The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

by Jane Lark

  As they crossed the room her aunts and cousins continually stopped them and greeted Andrew.

  Andrew’s jaw stiffened as they were stopped for the tenth time. It was becoming too much.

  Caroline was sitting in the farthest corner, with Mary’s mother, quiet and doing her utmost to be lost among the crowd, although everyone had tried to include her, she did not wish to be included.

  Caroline looked up as they neared. She had only come down to see Andrew.

  Neither of them were comfortable here.

  When he reached Caroline, Andrew let go of Mary, sank down onto his haunches, and gripped Caroline’s hands. “How are you, Caro?”

  She leant forward and hugged him, and Mary heard her whispering to his ear, but not what she said.

  Mary had always been close to Robbie, there was only eighteen months between them, but the closeness between Andrew and Caroline ran deeper. It was born of mutual suffering.

  Tears streamed from Caroline’s eyes as Drew whispered back to her.

  Something touched Mary’s arm. She glanced back. Her father held out his handkerchief.

  She took it. Then tapped Andrew’s shoulder. He looked up. Mary offered the handkerchief to Caroline.

  “Thank you.” Caroline smiled, glancing at Mary’s father for only an instant.

  “All will be well, now,” Andrew said, his hand patting Caroline’s arm.

  Then he stood and looked at her father. “I thought you were hungry, are we not going to eat?”

  Her father laughed then turned away lifting a hand to signal to John. Within moments the gong rang to call them through to dine.

  Andrew threw an apologetic smile at Mary, then lifted his arm for Caroline to take.

  Mary’s father offered his to Mary, and when Andrew walked on ahead, he said quietly, “I like him, now, I think. But he is still on trial.”

  “He thinks this his sentence,” she whispered.

  “I can see it is difficult for them both, but they will become used to it, to us. We will give them time to adjust. Had he been honest in the beginning I would have supported him then and we need never have come to this.”

  “You would have accepted his suit?”

  “I would have listened if he’d said he loved you. I would then have watched and given him a chance to prove himself. He did not give me that chance and when he walked away with that cheque less than an hour after you were wed, a cocky grin on his face – I have never wished to kill a man more. I shall never approve of that. But now I understand his motives, I am giving him the chance I would have given him before.”

  “Thank you, Papa. He will not let you down. I know he won’t.” Mary lifted to her toes and kissed her father’s cheek then turned to take her seat.

  One of Mary’s cousin’s husband’s sat on Mary’s left, as her father walked further along to join her mother, who Robbie had led in.

  The whole table broke into raucous conversation and laughter, as they dined, and discussions passed across the table, in a variety of volumes, while Andrew and his sister spoke exclusively to each other in low tones. Mary talked with her cousins, and Robbie who sat across the table.

  Chapter 41

  When Kate rose to lead the women from the room, Caroline turned to Andrew. “I shall retire.”

  “Then I will come with you and walk you to your room.” He gave Mary an apologetic smile as he turned to walk Caroline from the room. “I will meet you in the drawing room.”

  Mary nodded.

  When Andrew came down, her cousin Margaret was playing the pianoforte and singing as the men drifted back into the drawing room in groups.

  Mary gripped his hand, seeking to protect him, and drew him away from conversations.

  She would guess none of them knew he was uncomfortable, but she could see it in his stiffness.

  “Let us dance!” Mary’s cousin Eleanor called, clapping her hands to silence the room. Immediately the men began shifting chairs aside to make space.

  “I am only participating if we are dancing waltzes!” Her father shouted at Eleanor.

  “And he will then only dance with Mama… Will you dance with me?” Mary whispered to Andrew.

  He smiled. “If you wish me to.”

  He’d promised her tolerance, and he’d tolerated her family thus far. She’d sit it out if she must. But she did wish to dance, and she wished to dance with him, not with anyone else. They had never danced a waltz.

  His smile twisted and he leaned to her ear. “You want to very much, don’t you? I’m sorry if I seem reluctant, it is just all evening I have felt your family watching. I do not like to be the entertainment.”

  “Then look at me, and do not think of them.”

  Margaret began a slow waltz, there were too many couples in the room for them to dance boldly. Andrew’s hand slipped to Mary’s back and urged her into movement.

  Her knees weak she stumbled through the first steps as her stomach turned somersaults, dancing its own waltz.

  “Happy?” he asked, as he spun her over exuberantly.

  “Now you are here. Only when you are here.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad me making a fool of myself has some worth.”

  “It has significant worth. You have even charmed Mama and Papa.”

  His smile pulled sideways, then he leaned a little to her ear. “Your father called me son.”

  “Then he approves of you.”

  “He approves if I am good for you. I am being good.”

