered over her, she knew a moment of panic. Was she supposed to look him in the eye—how could she—or was she supposed to close her eyes?

  He smiled down at her. “Trust me, Anne.”

  She nodded and kept her eyes open as he settled between her legs. The warmth of his thighs against hers was far more compelling than the warmth of just his hand. His length bumped her opening. He reached between them and slipped the head of his manhood just inside her folds and she tensed. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers. When he breathed deep, she grasped his arms. Hard muscle flexed beneath her fingers and a thrill shot through her. His hips shifted—then he surged into her. A deep pinch came and went.

  Kennedy lifted his mouth from hers and looked down at her. “Are you well?”

  Anne nodded, though she wasn’t certain. He felt so strange inside her.

  He drew back and she gripped his arms tighter in readiness for another pinch when he thrust into her again. None came. He pulled back, then thrust. Kennedy lowered himself onto her and kissed her again, then drove deeper
. Pleasure mixed with a smidgen of pain startled her. His tongue slipped inside her mouth. Her head whirled as his thrusts increased speed. Pleasure rippled through her. He drove deeper and the pain increased a little. Still, she was shocked to find she wanted more.

  His kiss became insistent. With his next thrust, she lifted her hips. When their bodies collided, he groaned. The sound reverberated through her. Her mother hadn’t told her about any of this. She also hadn’t told her about the pleasure that exploded inside her when her husband drove so deep she thought he’d touched her soul.

  * * *

  Kennedy had read the paragraph in the report half a dozen times and still wasn’t certain what it said. His focus kept returning to yesterday afternoon—and last night—with Anne. There was something about her. She excited him. He found he was looking forward to getting to know her in the years that lay ahead. Even with Jacqueline, he’d never considered such a thing. He never thought of being without Jacqueline, but he hadn’t thought past what they had, either. With Anne, he found himself looking forward to more afternoons in the conservatory. With Jacqueline, he wanted her, felt he couldn’t get enough of her, but he also never felt…satisfied. Anne satisfied him in a way he’d never known possible.

  Was this love? He had believed himself to be in love with Jacqueline. The emotions had been intense, but somehow different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  A knock came to the door and he started from his thoughts as a footman entered.

  “Mr. John Weston to see ye, sir,” he said.

  John? “Show him in, immediately,” Kennedy said, but he didn’t have to wait, for John stepped into the room.

  Kennedy rose and hurried around his desk toward his friend. John strode toward him and the footman closed the door behind him. They met, clasped hands, and Kennedy said. “What happened? You have learned something.”

  Surprise shone on John’s face.

  “What is it?” Kennedy demanded.

  “You don’t know?”

  Kennedy’s heart began to pound. “Know what? Tell me, man.”

  “Your father is in a coma.”