by Jane Lark
She stopped her horse from prancing and her gaze locked with his.
Those eyes. Who was seducing who?
His gaze fell to her lips.
“I have no idea. I think I am insane.” Her words kicked him firmly in the chest, and a soft ache hovered in his middle, as his gaze lifted back to her eyes.
The girl was a breath of fresh air, a light summer breeze. Sunshine.
“Could you not sleep, Miss Marlow, for thinking of me?” He laughed, feeling hope swelling inside him.
She blushed slightly. She had spent the night awake then. He hoped he’d hovered in her dreams as she had in his.
“So where do we go from here?” He encouraged her to take another step towards commitment.
“Where…?” A frown marred her beautiful brow. She had genuinely not thought about his offer then, merely their embrace.
“What next?” Drew clarified.
She shrugged, a dainty little gesture on her slim shoulders. “It should be nothing.”
“But it will not be nothing, because you want more, don’t you?” She needed more persuasion. Drew leaned forward and gripped her hand as it held her reins, holding both her and the animal steady. “Where will you be tonight?”
Her gaze clung to his. Maybe her common-sense told her there should be nothing more but other parts of her, that he had sway over, bid her answer. “I am attending Lady Frobisher’s musical evening.”
Musical evenings were a rogue’s curse, he could do nothing untoward when seated in a row of chairs. The game was off then, for tonight.
Nor could he meet her again in the park, once could be deemed accidental, but twice would draw attention. Without doubt the groom would mention this encounter to someone in the house.
“Miss Marlow!” A timely call came from their rear.
Drew glanced back. Her groom had come to retrieve his damsel from the beast.
Drew let her hand go and straightened. “Tomorrow then, where?”
“I shall be at the Phillips’ supper party.” Her gaze passed over Drew’s shoulder to the groom.
“There then. They have a large glass house in the grounds, to the right of the house. I’ll meet you there at midnight.” Drew’s eldest brother had been at school with the Phillips’ son, he could obtain an invitation.
Mary nodded. She had begun an intrigue. She had definitely become foolish.
“I shall look forward to it, immensely. Until tomorrow then, Miss Marlow.” His fingers reached for hers. Instinctively she released the reins, letting him take her hand. He lifted it to his lips, turned her hand, his thumb pressing into her palm, and kissed her wrist, above her glove.
Her heart skittered, its rhythm racing violently.
When he let go a smile lifted his lips and glinted in his eyes but the gleam turned wicked as his gaze shifted to her groom before he turned his horse and rode away.
Mary ached for him. She’d wanted this for a year… to give in to longing. But she should not have agreed to an assignation; it could mean nothing more than kisses.
“Forgive me, Miss,” Evans spoke when he drew near, “you should not speak with gentlemen.”
“I shall speak with whom I wish, Evans.” She sounded like John, and she was not normally harsh with servants.
“Miss Marlow.” The man lifted his fingers to his cap and tipped it forward, “Forgive me, but it is my duty to inform your father.”
“That I met a casual acquaintance in the park by chance and spoke with him? There is hardly anything to tell, Evans.” She ought to feel guilty. She did not, not yet, perhaps later.
It was as though she no longer knew herself.
She had lied to her family, and a friend, and now she was widening the net of deceits to the servants. It would trap her in the end if she was not careful.
She turned her stallion in the direction of the park gates. I cannot continue this. Tomorrow must be the last time she spoke with him and allowed his kisses. Unless she chose ruin.
Her heartbeat flickered and her stomach somersaulted. Was she fool enough to do that?
But John had increased her dowry as a gift to broaden her choice of husbands. Why did it matter if she chose a man who needed it?
Because John thought him heartless.
She rode out of the park gates beside Evans. Lord Framlington seemed sincere. He had not hidden his need for her fortune, just said he’d chosen her over other wealthy women.
Mary knew he’d chosen her, he’d chosen her a year ago; she had not needed to hear him say it, because her heart had chosen him too, and since then they’d watched each other through the crowds.
Whether she believed him or not, though, it did not matter. John did not like him and therefore nor did her father, and therefore Lord Framlington could never be hers.
You are a fool Mary. End it tomorrow. It can go no further.
When she drew her horse up before her brother’s front door, Evans swung down from his saddle and offered his hand.
She took it, lifting her knee from the pommel of her side saddle. Then he made a step with his hands so she could descend.
Before leaving him, she said, “You need not trouble yourself to tell tales, Evans, I shall inform my father.”
Bowing he tilted his cap again. “Miss Marlow.”
Lifting the hem of her riding habit from the ground, Mary ran up the steps to the front door which a footman held open.
Her family would be in the breakfast room. She headed there, stripping off her hat and gloves and passing them to a footman on the way.
Her youngest brothers and sisters ate in the nursery, but those who could sit sensibly shared the adults table and so the breakfast room was full and noisy. She smiled at her father and mother when she entered, and then at John and Kate.
Mary loved her family. She’d never lacked a thing. She’d always felt secure. So why did the danger Lord Framlington dangled draw her away?
“Mr Finch said you were riding, Mary,” her mother said with a gentle smile, “that is unusual for you.” It was a subtle question.
