The Marquess Meets His Match

by Maggi Andersen

  A town-crier called the hour. It was well past midnight.

  Beside her, Robert quizzed her about the evening as she lay back against the squab. Who she’d met, and liked, or disliked. She gave a rather droll description of Lord Branchford’s opinion of Oxford and was pleased when Robert laughed. But when her tongue seemed to grow thick, and she tripped over the words, she lapsed into silence.

  The carriage swerved around a corner and threw her against him. His arm came around her shoulders to steady her and remained. She leaned against his chest, enjoying his clean, manly smell far more than those with whom she’d been dancing, where the heavy use of scent and powder failed to disguise the rank smell of stale sweat.

  Not used to staying up so late, Kate yawned again. They went to bed with the chickens in Oxford. She peeped up at his handsome jawline in the half-dark. It was not done for a woman to show affection to her husband in public. She’d heard a woman at the ball criticize a wife for kissing her husband too demonstrably. In fact, it didn’t seem fashionable to love one’s husband at all. Affairs could be easily arranged if any of the gossip could be believed. If it was discreet, few appeared to mind. She didn’t understand this world of the ton and was not at all sure she wished to be part of it.

  “It won’t happen to us,” she murmured. The rhythmic clunk of the carriage wheels on the cobbles proved soporific, and her eyelids grew heavy.

  Robert tilted his head toward her. “What won’t?”

  “Never,” she said emphatically, closing her eyes. She drifted off to the sound of his deep chuckle, relishing the squeeze he gave her.

  Chapter Seven

  The carriage pulled up in Grosvenor Square.

  Robert gazed down at the small head resting against his shoulder. Kate was sound asleep. The lamplight fell upon her creamy cheek. He stroked her delicate skin with a finger and spoke her name. She didn’t stir. She was worn out, and understandably so. He suffered a stab of guilt. She’d irritated him asking about Arabella. Perhaps because she’d been right. He and Arabella had enjoyed a brief affair a year ago. He was more than a little annoyed at Arabella. She hadn’t addressed Kate correctly and her snide remarks were mean. She should direct her anger toward him, he was after all the real cause of it.

  He’d thrown Kate to the mercy of the ton tonight. And he knew only too well how harsh they could be. She’d done remarkably well, her fresh face and openness a stark contrast to some over-painted and spoiled aristos who were there. Those his uncle had despised. She’d made him proud, he had to admit. Several of his friends sought him out during the evening to offer their approval, and more than one commented that he was a lucky man.

  “I’ll carry Lady St. Malin, Soames,” he told the footman. Robert gathered her up. Her soft body encased in a corset, petticoats, and skirts nestled against his chest as he walked up the steps and into the house. How slight she was, how light in his arms. He tended to forget, she was such a forceful presence.

  When he reached her chamber, he found Brigitte waiting, dozing in a chair by the fire. “You may go.”

  He laid Kate on the bed. Her eyes opened briefly. “Oh, thank you Robert. Too kind.” He should have left her there with her maid, yet he found he didn’t wish to. He wanted to see more than the brief glimpse he’d had of this young woman who was now joined to him for life. She murmured as he turned her and unhooked her gown, stripping it and her petticoat off and throwing them over a chair.

  He unlaced the strings of her pretty stays, then paused, suffering another twinge of guilt. It didn’t seem right to do this while she slept. But perhaps she knew and enjoyed his ministrations.

  She murmured his name, and her delicious mouth widened in a smile. His mouth hovered above hers. Aroused, his blood quickened. It brought him up short, and he drew away. This was not what he’d intended. Anastasia awaited him in her apartments. Yet, he preferred to remain and make love to his wife. They must become lovers eventually, why not now? She had told him to wait, but a man couldn’t wait forever.

  Would she agree?

  Robert gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up, Kate.”

  She half sat up and opened her eyes, gazing at him. “What?”

  Her curls tumbled down in a glorious mass of sun-kissed locks.

  “I am undressing you. Do you mind?”

