Rebel Marquess

by Amy Sandas

  After a brief pause, he nodded.

  Their walk back through the house was as quiet as their entry. Yet now, rather than the delicious swirling of sexual anticipation, a heavy shroud of uneasiness draped over them.

  The carriage was still in the courtyard. He assisted her into the vehicle and they rode to Terribury House in silence. As they drew up in front of her house and Rutherford made as if to exit the carriage, Eliza touched his arm. She nearly drew her hand back as an expected spark of sensation traveled through her at the casual contact.

  “No need for you to escort me to the door, my lord. I can manage the short distance on my own.” She tried to insert a teasing note into her voice, but she didn’t quite manage it.

  “Nonetheless,” he replied as he opened the door and stepped down to the pavement.

  As Eliza took his hand and exited the vehicle, she felt a rush of longing to step into him, wrap her arms tightly around his waist, and press her cheek to the solid surface of his chest. She needed him to wrap his strong arms around her and press his lips to her hair and tell her all would be well. Because in that moment, she was quite certain it would not be. In fact, she suspected things would never be well ever again. And he was the only person who she imagined might be able to convince her otherwise.

  Instead of embracing him as she longed to do, she placed her hand in the bend of his elbow and walked alongside him to the door. He lifted the knocker and the door opened to reveal the Terribury butler. The senior servant had been in their employ since Eliza had been very small and he looked at her now with raised brows and an incredulous expression.

  “Miss Terribury, I had not realized you were out. And Lord Rutherford.”

  Eliza swept into the hall and offered a quick explanation as she removed her gloves and unhooked her spencer. “Yes, I completely forgot about an errand I had to run. To save a little time I managed to grab a quick hack. I encountered Lord Rutherford quite by surprise, and he insisted on driving me home. Is that not gallant of him?”

  She handed her spencer and gloves to the butler and gave him a winning grin.

  “Would you mind terribly fetching my notebook for me? I believe it is on my writing desk in my bedroom. Or perhaps I left it in the attic. I cannot recall for certain.”

  The butler gave her an odd look at the strange request. It was not something she would typically ask of him since it was a task any underservant could perform. But it was the first excuse she could think of to send him away from the front hall, and she was desperate for just a few moments alone with the marquess before he left.

  “Of course, miss,” the butler finally said with a bow before turning to the marquess to inquire, “And shall I take your coat and hat, my lord?”

  “Ah, no,” Eliza replied with a fleeting wave of her hand. “Lord Rutherford has business to attend to and must be off again quickly.”

  With another bow, the butler turned and disappeared down a hallway and out of sight.

  The marquess spoke first, before Eliza had a chance to form the thoughts she wished to express. “I may not have an opportunity to call on you before the wedding.” He hesitated, clearing his throat before continuing. “I do not want you to worry about the future, Eliza. I will assist your transition into your new role. You will not be alone. I expect…” He hesitated as he looked into her eyes and she wondered what he saw there to give him pause. When he continued again, his voice had softened to a low tone. “I hope you will be happy.”

  Eliza’s heart hurt so badly she feared it might be trying to tear itself out of her chest. Unable to control her impulse any longer, she launched herself against him, throwing her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her so their mouths could meet in a desperate kiss. Eliza released all of her turbulent emotion into that kiss, clinging to him, needing him in a way that frightened her.

  And then, before she melted into him completely, she pushed against his shoulders and arched away, forcing him to release her. She barely managed to choke out the words, “Goodbye, Michael,” before she spun away and ran like a coward up the stairs to her bedroom.

  When she heard the front door close behind him, the sound echoed through her aching heart for hours afterward.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  As Eliza moved quickly about her room, collecting the items she would need for the next few weeks, she refused to look at the embroidered gown laid out on her bed. The scent of roses and orange blossoms from the wreath waiting to be placed atop her head filled the room with its heady pungency and made her stomach turn.

  It was the morning of her wedding. She had traveled with her mother and father to Breckmore Palace, the Rutherford family seat in Lincolnshire, the day before. The many branches of Rutherford’s cousins were already present and most of her sisters and their families had arrived as well.

  All was quiet in the grand country manor. The guests all slept, though many of the servants had likely arisen before the dawn like Eliza. She expected it would be at least an hour more before the full flurry of activity began as maids and footmen rushed about, trying to accommodate the instructions of both Lady Terribury and Lady Rutherford. All of the house would be in preparation for the grand wedding breakfast, which was to take place following the ceremony in the small parish church.

  Or at least, that was everyone’s expectation.

  Everyone except Eliza. Her preparation had nothing to do with the pale-blue gown overlaid with the finest white lace and embroidered with hundreds of tiny seed pearls or the rose and orange blossom wreath. It had nothing to do with the wedding breakfast or the parish church or the Marquess of Rutherford.

  She was leaving.

  Now. While she figured she had at least a three-hour start before anyone realized she was missing. Throwing her cloak around her shoulders and stuffing a wide-brimmed bonnet atop her head, Eliza swept up the small traveling bag and left her room.