  “You were always good for me, even when you were very bad.”

  “So I have permission to be bad then?”

  “As if you have ever awaited permission.”

  His breath brushed her neck and his lips touched her ear, and then she was pressed flush against him, her thighs moving against his, as her breasts crushed against his chest.

  She would have backed away and told him off, but every couple in the room danced close.

  It was entrancing.

  When the music ceased and they stopped, the onyx pupils at the heart of his eyes were wide and deep.

  She knew what he was thinking.

  Margaret began another tune. Hunger and longing shone in his eyes as they began to move again, and his fingers slipped a little into the neck of her gown at her back. Then his head bent and his teeth nipped her neck.

  She nearly fell, but he held her, a note of humour in his throat.

  “You are being wicked.”

  “I am wicked, Mary. Please do not wish me dull.” He missed a step, gripping her lower back, as she tripped. “Look how you have me muddled.”

  He did it again, and made her laugh out loud. It was what he had intended.

  But as she nearly fell and Andrew captured her, she bumped into her father’s arm.

  “Sorry, Papa. Andrew is making mistakes to make me laugh.”

  Her father lifted an eyebrow, smiling and spinning her mother out of the way.

  “Don’t irritate him needlessly,” Mary whispered.

  “It was humour or ravishment, I will ravish you before them if you wish… Which would you rather have?”

  “Ravishment,” she answered, laughing. She did not wish him dull.

  “Naughty girl; that would have me tossed out.” He leant to her ear. “Have you told your parents about the child? Your father said nothing to me.”

  Mary leaned back and met his gaze. “No.”

  “Your uncle knows. I told him in town. So we had best tell your parents before they hear it from him.”

  The music trailed to a close.

  Gripping her hand, Andrew pulled her the few steps to where her father and mother stood. “Sir?”

  Her father turned. “Edward, as I you told, son, at least that.”

  “Edward, then, sir, we would like a word if we may?”

  “What is it?” Mary’s mother clutched Andrew’s arm and drew him aside as another tune began.

  “My Lady, I—”

  “It is Ellen, Andrew, until you f
eel able to think of me as a mother. Now speak.”

  Andrew took a breath. “Mary is with child, she has just let me know she has not told you and I thought you would wish to know.” His fingers threaded in between Mary’s clinging.

  For a moment they were silent, and Mary bit her lip, but then her father reached to shake Andrew’s hand, moisture glinting in his eyes, and Mary’s mother grasped her into a hug openly sobbing. “Oh, I am happy for you, I have been so worried…”

  “I hope this is a good thing. You are pleased, Drew?”

  “Sir, I mean,” Andrew sighed, “Edward, yes, I am pleased.” He glanced at Mary as her mother let her go. “More than pleased, and John, Pembroke, is selling me a property adjoining his. We will live near here so Mary will have her brother close—”

  “You are inferring I would not trust you…” Mary’s father interjected.

  “No, I mean, yes, Edward. I just wish to set your mind at rest.”

  “It will be at rest if you keep making her laugh and smile. And I know about the property, John might be my stepson but he does talk to me.” Mary’s father laughed and slapped Andrew’s shoulder.

  Andrew looked awkward. But her father turned to the room then lifted a hand.

  “A moment! Let us have your attention! My son-in-law has some news!”

  Margaret stopped playing and couples swung to a halt.

  Andrew fingers closed more firmly about Mary’s, and she looked up and saw him swallow, as though his throat was dry. Then he took a breath. “Mary is with child.”

  Handshaking and kissing followed with numerous good wishes, and then Margaret’s husband shouted. “I wish for more waltzes, but someone else shall have to play; I wish to dance with my wife!”

  The room broke into laughter, then Eleanor swapped places with Margaret, and then they were all dancing again, although Eleanor ignored the size of the room and the number of couples and played a rousing, raucous tune, which had them all bumping into each other and laughing.

  But after three dances Andrew whispered to Mary’s ear. “I have had my fill of playing happy families, Mary, darling, do you mind if I go outside for a smoke?”

  “I do not mind, but I shall come with you.”

  He smiled, tugging her hand, and pulling her towards the open French door.

  The night was tepid but not cold, and bright, a full moon hung in the sky throwing silver light across the grounds.

  “I am sure you should not be out here with me when I’m smoking, your father would not like it.” He took a thin cigar from his pocket.

  “And I’m sure I do not care what he thinks.” She turned and walked backwards across the terrace.

  He followed.

  “The night is lovely, the stars are really bright.”

  “You are the brightest.”

  She leaned back against the balustrade. “Idle flattery will earn you nothing.”

  “So you said when I sent you that damn poetry.” He struck the match on the stone, then lifted the flame to the cigar’s tip, illuminating his face.