  “Are you putting me to bed, Robert? Sorry. So dreadfully weary.” She settled down in her shift and closed her eyes again.

  She had been through so much in these past months, and was so trusting, lying there in his arms, almost naked. What he saw of her body was delightful, and the brief glimpse he’d had of creamy skin, honey curls, and rose-tipped nipples when she’d stepped from her bath lingered tantalizingly in his mind. Her shift covered most of her slim legs. His fingers itched to raise it so that he might more thoroughly discover what lay beneath.

  He denied himself, resolutely removing her peach satin garters. Then he rolled down her stockings, enjoying the view of her shapely legs, her skin soft against his hands. The rose water she used drifted tantalizingly in the air. He wanted to bury his nose in her skin and inhale deeply. Her full breasts pressed against the fine lawn, and it was all he could do not to cup her breast and thumb the perky nipple. But he wanted her awake, and agreeable.

  “Kate?”

  She opened an eye. “I’m afraid I’m in my cups, Robert.”

  “Are you, sweetheart?”

  He wouldn’t stoop so low as to make love to a woman worse for drink. Not unless invited. He pulled back the bed covers and settled her in the bed. Her long hair spilled over the pillow, and for a moment, he stood there gazing down at her, before tucking a small foot into place.

  She curled up and gave a murmur of pleasure.

  With a stab of regret, he drew the covers over her. “Goodnight, Kate.”

  He poked at the fire and went to blow out the candles.

  “Why, what’s this?” He picked up a small wooden carving and marveled at how finely wrought it was. What expertise would be required to produce such a thing? She’d shown him this piece of wood in Cornwall, likening it to a horse jumping a log, and now it was a work of some skill. In fact, there were several, all of them beautifully wrought.

  “You are an astonishing young woman,” he said quietly, casting her a respectful glance where she slept in the big bed.

  More than enough room there for him, too, and he was tempted to climb in beside her. Perhaps just to sleep, and then later, what came naturally might occur. Half out of his coat, he hesitated. He shrugged his coat back on. They’d got off to a bad start. It would take more than this to set things to rights. No sense in risking an embarrassing rebuff.

  He wasn’t sure what held him back. She was his wife after all, dammit! But he blew out the candles and left the room.

  Descending the stairs, Robert pulled on his gloves and took his hat from a sleepy footman. Not wanting to have his own horses left standing, he’d given instructions earlier for a hackney and found it waiting. He would spend an hour with Anastasia who never retired until dawn, but the thought did not provide him with the usual enthusiasm.

  *

  Kate woke to the sun streaming in through the window. She rang for Brigitte, and she hurried in with a tray. “I’ve brought you a sweet roll and a hot drink, my lady.” She placed it on the table beside the bed and drew back the curtains.

  Kate yawned and stretched. “What time is it?” She leaned back against the pillows and sipped the hot, rich chocolate.

  “Ten of the clock, my lady.”

  “That late?” Kate put down the roll half eaten. She threw back the covers and put on her slippers. “It appears to be a fine day.”

  “It’s early for many Londoners, my lady. They go to bed at dawn and sleep into the afternoon.”

  “I suppose I shall grow used to it in time.” A wave of contentment warmed her. Last night she had braved the ton and come away relatively unscathed. Robert would be pleased she hadn’t disgraced his name. A small shaft of u
neasiness remained when she found it difficult to remember certain details of it. She longed to see him, to make sure. “Has my husband breakfasted?”

  “I believe he has, my lady. He left the house for the stables a little while ago.”

  Kate tried to hide her disappointment. “Did he leave word if he would be in for luncheon?”

  Brigitte helped Kate into her wrap. “I do not know, my lady. Will I ask Hove?”

  “Don’t bother. I believe I shall go to Hyde Park. I’ll wear my primrose yellow with the green petticoat and the straw bonnet, the one with yellow and white striped ribbons.”

  “And primrose leather gloves, my lady?”

  “No, the York tan.” Kate looked down at her shift. “I was so fatigued last night I must have dismissed you.” The niggling worry remained, had she drunk too much champagne?