  As she crept down the hall and soundlessly descended the narrow servant’s staircase, she thought of the marquess. With a turbulent ache that had grown familiar since her decision had been made, she imagined him as she suspected he was at that moment. She knew he had spent the night at a comfortable inn near to the church and pictured him just now rising from his bed and rubbing his hand over the night’s growth of beard on his jaw. He would call for a bath and a shave and then he would dress as he always did, with proud and understated elegance.

  Eliza bit the inside of her cheek to distract from the pricking behind her eyes and the weight in her chest. She stepped into the hazy morning light of the back courtyard and tugged the brim of her bonnet a bit lower over her forehead. Striding purposefully down the cobblestone drive to the stables, Eliza closed the lid on all thoughts of the marquess and suppressed the emotion churning in her stomach. She would have time to reopen the box again later, and then she would allow the feelings of sorrow and injustice to overwhelm her. But not now.

  Michael Ellison Gerard, the Marquess of Rutherford, was nervous.

  It took him a bit to realize the cause of his rapid heartbeat, cold sweaty palms and the feeling as if his stomach were twisting in a violent revolt was a case of unsettled nerves. It had been so long since he had experienced any of the symptoms. Acknowledging his anxiety, however, did not solve the problem. Because beneath it all was a hollow fear that in marrying Eliza today, he might lose her forever.

  He wished he could erase from his mind the image of her as she had been in his bedroom in London—uncertain, lost and frightfully young.

  That had not been the Eliza he knew, who challenged him at every turn to acknowledge his own faults. She could not be forlorn or confused. She was as steady and bright as the sun itself. A woman who laughed at his overdone self-awareness and provoked a desire to be more than the caricatured impression he had perfected over the years in his efforts to keep people at bay.

  Music started up in the chapel. He could hear it and knew it was his cue, but still he did not leave the sanctuary of the sma
ll room behind the altar. Because once he stepped out into the chapel filled with both their families, he would be committing Eliza to life ever after as his wife.

  He had seen the plea in her eyes when they had last been together. She had wanted to beg him not to go forward with the marriage, but something had stopped her.

  Had she seen his grim determination to stay the course before them as it was laid out?

  He could not abandon her after the intimacy they had shared. More so, he did not want to. Somewhere along the way, he had grown accustomed to the idea of having Eliza as his wife, on his arm as they attended social functions, across the table from him as they engaged in conversation through dinner. In his bed, in his arms and forever in his thoughts. She had infiltrated the fortress of his existence without trying, and from the moment she did so, he had become a better man for it. His enjoyment of life had been made richer by her smiles and deeper by the sparkle in her gaze.

  Yes, he wanted to marry Eliza. He wanted it with every bit of certainty in his body.

  But he knew she did not want him in return. That he intended to marry her anyway filled him with such trepidation he thought he might be ill.

  The door to the preparation room opened and Rutherford was jolted from his reverie. The Earl of Blackbourne came through the door with a rakish but not unsympathetic smile.

  “Are you ready? You missed your cue, old man. The music is on its third run through. Time to await your bride in front of the masses.”

  Rutherford had a flashing vision of Eliza walking toward him from the back of the chapel and his heart squeezed with painful anticipation. No, he did not want to miss her entrance. He intended to be there for her every step of the way.

  He gave a brief and decisive nod. “Right. Let’s have this done then.”

  He followed the earl down the short hall. As expected, the chapel was filled to overflowing. He saw several of Eliza’s sisters seated near the front with their husbands, more of his cousins filled in the pews across the aisle. Cousin Bertram was right in front with a sour expression. The old coot was the next in line to become the marquess if Rutherford failed to produce an heir.

  At the thought of children, Rutherford’s feet hesitated and he nearly stumbled the last few steps to his spot at the front of the church. How delightful Eliza’s child would be. Precocious and sweet. Clever and determined. Tingling warmth spread through his chest at the thought she could even now be carrying his child.

  He took his place and turned to face the gathered crowd. The muscles of his face fell into a familiar expression of stern condescension. It was all he could do to hide the churning riot of emotions that continued to stir in his gut. He trained his gaze on the doors at the back of the chapel and waited with bated breath for his first glimpse of Eliza.

  And he waited. For nearly twenty minutes, he waited before he gave in to the urge to check his pocket watch. She was almost a half hour late.

  Cold foreboding crept over him, coating his raw nerves with a fresh layer of fear.

  He turned his scowl to where her clan sat and noticed they were whispering amongst themselves with wide eyes and fluttering hands. Amongst his family, it was the same thing. The murmur of low voices was a dissonance of speculation spreading like a wave through the packed church.

  When the door at the back opened, Rutherford nearly sighed in relief, but it was not Eliza making her appearance on her father’s arm. It was Lady Terribury, looking pale and nauseous.

  And he knew. With a pain that shot straight to his chest and seized his breath in a ruthless blow, he knew.

  Eliza was not coming.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Eliza made it back to London early the next morning, having only stopped to change horses and use the convenience. In truth, she was surprised she made it the entire way. Her intention had essentially been to get far enough that by the time anyone caught up to her, it would be too late to march her down the aisle for the wedding.

