Rebel Marquess

by Amy Sandas

  And since Lord Rutherford had proven himself to be exceptionally good at evading her mother at every turn, Eliza decided not to worry so much about her mother’s ambition and to enjoy her evenings as best she could. Not an easy task when she was packed so tightly into the gas-lit drawing room she couldn’t turn around without stepping on someone’s foot.

  Eliza sighed and sipped the last of her punch. Considering the effort it had taken to shoulder through the crowd to the refreshment table in the first place, she had hoped it would last a bit longer. Without the cooling effects of the effervescent drink, she swiftly felt overwhelmed by the crushing heat. She would have fanned herself, but her elbows were pinned to her sides. Someone jostled her from behind and she was barely able to keep her footing. She had a horrible flashing vision of being trampled in the crowd of guests. One small slip and she would disappear beneath an ocean of silk, satin and lace.

  Her lungs started to feel tight. She lifted her chin in an effort to draw a clear breath, but she felt a strange panic twist in her chest. She looked around, and as if by a stroke of providence, the crowd suddenly thinned enough for her to catch sight of open terrace doors.

  “Mother, I am going to catch some air. I will be back.”

  “What? Lizzie, where are you going?” Lady Terribury asked but Eliza had already put several steps between them and the space had immediately been filled by other milling guests. She could not find the motivation to worry about her mother right now. The panic was spreading out from her chest, making her legs feel unstable as she pushed past people standing as oblivious obstacles between her and the fresh air she knew awaited her outside.

  It may have taken ten minutes or twenty to reach the doors, but to Eliza it felt like half a life time. When she finally stepped out onto the terrace, she pressed her hands to her abdomen and drew in deep breaths like an ocean diver coming up for air. Slowly, the panic started to recede and Eliza realized she was not the only one to escape the confines of the house in search of open air. Perhaps a dozen other guests milled about on the terrace.

  To avoid the curious glances being cast her way, she strolled away from the drawing room doors. The Southwicks were old friends of the Terribury family, and she was familiar with the terrace and gardens from previous visits. Not ready to return to the oppressive atmosphere indoors, she recalled a lovely enclosed gazebo in the corner of the walled garden. It was the perfect place to restore herself away from speculative gazes.

  She strode to the stairs at the far end of the terrace, grateful that this part of the garden was beyond the reach of illumination from the party. Once in the shadows, she quickened her steps and sped across the lawn. The cool grass dampened her slippers but the night air was mild and welcoming after the cloying heat of the drawing room.

  She reached the arched entrance of the gazebo and saw the small structure was unlit and blessedly unoccupied. Four deep cushioned benches lined the outer walls and in each of the corners stood a small flowering tree. Graceful potted ferns sat on stands of varying heights in the spaces between, filling the shadows with lush greenery. It was the perfect place to share secret confidences with a dear friend or to spend a rainy day with a good book. Eliza imagined this was the reason for having the gazebo enclosed with windows rather than being left open to the elements. The light of the moon created a dark and dreamy mosaic as it filtered gently through the stained glass that graced the upper window panels.

  Eliza settled gratefully into the corner of one bench beneath the low hanging branch of a potted magnolia tree. The exotic tree was flowering and the scent of the blooms filled the gazebo. The scene was so lovely and so far removed from the constant socializing her mother had insisted on over the last weeks that Eliza decided to be selfish and claim as many peaceful minutes as possible. Her mother would come in search of her sooner or later and would likely be furious when she found Eliza hiding here. But until then, Eliza intended to make the most of her momentary solitude.

  Slipping off her damp slippers, she drew her feet up onto the bench and reached above her head to finger the velvet petals of a purple magnolia.

  Such an exotic flower, lush and lovely. The petals were strong but so soft to the touch. The rich, vibrant color could be seen even in the darkness. Inspiration sparked and Eliza’s thoughts twisted back into the realm of her imagination, and she saw the figure of her errant knight turned mysterious highwayman.

