Rebel Marquess

by Amy Sandas

  The marquess frowned and guided them through a tricky turn at the end of the ballroom before he replied in a tone heavy with disapproval. “Miss Terribury, you have a tendency to ramble.”

  “And you have an odd aversion to explaining yourself. So glad we are getting to know each other better.” She smiled brightly. “But I am afraid I must insist you satisfy my inquiry before the dance is done.”

  Eliza thought she saw a slight quiver in the firm line of his lips, suggesting a hint of humor. But then his countenance darkened further and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Oddly, the fierce expression only made Eliza’s heart beat faster, and not with fear. She was enjoying their verbal skirmish, almost to a point where she didn’t care what people might think of their interaction.

  But she knew she would have to field her mother’s relentless questions later, and she intended to have a full understanding of why the elusive marquess had publicly demonstrated an interest in her, minor though it may be.

  Eliza raised her brows, silently prompting him for an answer.

  “I am not one to be manipulated, Miss Terribury.”

  Again, her name sounded like a sneer from his lips. Could he not understand they were on the same side of this battle?

  Irritated by his insistence in treating her as an adversary, she gave a pert nod and replied with an extra dose of gravity to match his sober expression. “Since I have always preferred to address what I want straight on, we shall get along nicely then. And now that we have effectively established our positions, can you tell me why you bothered to ask me to dance?”

  He looked down at her with sharp intensity in his gaze.

  A shiver of sensation chased over Eliza’s skin and she suddenly felt as she had when they had been alone together in the bathing room. Her skin was too tight, her clothing too warm and her lungs struggled to draw a full breath.

  She swallowed and forced herself not to look away. After another moment, the marquess replied darkly, “You are exasperatingly persistent.”

  The odd physical spell dispersing, Eliza grinned. “Thank you.”

  This time, she was quite certain she saw his lips twitch. Then he heaved a deep sigh, as if having to explain himself took more effort than he was prepared to exert. He lifted his gaze to peer over her head. “I could think of no other way to escape your mother’s company.”

  Eliza coughed. Then sputtered. Then she pulled her fingers from his and pressed the back of her gloved hand to her lips as her eyes started to water.

  Her odd behavior brought his attention back to her as he eyed her with shock and wary concern at once. “Miss Terribury. Are you all right?”

  Eliza could only shake her head, thinking it was lucky he was such an accomplished dancer as their steps hadn’t faltered a bit in spite of her sudden fit. Then that thought incited another blast of hilarity. A bubble of laughter escaped from her lips and she met his gaze apologetically.

  Realizing her plight, he responded with what might be construed as an exasperated roll of his eyes, except that in its haughty condescension, it did not resemble any eye-roll Eliza had ever seen before. “Calm yourself. Nothing could be that amusing.”

  Eliza gave another small cough as she settled her fingers back into his hand. The laughter had subsided, but she still had to form her words around a wide grin that would not dissipate. “Tell me you see the irony, my lord. To evade my Mother, you claim a dance with me, which in turn will only strengthen her determination to bind you to our family indefinitely.” She shook her head. “You would have been better off turning on your heel without a word.”

  “Perhaps I should do that now,” he countered dryly.

  Eliza stiffened. He wouldn’t leave her stranded in the middle of the dance floor. Would he? She studied his face. He wore his arrogance like a mask. With the stoic and prideful expression firmly in place, it was hard to see anything else. Then she glimpsed the twinkle of mischief hidden in the depths of his chocolate-brown eyes.

  A warm feeling spread through her body, emboldening her.

  “You could,” she replied in an airy tone, “but I would feel fully justified in making a scene.”

  He arched his brows imperiously. “You expect such a threat to sway me? Female theatrics have no effect upon me, I assure you.”

  Eliza shrugged. “It is just as well. I have never been very good at making scenes. I have a hard time staying in character, especially if it’s a comedy. I laugh too easily.”

  Something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle rumbled from his throat, but when he replied, his tone was heavy with boredom. “It seems our only choice is to finish the dance and take our chances with Lady Terribury’s relentless ambition.”

  “If you insist,” Eliza replied with an exaggerated sigh. “Though relentless may be an understatement.”

  “It was an attempt at gallantry.”

  “How noble of you.”

  “Indeed,” he drawled.

  Eliza suppressed a grin.

  Then he exerted gentle pressure at the small of her back to draw her into him as he directed them in a grand sweeping turn. At the height of the turn, Eliza’s body was pressed fully against his in an indecently firm embrace. Then he relaxed his hold and the required inches separated them once more.

  Eliza blamed her sudden breathlessness on the rigors of the dance but found it difficult to meet his gaze while her cheeks warmed with increased awareness. Sliding her gaze to the side, she noticed they were still the focus of many curious gazes throughout the ballroom.

  “My mother may not be the only cause for concern,” she said thoughtfully. “We seem to be garnering an inordinate amount of attention.”

  “No one else would dare make unwarranted assumptions. All of England is aware of my aversion to the Terribury brood.”