  The marquess would never go through with the union once it became obvious the bride had run away. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

  His grandmother wouldn’t allow it.

  But no one gave chase. Perhaps they realized there was no point once the damage had been done. She had left the Marquess of Rutherford waiting at the altar. There was no undoing that.

  Eliza returned to Terribury House feeling as though she had endured the emotional toll of a lifetime during the last twenty-four hours. It had been a constant struggle to keep her thoughts from settling with regret on the marquess and the effort had drained her of all strength, emotional and physical. She went straight to her room, dropped into bed fully dressed and fell asleep.

  When she awoke, it was to see her mother sitting silently on the edge of her bed. Eliza felt as though she hadn’t slept a minute, yet she could tell several hours had passed by the slant of light through the window.

  She lifted herself to a seated position and looked at her mother pensively, feeling like a naughty child.

  Lady Terribury did not turn to look at her, though she must have known Eliza was awake from her movements. Her mother’s gaze was trained straight ahead and her angular chin jutted out sharply. Her thin spine was rigid and her hands were folded one atop the other in her lap. She was so still it barely looked as though she breathed.

  Just as Eliza opened her mouth, not sure yet what she would say but hoping something appropriate would come to mind once she got started, Lady Terribury broke the silence first.

  “Do not say a single word, Elizabeth.”

  The tone of her mother’s voice caused a frisson of alarm to chase across Eliza’s skin. She had known she would have to face her mother’s wrath and disappointment, but she had convinced herself her actions should not have come as any surprise when she had been begging to be released from the engagement for months. But there was something in the stark and frigid words that cut Eliza in a way she hadn’t expected.

  “You will listen, for once in your life, to everything I have to say. You will not argue or interrupt me with quips you think I am not clever enough to understand. You will remember that I am your mother and deserving of your respect. You are a nineteen-year-old child and you do not know everything of how this wide world of ours works. If you are as clever as you think you are, you will consider very carefully what I have to tell you.”

  Her mother paused then, but Eliza did not even dare to nod her head.

  Lady Terribury took a slow and bracing breath. “What you did yesterday will never be forgiven.” Instinctively, Eliza braced to defend herself but bit her lip to hold back the rush of words threatening to flow from her mouth.

  “It was the act of a selfish, immature girl who gave no thought to how her behavior would reflect on those close to her. Those who have done everything to see her settled in a proper manner. Those who have spent years worrying and scrambling to provide the best possible opportunities.” Her mother’s voice strained and raw color reddened her thin face. “Everything I did for you and your sisters…fighting to gain invitations to the grandest ballrooms and dinner parties, ingratiating myself to all the right people whether they were personally deserving of it or not, presenting you girls in the finest gowns and trying to instill in you what grace I could was so someday I would be able to look back and feel like I did my absolute best to ensure all of my daughters left my household for something better.

  “When you decided, in all your wisdom and experience, that the life you could have had as the Marchioness of Rutherford was not worth the good name of your family, your father’s word of honor or my efforts, you took all those years of wishes and hopes and love and you tossed them into the mud.”

  “Moth—”

  “Not. A. Word.” Lady Terribury cut her off.

  Eliza felt her chest squeezing with the effort to resist explaining herself. She had never had any intention of disrespecting her parents or all they had done for her. She loved them both. She simply wanted to live her life by her own choi
ces. Why was that so terrible?

  “And now you will live with the consequences of your actions.” Lady Terribury rose from the bed to stand stiffly at its side, not altering the direction of her gaze to spare even a glance at her youngest daughter. “And so will the rest of us. I only hope that in the strength of their marriages, your sisters will find some protection against the backlash that will surely come. And I warn you now,” her mother’s voice lowered forbiddingly, “do not even think to come to me or your father for comfort or support when you realize the full destructive results of your behavior. It was your great and lofty desire to be independent. From this point forward, you are on your own.”

  Turning on her heel, Eliza’s mother walked across the room, her skirts snapping against her legs with each step. The door closed behind her with a near-silent click, but to Eliza it may as well have been a resounding slam for the heavy finality it represented.

  From that point forward, Eliza became like a specter in her own home. For the first several days, her father refused to look her in the eye. Whenever she passed, he hung his head as if her shame was his own. If she attempted to speak to him, he would step away. Her mother spoke to her, but in clipped phrases that imparted only the most necessary information. That was how Eliza discovered that although she would be allowed to remain living in Terribury House, her mother made it very clear it was for appearances sake only. She would not be allowed to continue in the same manner as before, as if nothing had happened.

  Eliza was not sure what her mother meant, but she suspected she would find out over time.

  Then one day a missive arrived for Eliza. Though she had never seen his handwriting before, the instant she spied her name written in the elegant and slanting script she knew the letter was from the marquess.

  She would have thought anything the marquess had to say would have been directed to her father. She did not know all the terms of the marriage agreement, but she assumed there would be some material compensation that would have to be released for her failure to meet her end of the contract.