  What had begun as a medieval tale about a knight with a scarred soul and lost loyalties had grown into something else entirely. And she blamed it solely in the enigmatic gentleman thief. He had been too intriguing and contradictory in nature. His persona exuded mystery and romantic intrigue.

  But he needed something, or someone, to disrupt his cloaked obscurity and force him from the anonymous safety of the night. A woman.

  Eliza plucked the magnolia from the branch and cradled it in her palm as she studied it a bit closer.

  The highwayman’s lady needed to represent a perfect balance to his shadowed and covert nature. A woman as blatantly innocent of vice and immorality as he was guilty of it?

  How would he encounter such a gentle lady in the dark of night on a country road?

  The magnolia warmed and softened as she gently turned it over in her hand, already wilting in its separation from the tree.

  A woman cut off from everything, tucked away, withering from lack of life. In a nunnery? Yes! But she escaped, ran off in the night. This is when the two meet.

  “Un-bloody-believable.” The muttered phrase startled Eliza from her reverie. She dropped the flower to the floor as she looked quickly to the large figure blocking the doorway of the gazebo. “What are you doing here?”

  Eliza recognized Lord Rutherford’s haughty cadence. She sighed and leaned over to pick the magnolia blossom up off the stone floor. “I was enjoying a few moments of thoughtful solitude.”

  She straightened again and was surprised to see he had crossed the threshold and was striding toward her. She’d expected him to turn about and head in the opposite direction the moment he realized she was here.

  She tipped her head back to look into his face. With a shiver of awareness, she wondered anew at his height and breadth. He could very easily be quite intimidating if not for the fact that his overbearing arrogance had a tendency to amuse her.

  She sensed rather than saw his scowl in the darkness. “You have an ungodly knack for being everywhere I want to go,” he accused.

  She tried to suppress the smirk teasing her lips. “And you seem to have a knack for interrupting the rare occasions I manage to get some time alone. You can imagine that growing up in a household with so many siblings, time to oneself is a precious blessing and not easily come by.”

  “No, I cannot,” he replied as he seated himself at the other end of the bench. Eliza barely had time to draw her feet in to keep him from sitting on them. A blast of warmth overtook her at his unexpected proximity. She struggled to gain back a foothold in their conversation.

  “You cannot what?” she asked.

  “Imagine what it is like to grow up as you did. I was an only child raised in my grandmother’s household. There was no lack of solitary days.”

  “Hmm. Sounds lovely.”

  He turned to look at her, and though he remained shadowed, she was able to make out the strong contours of his face. The angles and edges appeared overly harsh under the glimmer of moonlight, and she felt a swift urge to smooth them with her hands.

  She stiffened at the intimate turn of her thoughts and said the first thing that came to mind. “What brings you to my little haven from the masses?” A terrible idea flared and she leaned toward him to touch his arm in sudden concern. “You are not on an errand for my mother, I hope.”

  He scoffed expertly. “Any direction from your mother would lead me straight to the altar. No, I would never accept a task given by Lady Terribury.”

  Eliza relaxed with a sigh, reluctantly drawing her hand back. “An excellent precaution. I wish I h
ad thought of it myself.” Then she wouldn’t have the image of his gloriously naked body forever branded in her mind.

  “Your mother could have no idea I am here,” he continued, “since I have not yet entered the house.”

  “Do you always take a detour to the garden gazebo before joining a party?” she inquired with affected naiveté.

  “Impertinent minx,” he muttered, though there was no animosity in his tone. There was actually an uncharacteristic warmth in his words that created a softening of Eliza’s bones from head to toe. “Not that I have to explain anything to you, but I am here only as a favor to my grandmother.”

  Eliza raised a brow. “Lady Rutherford could not visit the gazebo herself?”

  He snorted in a very manly, dignified way. “Grandmother has reached an age when she is able to choose when and how she socializes, which is hardly ever. Why should she when has me to send off on her little missions of great importance?”