  His words, uttered so carelessly, effectively chased away every ounce of pleasure Eliza had been experiencing the last several minutes. She hadn’t realized how much fun she was having until the bottom fell out from under her feet. Of course, he would only see her as the last in a long line. Her mother and sisters had forged a well-trod path through society. Especially where the Marquess of Rutherford was concerned.

  “I see.” She tried not to let the embarrassment color the tone of her voice. But when she felt him stiffen beneath her hand, she realized it was too late.

  “I should not have been so blunt. I owe you an apology.”

  “Do not be ridiculous, my lord.” Eliza lifted her chin to meet his gaze square on. His earnest expression struck her oddly and her stomach quivered as if she were falling from a terrifying height. “I cannot fault you for telling the truth.”

  “Good manners should have kept the words behind my teeth.”

  “Yes, they should have,” Eliza managed a jaunty grin. “But I think I will hold onto your vowels for another time. I have a feeling you will owe me several apologies before our association has run its course.”

  Chapter Five

  The next day dawned bright and lovely.

  Eliza dressed quickly, wrapping up in a heavy shawl and grabbing her notebook and a pencil before heading outside. She hoped to have a few hours to herself before other guests ventured from their rooms. Though she had lived in London nearly all of her life and kept London hours in everything else, she had always been an exceptionally early riser. With parties and balls often going strong through the early hours of morning, Eliza usually only got a couple hours of sleep before her internal clock urged her awake. But it seemed enough for her. She could not imagine sleeping past one o’clock in the afternoon as most were wont to do. Half the day was lost by then.

  This morning, though she had not found her bed until nearly two o’clock, she felt well-rested and anxious to start her day.

  She and Rutherford had managed to effectively avoid each other for the remainder of the evening following their waltz. She wished she could say the same for her mother, but as soon as the marquess deposited Eliza at her father’s side, Lady Terribury h
ad rushed over and insisted on a recounting of every word and gesture.

  Eliza did her best to convince her mother the dance was incidental, but it was a wasted effort. Lady Terribury had probably fallen asleep mentally running through options of what to serve at the wedding breakfast.

  Stepping outside, Eliza vowed to set aside any and all thoughts on marriage, Rutherford, her mother and the London Season. The sky was a clear stark blue with the faintest wisps of white clouds just brushing the horizon. Though still very early spring, the grass was already a vivid shade of green and the trees surrounding the house were fresh with buds.

  Eliza tucked her notebook against her chest and folded her arms within the shawl as she started away from the house in brisk strides. During her conversation with Lady Blackbourne the night before, she had asked about a good walking trail. The countess had recommended a path through the woods that crossed a low creek bed and led to a hill topped by a copse of ancient trees.

  The spot sounded perfectly inspirational and Eliza was anxious to get the words that had been flying through her mind the last couple of days down on paper. She strode quickly and took very little note of her surroundings as she passed. Her mind’s eye was already directing the vision of her protagonist as he rode across a rough and bitter landscape at a breakneck speed, determined to reach…

  Eliza scowled.

  Where exactly is he going in such a terrifying hurry?

  She saw the scene taking place just after dusk when the night was still new, but Sir Randolph had already been riding for hours. His horse was lathered, his skin chapped from the wind, but his heart determined.

  Why?

  Eliza twisted her lips ruefully. Her hero was desperately in need of some proper motivation.

  She looked up from where she had been blindly watching her sturdy brown boots eat up the ground beneath her. Up ahead, a narrow footbridge spanned a deep gorge that once must have been an impressive river. Now only a shallow stream meandered lyrically over smooth stones at the bottom of the steeply sloped sides. The bridge was weathered and worn and on the opposite bank long golden grasses grew amid wide-spaced trees. Coming from the earthy shadows of the forest, the other side of the river appeared to be basking in the early morning sunlight.

  As she crossed the bridge, Eliza imagined she was traversing into a forgotten land.

  When she reached the other side, she was convinced the air was more still and heavier somehow. The birds were more melodic and the sky more vividly blue. There was no path on this side of the river, so Eliza started through the long grass toward a sharp rise in the landscape. The countess had mentioned a hill, so Eliza found a way up the steep incline, falling to her knees as her boots slid on the soft ground. But once she reached the top a smile of wonder widened her lips.

  The land leveled out and spread before her in bright sunshine. The copse of ancient trees Lady Blackbourne had mentioned was so much more than Eliza had pictured. The roots of the trees sank heavily into the ground and black gnarled limbs twisted upward and outward from thick trunks.

  Eliza trod slowly across the hilltop, scanning the scene with visceral interest. No breeze stirred the air and all smelled faintly of earth, crisp grass and moist pungent herbs. The golden grass did not stand tall in this space but lay against the ground in a rolling carpet. Approaching the center of the clearing, she turned in place and noticed that the trees formed a large ring around the top of the hill, protecting the clearing with the reach of their black, twisted arms.

  Feeling the warmth of the sun more directly, she removed her shawl to spread it on the ground before she lowered herself to the grass. She took a moment to tip her smiling face to the sky, grateful Lady Blackbourne had thought to direct her to such a perfect location.

  Then she opened her notebook, balanced it on her bent knees and began to write.

