Rebel Marquess

by Amy Sandas

  “Not only that,” she continued, “the thieves seem to have had a change of heart.”

  “Oh?” he asked blandly. “How so?”

  “All of the stolen items were anonymously turned in to the authorities, who promptly returned them to their owners. With Judith’s precious jewels returned, Ashdown seems to have lost interest in his crusade to bring the men to justice.”

  “If they returned everything, I suppose it is unlikely they will rob again.”

  “Exactly,” she said with a nod. “Anyway, after the robbery, I found myself rather inspired.”

  “By the highwaymen?”

  “By one of them in particular.”

  He looked at her sharply, which she countered with an innocent grin that made him nervous.

  “And your novel is about him?” He felt exposed. At the same time, he experienced another sharp prick of jealously over a man who was in actuality himself.

  His head was starting to ache.

  “Only loosely based,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  Her nonchalance did nothing to ease his creeping discomfort.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dinner was a formal affair with everyone seated by social rank. Eliza was nowhere near the marquess through the elaborate seven-course meal.

  Which was fine with her.

  Seeing Rutherford again after the weeks of his absence made it clear her emotions had somehow gotten entangled in the mess of their forced association. She felt things so much deeper, more acutely, when he was near. Her senses were heightened, her thoughts became easily muddled and her body hummed with an odd sort of expectancy. She wished she didn’t know what it was that made her heart trip over itself and her blood run warm and thick through her body.

  It was him.

  Highwayman. Marquess.

  It did not matter. It was the way his voice grew richer when he lowered it to talk to her alone. It was the way she felt feminine and strong when she stood face-to-face with him and tipped her head back to meet his gaze. And it was a desire to feel more. To explore what other sensations he could ignite with the delicate drift of his fingers and the warm press of his lips.

  It was all of that and more. And it terrified Eliza.

  After dinner, the ladies adjourned to the drawing room and one of Rutherford’s distant cousins, a young lady also making her come out that year, began to play at the pianoforte. Eliza conversed politely with the other ladies, exchanged witticisms and laughed as appropriate, yet she kept glancing to the doorway, waiting for the gentlemen to finish their port and join them.

  At one point, she grew so distracted in her impatience she didn’t even realize Lady Rutherford had sidled up next to her until she heard the old lady cackle softly. “You cannot will him through the door, you know.”

  Eliza covered up her start of surprise by lifting her hand to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. She turned to her hostess with an expression of innocent inquiry. “Lady Rutherford, I do not understand what you mean.”

  “Oh, come now, it does no good to dither over the obvious.” The lady’s sharp eyes narrowed to a near squint. “I have been watching you, girl, and I know the look of longing when I see it.”

  “Longing?” Eliza laughed, and as she did so, realized how unnatural it sounded. “My lady, I do not long for anyone.”

  The dowager thumped her walking stick once on the marble floor. “Either you are lying to me or to yourself. Neither is acceptable nor very attractive.”

  Eliza wisely bit her tongue, feeling a surge of admiration for the fearsome woman.

  “Miss Terribury,” Lady Rutherford continued, her voice still sharp with reprimand, “we can be frank with each other. Your open manner was the first thing about you I actually liked. So I shall tell you I was not pleased to learn you were to become the new marchioness.” Eliza blinked at the candid remark but did not interrupt. “You are frighteningly unsophisticated. You hail from a less-than-auspicious family line, and you are far too young.”

  “I would not say…” Eliza’s voice trailed off as she caught a fierce look of warning. Apparently, the lady was not yet finished with her frank little speech. Eliza bowed her head, in part to hide the amusement she couldn’t prevent. Though the marquess had obviously modeled his arrogance after his grandmother, Lady Rutherford had had several more decades to perfect the attitude and far surpassed him in the sheer impact of her deliverance.

  “I may come to regret this,” the older lady continued, “but I have decided to give my blessing to the match.” Eliza’s eyes widened. A thin sigh deflated Lady Rutherford’s stiff posture. “In all honesty, I had begun to despair of my grandson ever choosing a wife. But I would like to see him well settled with an heir before I am gone.”