  Eliza did not need to ask why he didn’t simply refuse. The answer was obvious enough despite the thread of animosity in his tone whenever he spoke of the great lady. The man loved his grandmother.

  “And what task has she given you tonight, then?” Eliza asked, curious what would lure the marquess into the dark garden.

  He looked at the flower in her hand. “Magnolias.”

  “Magnolias?”

  “Grandmother wishes to plant some trees in her garden and heard of the purple-colored magnolias here. She bade me investigate the exact hue and report back to her on the morrow.”

  “Is she here in London, then?”

  “She spends most of her time here.”

  “And you came straight to the gardens without greeting your hosts?”

  “No point in going through the house when my purpose is out here.”

  “Aside from good manners, I suppose there is not,” she conceded with a reluctant grin. What was it about his haughtiness she found so amusing? His unbelievable conceit should annoy her, yet she felt somehow most of it was a put on. “You inspect the flowers in the cover of darkness, which I am sure you realize will make it difficult to determine the exact hue, rather than be forced to engage in a social interaction with those you have no personal interest in.”

  “Correct.”

  “It is amazing the lengths to which you will go in order to remain elusive and detached from those who would seek your company.”

  “Not amazing, just something I have been practicing for many years,” he drawled.

  She laughed then, unable to hold it back any longer. And when she turned to look at him seated at the other end of the small bench, she could have sworn she saw one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk of humor.

  “What? Is that…” She leaned forward dramatically to get a closer look. “It couldn’t be. Is that a smile, my lord?”

  His chuckle was barely audible, but Eliza heard it as close as she was, and the lovely rumbled tones warmed her from the inside out.

  “Do not tell anyone,” he ordered.

  There was a new heaviness in his voice, an intimacy in the tone she noted immediately in the way her body responded with a heightened level of sentience. She felt an inexplicable urge to curl her toes into his lap.

  His gaze pierced intently through the shadowed night. “Miss Terribury.”

  “Yes?” she murmured, wondering if he would mind if she scooted just a bit closer on the bench.

  “I believe there is something…” he turned his great shoulders toward her and cocked his head, “…yes, there is something on your shoulder.”

  She stiffened abruptly, a chill racing down her spine. “Excuse me?”

  He leaned in a little closer and his exotic masculine scent drifted to her.

  “Just a spider,” he said then and lifted a hand as if he intended to brush it away.

  But it was too late.

  Eliza heard the word spider and her entire body went into flight mode. She jumped to her feet before it even registered he might be able to vacate the crawly creature from her person without much ado. But then spiders always managed to completely erase the rational part of her brain with no effort at all. It was the thought of those many legs that always had her jumping from her skin. The fact that she actually had one of the things on her was too much to bear. She brushed wildly at her shoulder and turned about as if trying to see every angle of her own person at once, muttering all the curse words she knew under her breath in an effort to stem the rising panic.

  “Miss Terribury. Miss Terribury, calm yourself.”

  It took a few moments to realize the marquess had risen from the bench as well and had grasped her arms to still her frantic movements. He leaned toward her, putting his face directly in front of her to get her attention. “Miss Terribury, if you would stop dancing about, I will check to see if he is still there.”

  Eliza forced a measure of control over herself that took Herculean effort, though her feet continued an agitated little dance on the stone floor. She craned her neck around to get a look at her shoulder. “Is it a he?” she asked. “I hope it’s a he. I understand the females of the species can be larger and more vicious. Oh, please let it be a he,” she ended on a plaintive whine.

  “Stand still and I will have a look.”

  His smoothed his large hands up and down the length of her arms. As a soothing gesture it worked well to ease her alarm. She held herself as rigid as possible as she waited for his verdict. The scent of him and the great solid warmth of his body so close to her managed to calm and distract her enough so she felt she might be able to think clearly again.