  Rutherford did not expect to see anyone about so early in the day. He was rarely up at such an unnatural hour, but he’d had a fitful night of sleep and finally decided to rise rather than continue tossing about in his bed. He’d hoped a walk might help him to define the source of his uneasiness so he could rid himself of it. But he had been stomping about the grounds of Silverly for almost an hour and still had not been able to dispel the odd sort of disquiet seething beneath his skin.

  After a while, he had turned his thoughts toward Grimm’s problem. He had an idea for how to get the signet ring back but still needed to work out some of the details. The plan would be tricky to pull off and was not without significant risk. Yet the more he thought about it, the more he discovered he was looking forward to it despite the danger inherent in its execution. His life had gotten far too complacent in recent years and Grimm’s little problem provided an unexpected turn of excitement.

  With his thoughts deeply engaged in plotting the details of the scheme to save Grimm’s hide, he did not notice Miss Terribury until he was nearly upon her.

  As soon as he noticed her, he stopped. It was his blasted luck he would encounter this woman of all people. She was obviously asleep, and since she hadn’t seen him he could walk away with no one needing to know he had come upon her at all.

  But as he stood there, something about her reclining form drew his attention.

  A dark woolen shawl was spread beneath her on the ground. She lay on her side with her head resting on an outstretched arm and her other hand lying open-palmed on a small notebook. Her legs were bent in a relaxing pose and her skirts had ridden up her calves just enough for him to see the lovely turn of her legs above the edge of her serviceable boots.

  It was a charming scene. Picturesque in a way he was surprised he even noticed. He didn’t often make note of such things with his thoughts typically turned toward more practical matters.

  An instinct for self-preservation urged him to continue on and leave her as she was. But a deeply ingrained thread of chivalry tugged at his conscience and insisted he wake her. Not that he thought she was in any specific danger while on Silverly grounds, but one never knew when a less conscionable man might happen past. Blackbourne did occasionally have trouble with poachers and the like.

  Already regretting his decision, he took the last few steps to her side and crouched down beside her. He reached out to her shoulder, intending to jostle her awake, but was distracted at the last minute by the notebook beneath her hand. He had expected to see ladylike sketches of flora or fauna. But the pages were covered in script slanted frantically across the pages as if she had been forced to write quickly in order to keep up with her thoughts.

  He tilted his head to get a better angle in a shameless attempt to decipher what she had written.

  Before he could make out any of the words, she shifted, straightening her legs and rolling to her back. She arched in a gentle stretch of her spine as she reached both arms over her head.

  He glimpsed a natural sensuality in her movements contained beneath a layer of naïve innocence, visible now only in the unguarded moment as she traversed from sleep to wakefulness. He wondered what it would be like to be lying beside her as her warm body awakened.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Irritated with the direction of his thoughts, he reached out and nudged her shoulder none too gently.

  When she barely stirred, he nudged her again.

  She muttered incoherently in response and her eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to open her eyes to the sunlight. When her sleepy gaze found him crouching beside her, a slow smile spread her lips, sending a shockingly sensual punch straight to his gut.

  “Sir Randolph,” she murmured softly, sounding like a woman welcoming a lover.

  “Randolph?” he repeated dumbly as his frown deepened. Who the hell was Sir Randolph?

  Hearing his voice, she started in surprise and rushed to full wakefulness. He saw the exact moment she recognized him. With awkward movements, she pushed herself to a seated position and drew her legs in beneath her skirts. An attractive blush spread across her cheeks. Reaching for her n
otebook, she snatched it up in both hands and closed it with a snap before setting it protectively in her lap.

  Fully awake now, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Ah, Lord Rutherford. What…? What are you doing here?”

  Her obvious confusion was charming and Rutherford scowled more fiercely. “How long have you been out here, Miss Terribury?”

  She paused in her attempts to smooth back the wispy strands of brown hair that had slipped from her chignon. Looking at him with round eyes, she blinked. Then she lowered her brows and tilted her head to the side as she peered up at the sky.

  “Well, the sun is not yet terribly high, so I imagine it is still somewhat early in the day. I can only hazard a guess to say it must be sometime around ten or eleven o’clock?”

  She finished with a question and a smile, making him wonder if the girl were ever out of sorts. When he didn’t answer, she continued. “If that is the case, then I have been here for approximately three hours or so.”

  “Do you often make a habit of falling asleep in unfamiliar landscapes?”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, but this landscape and I have become quite well known to each other this morning.” As she spoke, she pushed herself to her knees and adjusted her skirts as if in preparation to rise.

  With manners bred firmly into his muscle and bone, Rutherford straightened and held out a hand.

  She paused and dropped her head back to look up at him with an odd expression on her face, as if she were surprised by his offer to assist her. The angle of the sun brought out flecks of gold in the depths of her muddy-green eyes that danced with gentle merriment. After a brief moment of consideration, her lips curved softly, as if she didn’t even realize she was smiling.

  Neither of them wore gloves. Her hand was warm and smooth and gripped his firmly as she rose to her feet. Then she turned to pick up her shawl. She kept the notebook tucked securely beneath her arm and he wondered what it contained to be treated with such care.

  “I will escort you back to the house.” It was the gentlemanly thing to do and his grandmother had made damned sure he knew his role as gentleman.