  A tingle of some unrecognizable sensation tripped along the length of Eliza’s spine as she imagined a child with shared characteristics from both herself and the marquess. A precocious and proud little creature with dark thoughtful eyes and a love for mystery and adventure.

  Lady Rutherford snorted with scathing contempt. “Let us pray the curse of birthing all female children does not continue through you, shall we?”

  Eliza stiffened at the lady’s obvious scorn and then felt a wave of guilt for the deception she and Rutherford perpetrated as she recognized the hope in the older woman’s tone. Of course, Lady Rutherford would wish to see her family line flourishing before her death.

  Eliza was saved from having to find a proper reply as the gentlemen began to filter into the room. The marquess was one of the first to come through the door and his sharp gaze found the two of them immediately. After a brief narrowing of his gaze, he started toward them with a stern expression.

  Eliza ignored the way her heart gave a little squeeze.

  Lady Rutherford leaned in to her. “Do not fail me, Eliza. I expect you to make him happy.”

  “And what of my happiness, my lady?” Eliza asked as the marquess neared.

  The dowager looked at her sharply, a gleam of sardonic wisdom in her forceful stare. “Do you think it matters?”

  Eliza met the older woman’s gaze. “Of course I do.”

  The dowager’s lips twisted in a way that could have indicated derision or reluctant approval. Then she gave a snorted harrumph.

  “Grandmother. Miss Terribury.”

  Both ladies turned as the marquess reached them.

  Lady Rutherford thumped her stick against the floor and gave her grandson a steely look. “You disappoint me, Michael.”

  Eliza noted the persistent use of his given name and had to wonder if the older lady didn’t use the informal address as a means of maintaining her superiority over her grandson. She wouldn’t put it past the shrewd woman.

  “It is your duty to ensure Miss Terribury is properly introduced to the members of this family,” Lady Rutherford continued. “After your late arrival this evening and the way the two of you circumvented any socializing before dinner, you have a lot of introductions to catch up on.” She craned her thin neck to peer around the marquess’s broad shoulders and gave a tight smile. “I see a game of whist has nearly started without me. I must go win back the fortune Betsy fleeced from me last week. And you two—” her hawk-like gaze swung back and forth between Rutherford and Eliza, “—had better start mingling with my guests or I will know why.”

  With another thump of her walking stick to signal the end of the conversation, the grand lady turned to head across the drawing room to where a circle of her friends had gathered around a table.

  Eliza was left staring at the marquess with a polite half-smile. She hoped nothing in her manner revealed the lilting exhilaration she felt at being near him.

  He stared back at her. His shoulders were squared and he clasped his hands behind his back. His face was set in an expression of uncompromising reflection, but as she looked into his eyes, she caught a flash of something bright and harsh buried in their dark depths. Something made all the more potent for being so seve
rely restrained.

  She drew in a swift, unsteady breath and glanced away from him as warmth assailed her body and tingling erupted in her belly.

  “I suppose we had better do as she says,” Eliza suggested. “I do not think it would be prudent to ignore a direct order.”

  “What did you do to sway her?” he asked.

  Eliza glanced back at him, confused. “What did I do to sway whom? Lady Rutherford?”

  “It is apparent she likes you. How did you do it? Grandmother does not consider liking anyone until she has known them at least a full decade. I was nearly twenty by the time she managed to tolerate me.”

  Eliza laughed before she realized he wasn’t joking. She shook her head. “I doubt your grandmother feels anything for me beyond regal disdain.”

  “Either way,” he said, implying that the two conditions were not mutually exclusive. He eyed her thoughtfully before adding, “You were right about one thing, however. Direct orders are to be followed.”

  She took the arm he offered and fell into step beside him as they began to circumnavigate the room, neither of them anxious to step into the midst of the fray. It struck Eliza that she didn’t need to consciously pace her steps to his. His manner of moving and the length of his stride had become so familiar to her that her body adjusted naturally to match his rhythm, much like when they had waltzed.