  Brigitte held a hand to her mouth. She giggled. “You were so sleepy, his lordship dismissed me.”

  Kate’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, of course he did, I’d forgotten.” Had he undressed her? She vaguely remembered him covering her before she fell asleep again. She gazed at the thin lawn. He must have seen much of her. Perhaps, all of her.

  She quivered. Had he liked her body? He hadn’t remained or tried to wake her, which left her unsure. She sighed.

  “He assisted you to bed before he left for another engagement,” Brigitte said shaking out the folds in the yellow gown.

  Kate swung around to face her. The maid’s face was impassive. It hurt her that Brigitte appeared to relish telling her about Robert’s nocturnal habits. Servants knew far too much of what went on. They would know that she and Robert didn’t sleep together. “I daresay he wished to return to continue his game of cards. So kind of him to escort me home when I became fatigued,” she said airily. Her heart sank, and she wanted to cry. There was only one explanation for him leaving the house at that hour. Robert had a mistress. She should have expected it, but it struck her to the core.

  It was her fault. She was the one who had refused him his rights. What could she do?

  “I shall promenade in Hyde Park, Brigitte.”

  “Do you wish me to accompany you, my lady?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  “But my lady, should you go alone?”

  “Why not? I traveled alone from Oxford to Cornwall. I think I can manage the park by myself. And I want you to run an errand for me. I need some more of that scented bath soap.”

  She turned her back on Brigitte’s pout of disappointment.

  *

  Robert cantered to the end of Rotten Row. He dismounted to await a friend who’d been delayed in conversation. He had not enjoyed his ride, for the previous night left a bad taste in his mouth. As soon as he walked into his mistress’s chambers, Anastasia had been in a pet at the lateness of the hour. He found he didn’t desire her. Perhaps he was tired. He had had to placate her with a promise of a new bracelet and an evening at the pleasure gardens, something she delighted in, but he found tedious.

  While walking his horse, he caught sight of a prettily dressed woman strolling along the path through the elms toward him. Her lacy parasol shielded her face from the sun and his view.

  Her gown was undoubtedly expensive. Curious that such a well-dressed woman should walk alone without her maid, he watched her approach. When she drew close, she raised her parasol, and smiled a welcome, her eyes a warm green.

  Kate! Her loveliness and sweetness stunned him, causing a multitude of emotions to surge through him: frustrated desire, and the fear of being hurt, mingled with the need to protect her. It was quickly replaced with annoyance that she flouted convention.

  “Good morning, Robert. I do hope you enjoyed your ride.”

  Her wide-brimmed, flower-laden bonnet was perched at an enchanting angle on her head and a honeyed curl rested on a shoulder.

  He dismounted and kissed Kate’s fingers encased in York tan gloves. “Where’s your maid?”

  Her smile faltered. “I missed you at breakfast. I thought I’d come to see you. I sent Brigitte on an errand. I don’t see why she must accompany me everywhere.”

  He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that and clamped down his jaw. She had no knowledge of how he spent last night. “Weren’t you taught anything about the ways of the world in that country village you grew up in?” He knew his annoyance was unreasonable and could almost see his uncle shaking his head in disappointment.

  But there were pickpockets and loose screws to be found everywhere. A woman as deuced appealing as Kate wasn’t safe walking about alone.

  His horse whinnied at the approach of his friend, Southmore.

  “Damnation! It’s dangerous for you to go rambling about town,” he said heatedly. “I must insist you do not do it again.”

  Robert turned to the man waiting politely, mounted on his gray, silently witnessing what transpired between them.

  “Kate, I’d like to introduce Lord Southmore to you. Southmore, my wife, Lady St. Malin.”

  “Lord Southmore,” Kate murmured. She curtsied, her cheeks pink.

  Robert observed his friend. Southmore smiled sympathetically at Kate, damn his eyes. He took off his hat and bowed from the saddle. “Lady St. Malin. I’ve looked forward to meeting you. Such a pleasant day for a stroll. Are you enjoying city life?”