  Still rubbing her arms, he met her eyes. “I do not see it. I imagine you shook it lose.”

  Eliza sighed heavily, slumping her shoulders. Relief flushed through her limbs. “Thank heavens. I am afraid—” Her words stuck in her throat as she froze in renewed panic. She could feel something tickling down the length of her spine. Her gaze locked with the marquess’s in terror. “Oh no, he’s in my gown!”

  She wrenched free of his hands and reached behind her to tear away at the buttons of her dress. Only one thought was in her mind. The spider was in her dress and her dress was keeping him there. She needed to get the thing off. She was no longer mindful of anything else and terrified whimpers and shrieks escaped her lips as she tried to reach the tiny row of buttons down her back.

  Finally, Rutherford grasped hold of her again and turned her around. Very adeptly, he loosened the back of her gown while she jumped from one foot to the other.

  “Oh please, get him out. Get. Him. Out,” she muttered mindlessly, hoping the many-legged thing hadn’t gotten too far into her underclothes.

  “Calm yourself,” he ordered. “I cannot search with you flailing about like that.”

  Eliza bit her lip and tried to keep from jumping out of her skin as Rutherford examined the folds of her open gown and then the bared skin of her back. He ran his hands over the curve of her shoulders and down her spine, smoothing away the raised goose bumps. He was thorough in his investigation for the wayward arachnid. The gentle but purposeful sweep of his fingers reached lightly along her sides and up to the sensitive skin at her nape.

  He ran his palm along the curve of her spine and his calm and assured touch caused a spread of warmth through her body that went bone deep. It weighed down her limbs and created a disruptive flutter in her belly that had nothing to do with her fear of spiders.

  “Oh, my word,” the whispered exclamation came from the doorway.

  Eliza and Rutherford turned together to see a small crowd had gathered around the entrance to the gazebo. Hot embarrassment and ice-cold panic flooded her system together as she realized the picture she and the marquess created for the shocked observation of the growing mass of guests. Her panicked shrieks must have drawn the attention of the party.

  No, no, no. This was not happening.

  She couldn’t even look at the marquess, though she felt his hands carefully pulling the back of her gown closed as he stepp
ed in front of her as if he would shield her from the gawkers. But then one particular gawker pushed her way to the front of the crowd and Eliza had to fight back a groan at the full realization of what was occurring.

  “Lizzie?” Lady Terribury’s mouth gaped and her eyes were round as the moon as she looked over the scandalous scene that should have had her dancing for joy. In her shock, she seemed to have been rendered utterly senseless, and after damning Eliza by announcing her identity, she seemed incapable of forming any other words.

  A new kind of panic had taken hold of Eliza and she struggled to find some explanation that would make it all right. But words failed her completely. There was nothing she could say. The image she and the marquess presented was far too damning. No one would believe any attempt at explaining away what they would see as clear evidence she had been compromised.

  Lord Terribury came forward to stand beside her mother and Eliza nearly crumpled in dismay at the fierce expression on her father’s face.

  “My lord,” Lord Terribury said sternly as he looked at the marquess with the indignation of a protective father. “You will make amends.”

  No!

  Eliza turned wild eyes to the marquess. Her breath was trapped in her lungs. Surely, he would refuse.

  He still held the back of her gown closed with one hand as he looked out over the crowd. His posture was rigid with all the arrogance and pride his social position afforded him. His scowl was the only indication he was the slightest bit perturbed by the present predicament.

  But then again, he always scowled.

  Eliza closed her eyes. He would think she designed this. That she had somehow planned the encounter, the spider and the witnesses. For some reason, the idea of being the object of his distrust was nearly as distressing as the rest of it.

  “You will give us a moment.” Rutherford’s statement should have been scoffed at. To expect he would be left alone with the girl he’d evidently ravished was conceit in the highest form. But to Eliza’s astonishment, people actually started to filter out of the gazebo. Her mother and father were the last to leave.