  “Has Lady Rutherford planned any dancing during our stay?” she asked without preamble, her thoughts caught in the sudden desire to be swept around a dance floor under his thrilling and capable lead.

  “I have no idea what Grandmother has planned,” he replied without glancing at her. “This weekend is her brilliant scheme. I was simply instructed to attend.”

  Eliza turned to study him with unabashed curiosity. Something was bothering him. She hadn’t seen him this stiff with annoyance and condescension since the weekend at Silverly.

  “You hate this, don’t you?”

  He glanced at her with a raised brow. “Hate what?”

  Eliza swept her gaze over the room before returning it to his handsome face. “All of this pomp and formality. The sense of being on display for your family. And mine.”

  He said nothing at first and then stared straight ahead as he replied, “It is necessary to assure everyone I am fulfilling my role as head of the family.”

  “But you hate it,” she insisted, not sure why it mattered so much to her that he admit it, not only to her but to himself.

  The corner of his lips twisted and he answered without looking at her. “Yes. I abhor the ostentation.”

  Eliza sighed, wondering what it must feel like to have such a heavy responsibility constantly weighing on your shoulders. “And now our situation has added to that,” she muttered as she recalled what Lady Rutherford had said. “I imagine your family is quite disappointed by your engagement to one of the grasping Terriburys. Surely, they expected a more exalted match.”

  He gave dismissive snort. “I do not give a damn what they expected.”

  “Yet here you are,” Eliza challenged, not sure she believed his attempt at downplaying the situation.

  “Because it pleases me to please Grandmother,” he answered. “And because I could not have left you to fend for yourself amidst this crowd.” He looked down at her then. His eyes were warm in spite of the tension still riding his frame. “We are in this together, Eliza. I have not forgotten that.”

  A keen sort of happiness flooded through her at his words. She nearly dragged him to a stop so she could throw her arms around his neck and kiss him soundly for his loyalty.

  Fortunately, she was prevented from such scandalous impropriety as Lady Terribury appeared before them with a wide grin brightening her flushed face.

  “Oh my word, what a lovely party.”

  Eliza smiled at her mother’s intrusion, amazed by her timing. Glancing aside at the marquess, she saw all previous hints of warmth replaced by an aloof expression.

  “Lizzie, dear, have you met the Hartfords yet? They are such a lovely couple. Lady Hartford is your third cousin, isn’t that right, my lord? What a gracious lady. She has already invited us to her ball in town in two weeks. Oh, it sounds like it will be a delicious affair. Lizzie, you must wear that striking plum-colored gown with the ivory lace.”

  As her mother gushed about several more of the guests, she remained unaware that Eliza and the marquess were no longer listening.

  Eliza gave Rutherford a skewed half-smile for her mother’s vivacious manner, which had obviously been accentuated by a few too many glasses of wine with dinner. To which he responded by lowering his chin in subtle acknowledgement as his lips curled in an imperceptible smile.

  The smile, for being so miniscule was packed with subtle intimacy, and Eliza felt the repercussions of it down to her toes.

  The moment was again interrupted as Eliza’s oldest sister, Marietta, approached with her husband, Lord Duncan. Introductions had to be made as the two gentlemen had never had the pleasure of meeting.

  Marietta’s husband was a great hulking figure whose size alone managed to intimidate most who first met him. Then there was his great booming voice. The man had spent years competing with the whipping winds of the northern Scottish coast as he bellowed across an ancient stone keep whenever he was forced to administer reprimands to one or more of his five rambunctious sons, which was unfortunately quite often. So rarely having an opportunity to socialize in more genteel environments, the burly laird had less practice speaking in drawing-room tones.

  Rutherford didn’t even flinch when Lord Duncan issued a roaring salutation, nor was he the slightest bit perturbed by the Scotsman’s vigorous handshake. The marquess was the epitome of the unruffled aristocrat.