“I slept poorly and the morning was so sunny I could not resist.” Mary bent and kissed her mother’s cheek, then moved to take a seat among her younger brothers and sisters.
“Had you asked I would have ridden with you,” her father stated.
“It was a momentary decision, Papa.” Her eyes focused on the spout of the coffee pot, as a footman filled her cup, a blush warming her cheeks.
“Was Hyde Park busy?” John asked from the head of the table.
Her gaze lifted and met his.
John was older than her by a decade. He behaved more like a second father than a brother. Looking away she helped herself to bread from a plate a footman held. “Not very, I saw Lord Framlington, though. He stopped and spoke.” She let the words fall as though the incident meant nothing.
“Then you must not go again without a chaperon.”
“John,” Kate spoke from the other end of the table. “Mary took a groom and I’m sure she is able to cope with Lord Framlington. She was in the open, and she is sensible.”
Mary smiled at her sister-in-law.
The footman dished up some scrambled eggs and smoked fish.
“I have no concern over Mary’s behaviour,” John answered. “It is his I worry over.”
Mary looked back at John. “Why do you dislike him?”
The question made her father look at her too. “He’s a fortune hunter.”
John’s eyebrows lifted. “And a man of his ilk, is not for you.”
“His ilk?” Mary could not help pressing. She wanted to understand. She wanted to convince her heart it was wrong.
“This is why, she needs a chaperon.” John looked at Kate. “He speaks to her, and now she is asking foolish questions.” He looked back at Mary. “What did he say to you?”
Heat burned under her skin. “Nothing beyond courtesy.”
“So he put on the charm. Do not believe any of it. It is feigned.”
<
br /> Mary set down her knife and fork. “I cannot see—”
“Mary!” Her gaze passed to her father. “This is an inappropriate conversation.” He glanced at her younger sisters. “I trust you to be sensible. But I agree with your brother, no more unaccompanied rides.”
She held her father’s gaze for a moment, before looking back at John.
He nodded.
What had Lord Framlington done to be deemed such a villain? Many men needed to marry for money, Lord Framlington was right, that in itself was not a crime. He was a rogue too, but many men were that also, they lived recklessly then grew up – as John had done.
But surely if he intended marrying her his rakishness did not matter, he was not planning to seduce and desert her. Her father’s and brother’s arguments were groundless.
Mary focused on her breakfast. Perhaps John had some vendetta against Lord Framlington; he had not spoken against any other man so adamantly.
Perhaps she would ask Lord Framlington why her brother disliked him tomorrow.
The thought of meeting him made her appetite slip away and a dozen butterflies take flight in her stomach.
Chapter 5
Drew strolled into White’s, his gentleman’s club, seeking masculine company, a game of cards and conversation.
He found his friends in their usual place. Harry Webster, Mark Harper and Peter Brooke sat in the first salon.
“Fram!” Harry called. “I thought you were hunting Miss Marlow…”
Drew smiled. “She is attending a musical soiree, a place where it is impossible to pursue the chase.”
His friends laughed. Drew signalled to a footman to bring him a glass of brandy.
“How goes the seduction?” Mark asked when Drew sat beside him.
“If it were simply seduction it would be done, but as I am seeking a wife the game is more complex. Despite allowing me certain favours, Miss Marlow has given not a single indication she will agree to become my wife.”
“Favours?” Peter laughed.
“Tell,” Harry added.
Leaning back into the winged leather chair and letting his hands fall onto the arms Drew grinned at them all. “I am hardly likely to share. If all goes according to plan she will be my wife.”
“I cannot see why that prevents you,” Harry pressed, his gaze darting across the room then back. “Your brother never keeps his triumphs in the dark.”
Drew looked over his shoulder, sure enough his eldest brother sat a distance behind him, accompanied by their brother-in-law, Lord Ponsonby. Ponsonby had married Drew’s eldest sister. Neither man was an example Drew wished to emulate. A sneer touched his lips. Drew’s sister, Ponsonby’s wife, was no better.
The only member of his family who had not broken their marriage vows was his younger sister, Caro, Lady Kilbride. However, her husband, the Earl, had. That man had a violent nature too which poor Caro constantly lived in fear of.
Caro was the only member of his family Drew felt close to.
Drew looked back at Harry, glowering.
“I take it you will not then,” Peter quipped.
Drew’s gaze spun to his best friend. “Definitely not!”
The others laughed.
A footman appeared with a tray bearing Drew’s brandy. Drew took his drink, then looked over his shoulder at his eldest brother, who was now looking at Drew.
Drew lifted his glass, in mock salute, then turned back to his friends.
* * *
Raising the dress of her ivory satin gown, Mary hurried along the garden path.
She’d left at the commencement of a set, hoping her family would not notice her absence. They were all busy dancing or talking.
There were no lanterns to light the way, deterring couples from strolling into the garden but the night sky was clear and moonlight shone through the leaves of shrubs in places so she could see the route.
Etched in the moonlight Lord Framlington’s figure formed a vivid silhouette in the darkness when she reached the glass house.
“Miss Marlow,” he called, stepping forward when she drew near.