  She made an enticing moue with her full lips and Robert was struck again by how natural and unaffected she was compared to most women he knew. “It’s busy and noisy. People are not overall as friendly as in the country.” She flicked a reproving glance in Robert’s direction. “But despite its failings, I confess I do find it entertaining.”

  “I am totally in agreement with you,” Southmore replaced his hat with a warm smile. “I trust we can speak more on it this evening,”

  “I shall look forward to it, Lord Southmore.” Kate seemed too friendly for Robert’s liking. And he was suspicious of Southmore’s effusive attitude. The man’s cozy invitation rankled. Southmore looked far too elegant and polished on his gelding. In his dedicated pursuit of pleasure, Southmore was known for fancying married women, but he would not enjoy a dalliance with Kate.

  “I’ll accompany you home,” Robert said.

  They left Southmore, and leading his horse, Robert walked with Kate to the park gates. He tried to ignore Kate’s wounded expression. He did wish to make amends for his outburst. But would Kate believe him? There was so much he found difficult to explain. And he certainly wouldn’t attempt it here in the street.

  And she wasn’t about to make it any easier. Wouldn’t even look at him, dammit. When she was a few steps from the corner of their street, he said. “I must return my horse to the stables. Go on home. I’ll speak to you there.”

  At the lane leading to the mews, he stood and watched her enter the house, then turned away.

  A half hour later, Robert returned from the stables. Hove took his hat and crop and Robert quickly climbed the stairs. In his suite he called for a bath. He’d had time to order his thoughts, which he found easier when she wasn’t with him. He’d been grappling to bring these changes in his life under some sort of control. Difficult with the responsibilities which now rested on his shoulders. He was slowly getting on top of the business problems, but he would have to make a better fist of it with his wife. It was time to smooth things over. What better way than by making love? Once he and Kate were man and wife in the biblical sense, things would settle into their proper order. He hurriedly bathed and changed, then made his way to her chamber. It was empty. He descended the stairs, running his hands through his still damp hair.

  “Where is Lady St. Malin, Hove?”

  “In the salon, milord. It was very thoughtful what my lady did for our footman, Barker, was it not?”

  Robert paused, a foot on the bottom step, not entirely sure who Barker was. “What was that, Hove?”

  “Her ladyship personally purchased a powder at the store for his ailment.”

  “She did? That was kind.”<
br />
  Hove’s face cracked into a rare smile. “Very kind indeed.”

  Robert headed for the salon. His fascinating little lady wife proved to be thoughtful and kind as well as provocative and damned stubborn. She’d shopped for a servant? If it got around, he’d be a laughingstock, but he found he didn’t care. Perhaps she was teaching him how the ton should behave. He’d been brought up not to give a thought beyond his own comfort.

  Kate stood by the tall arched window, the light turning her hair gold as she swung round to frown at him.

  “Well, here you are.”

  “Yes, I’d like us to talk, Robert. You had no call to speak to me like that in front of Lord Southmore.”

  “Southmore is not a man to be trusted.”

  “He is your friend, is he not?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I approve of everything he does.” Robert had the uncomfortable recollection that he had found his friend’s womanizing amusing once. No sense in telling Kate that, however.

  He strolled over to the drinks table and picked up a decanter. “Do you care for a sherry?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Robert dropped his hand and went to sit on the sofa. He watched her agitated walk around the room, her skirts swaying gracefully around her. “Come here, Kate.”

  She remained where she was.

  “Please?”

  “If you wish.” She crossed the room to stand before him.

  He took her hand, turning it over in his large one, marveling at her delicate fingers. He thought of the carvings he’d seen on her mantel. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  “Are you?” She pulled her hand away, her voice doubtful.

  He patted the sofa cushion beside him. “We need to learn more about one another, don’t you agree?”

  When she hesitated, he seized her by the waist and tumbled her onto his lap.

  “The servants might come in.” Kate struggled to rise, but he held her fast within his arms.