  Lord Duncan next turned to Eliza and swept her up in a giant bear hug. After nearly squeezing the breath out of her, her brother-in-law grinned as he held her at arm’s length and gave her a studied once over.

  “When did you grow up, wee lass? I swear you were naught but a mite when I last saw you.”

  “She wasn’t,” Marietta interjected. “It has been nearly five years since we traveled this far south, darling.”

  “Not so,” the Scotsman exclaimed, finally releasing her.

  “’Tis true,” Eliza replied with a laugh.

  As soon as she stepped back to Rutherford’s side, she felt his hand come to rest at the small of her back, and she was quite sure she did not imagine him taking a step closer to her. The gesture felt perfectly possessive and she found she liked feeling the weight of his hand at her waist.

  “How are the boys?” she asked her sister as a means of distracting herself. Any conversation about Marietta’s five sons was bound to be filled with tales of mischief and daring. Eliza’s Scottish nephews were a terror to their mother and the pride of their chieftain father.

  Marietta rolled her eyes in a fashion far more dramatic than even Judith could have accomplished. “I swear Tavish will be the death of me.” She sighed with a mother’s exasperation. “He was caught stealing kisses from the cook’s daughter and nearly had his head bashed in with an iron pot.”

  “But the boy is barely eleven years old,” Eliza exclaimed in astonishment.

  “Aye,” Lord Duncan said with a wink, “takes after his da. Isn’t that right, sweet,” he said as he pulled Marietta to his side with a heavy arm about her shoulders. Though Eliza’s sister was tall like their mother, she was quite slim, and Duncan’s beefy arm looked like it could crush her with little effort.

  Yet Marietta did not appear injured by his harsh embrace as she delivered a swift jab of her elbow to his generous midsection. Lord Duncan dropped his arm with a muttered ooph while his wife eyed him with a sly smile. “Quite right, darling. I find I must bash your hard head at least once a week.”

  Lord Duncan laughed. “Good thing the Duncan men have skulls of stone then, aye?”

  “Even stone can crack under the right force,” Marietta warned.

  “Well then,” Lady Terribu
ry interjected, shifting attention away from the Duncans with a frantic flutter of her hands. “Is this not just a lovely party? It is so kind of Lady Rutherford to bring both families together like this.”

  “I will be sure to tell her you said so,” the marquess replied. “Now I must take Miss Terribury around to make sure she has been introduced to everyone. If you will excuse us.”

  Eliza followed the direction of his hand at her back as he steered her past her family, but their departure was not quick enough to prevent Lady Terribury from placing a hand on Eliza’s arm as she passed. “Do stop and speak with Rose. Since Lord Rutherford was unable to attend their party, I do not believe he has been introduced to Lord Hyndmarsh.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Eliza answered. And then she was drawn back to the marquess’s side with the firm and gentle pressure of his hand over her hip.

  He led them across the room toward a large gathering of his relatives near the open terrace doors. Fortuitously, the Hyndmarshes were also a part of the group. Eliza found herself relaxing into the idea of having to bounce around the drawing room in the guise of satisfying social protocols. As long as the marquess was with her every step of the way, it may not be such a torturous experience.

  “I suppose I should apologize for Marietta and her husband,” she said as they neared the gathering of guests.

  “They appear well suited to each other.”

  Eliza sighed. “It must be exhausting to bicker so ceaselessly.”

  “Quite the opposite, I imagine.”

  Eliza turned to look at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  He didn’t answer right away but slid her a sideways glance filled with some superior form of knowledge she did not possess.

  Then he gave a subtle shrug of his wide shoulders and turned his gaze forward again. “Some couples use such animosity as a means of keeping things…interesting. Lord Duncan appears charmed by your sister’s acid tongue, and I would bet she enjoys expressing her temper so freely.”

  “Goodness,” Eliza gasped with dawning understanding. “I had never thought of it that way.” And now that she did, she saw her eldest sister’s marriage in an entirely new light. “Still, I should not think I would enjoy being so constantly antagonistic.”