Her heart skipped and her stomach spun like a top. She’d barely been able to eat since she’d last seen him, and she’d not slept last night; as her thoughts danced a reel.
She had to end this. It was beyond foolish.
But she wanted to be alone with him one last time.
He looked dangerous in the darkness, she ought to be afraid of him. She only knew him by reputation and that was bad. Yet she’d never been so pulled towards anyone – surely her heart could not be wrong?
His lips lifted in a half smile when she reached him and his fingers touched her face. He’d removed his gloves. “I was not sure you’d come. You’ve barely given me a glance this evening.”
Her fingers captured his and drew them away from her face, as she smiled too. “I did not wish to make my family suspicious. I’m already in the mire for speaking to you in the park.”
His other hand lifted suddenly, then gripped her nape and pulled her mouth to his.
He kissed her long and hard while he braced her nape with one hand and his fingers also weaved between hers and twisted her arm behind her back.
When he released her she was short of breath and her heart thumped.
But he was short of breath too.
His dark eyes held her gaze for a moment. “We should go inside in case someone walks this way.”
She’d forgotten the risk. “Yes.” They should not be kissing on the garden path where anyone might find them. But then she should not be alone with him.
Her hand clasped in his, he pulled her into the conservatory and closed the door.
Orange, lemon, olive and fig trees, in terracotta pots, lined the pathways in the huge glasshouse and the scent of warm earth merged with the floral aroma of the delicate flowers dangling from vines above them.
The grip on her hand claimed her. It said he treasured her. She was not anyone to him.
She felt special.
Was it an illusion? If she believed John, Lord Framlington thought nothing of her; he only cared for money.
He turned to face her, illuminated by moonlight through the glass above them, his starkly handsome face painted silver. He smiled, a smile that shone in his eyes too. He stepped backward one pace, then another, pulling her with him, leading her deeper into the glasshouse. “The exemplarily Miss Marlow has fallen from her pedestal.” His tone teased.
“Or perhaps a certain Lord has pulled her from it.”
His smile lifted again, this time it had a wicked lilt. “I accept the charge. I am sure it was deadly dull upon it anyway.”
Yes, yes it was, and lonely at times.
Perhaps that was why he tempted her. She should not feel lonely in such a large loving family but she had no space to be an individual. She wished to be loved singularly, to be the most special person to someone, to him. Like her father was to her mother, and her mother to her father.
She looked beyond him, closing her lips on her disloyal thoughts.
A small wrought iron table stood on a paved area among the plants, with a few chairs gathered about it. Beyond it she saw the river Thames through the glass. She’d forgotten the garden bordered it.
Ripples ran with the current of the river, shimmering in the moonlight. While dots of light sparkled from windows and lanterns on the far bank. It was a scene from fairytales.
Lord Framlington lifted their joined hands, pulling her awareness back to him as he brought her fingers to his lips, then kissed them. His dark eyes gleamed staring at her glove, then he freed the button at her wrist, and then began to pull each fingertip free.
Once the glove was loose he stripped it off and tossed it on the table where his gloves laid. Then he removed the other too.
She should not allow him to touch her skin, but beautiful sensations skipped up her arm as his lips pressed on her bare knuckles.
Was everything which felt good wicked?
“W
hat are you thinking?” He pressed a kiss on each of her fingertips.
Her heartbeat stuttered, she could not find words to reply while his breath warmed her skin.
Pain circled low in her stomach.
His gaze lifted to hers, “What, Mary?” then lowered. He slipped the tip of her little finger into his mouth and sucked it gently.
She pulled her hand from his grip, a blush burning. “I should not allow you to do this.”
“You should not be here, come to that.” His voice was deep and low.
“No…”
“But you are.” His hands braced her waist.
The danger she faced reared. They were a long way from the house. No one would hear her cry out if he forced himself on her.
Her heart raced harder as her fingers gripped the muscle of his arms through his evening coat and her breath caught in her lungs as she looked up at him.
“You do not trust me.” It was a statement, not a question.
She did not. How could she? “I barely know you…”
“Apart from your brother’s tales.”
His face had moved into shadow. What had seemed an enchanted place, suddenly felt like a gothic novel.
“I’ll not hurt you,” he whispered. “Don’t heed him, I am no monster, Mary, darling. I do not wish you harm. I want you to be my wife, why would I hurt you?”
“I… I…” She struggled to find words as his gaze dropped to her lips.
She turned her head, so he would not kiss her. He merely kissed her cheek instead.
A tremor raked her muscles as his lips touched her earlobe too, then her neck.
Her fingers clasped his arm. “Why does John dislike you so much?”
His head lifted, moonlight catching as a glimmer in his eyes, which were dark here. “Pembroke sees himself in me. He was not always a saint. He had an affair with my eldest sister.”
“With your sister…”
He smiled. “I suppose he did not mention it. Yes, he cuckolded my brother-in-law, Lord Ponsonby, not that I think Ponsonby cared. It was when we were in Paris.”
“You were in Paris with him…” His palms felt heavy on her waist.
“Yes.” The deep masculine burr tingled over her skin.