  He had a rugged masculine beauty.

  He shook the flame out and tossed the match away. Then he looked at her. “Brooke put so much effort into those words. They were mostly his. If you would ever like prose tell me and I’ll call on Peter. I have asked him to be godfather by the way. I hope you do not mind.”

  He rested his buttocks on the balustrade, one hand on the stone, the other, holding his cigar.

  “I don’t mind.” With him etched in moonlight this felt a little like a fairytale, only she’d not fallen for the prince but the villain. Except that the villain had been masquerading – just misunderstood and unloved; a little like beauty and the beast.

  She touched his cheek with her fingertips, turning to face him. “Perhaps if it is a girl, she will like prose.”

  Andrew smiled. His free hand lifted to capture hers and draw it down, and then the grip pulled her closer as he opened his legs so that she could step between.

  Her fingers touched his midriff beneath his evening coat pressing against his waistcoat.

  “Are you surviving?”

  “Your family?” A low deep sound slipped from his throat. “Yes, they are just a little overpowering when one is not used to them, sweetheart. But I shall cope. I generally do. I could not write sweet nothings, but when I sat down and rewrote what they’d scribbled half drunk, it flowed from me. I can even surprise myself sometimes.”

  She frowned at him. “You wrote? I thought they wrote the letters.”

  “The last paragraph of the second letter was my own poor attempt, and those thereafter,” He gave her a self-deprecating smile.

  “You are mine. You are, you know, mine”

  His lips twitched, a smile hovering but not forming, “As much as you are mine, you always have been from the beginning.” He sucked on his cigar and blew the smoke out upwards, away from her.

  Mary’s heart thumped hard against her ribs. “You and I are meant to be one, hand and glove, half and whole. Put us together, darling, make us one, a single being. I want you… Were they your words?”

  He frowned, “That you are quoting back to me? Yes, probably, I do not remember them in that much detail. I just know I sat down that morning and they came spilling out of me. I did not want to lose you.”

  She’d read those words again and again in the last few days, even though she’d believed they were not his, she had hung on to the sentiment within them. But they were his... “I want you. I cannot say I love you, not yet. I do not even know what on earth love is, but I do know that I cannot sleep for thinking of you, or dreaming of you. I think of you and I lose my breath, I see you and my heart begins to pound, I hear you and my spirit wants to sing. I am yours, Mary. Be mine. I cannot simply walk away. I will not.

  “Think of the possibilities. If this was love? If this is our only chance at finding each other? If we are meant to be? Would you throw that away? Throw me away?”

  He smiled his roguish grin and shook his head. “You memorised it. No wonder you were so hurt when you found out it was not written by me.”

  “The other nonsense was not. I did not memorise that, but those words… They were yours?”

  He sucked on his cigar again, eyeing her with amusement.

  “Andrew, it was only those words which made me believe in you and want to see you again. Not your friends’ words.”

  Tears misting her gaze, her arms slipped about him, and clung. “I am very glad I did not throw you away, we are meant to be aren’t we…”

  His fingers gripped her nape as her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “I think so yes, and I wanted it to be just like this.”

  “Like this?” She straightened looking at him as he drew on his cigar. “I am sure you did not imagine us here, with my family a few feet away.”

  “No.” He laughed. “I did not imagine them. But you loving me as I loved you. That is what I longed for.”

  She kissed his jaw and then the corner of his lips. “That you have always had.”

  He broke their embrace, turned and extinguished his cigar then threw it out into the darkness. “Come on, let’s be naughty. I don’t want to go back in there really.”

  “Be naughty?”

  “Abscond. I have a better idea than more waltzes.”

  “Andrew?” she glanced back at the open French doors, the music played on.

  “Come on, be a rebel with me. They know you’re safe.”

  She looked at him. Her loyalty belonged to him first, and she did not want to bridle her wild, restless stallion tonight when he’d only just earned his freedom again.

  He must have seen the decision in her eyes as he grinned. “Come on.”

  Mary caught up her dress and followed as he tugged her towards the steps, and ran down them on to the lawn, then he began racing down the slope.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the lake!”

  He pulled her on as she lifted her beautiful dress above
her knees so she could run with him, the long grass swiping at her lower legs, the scent of clover flooding the night air.

  She was breathless and breathing hard when they reached the water.

  It was absolutely still, reflecting back the dark night sky with its pinpricks of light and full moon.

  Andrew pulled her on about the lake, until they were out of sight of the house.

  “Here.” He stopped, and began slipping off his evening coat as he breathed heavily too.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We are going for a swim, sweetheart.”

  “Andrew, I am in an evening gown.”

  “Did I say we were swimming in our clothes? Undress.”

  “What if someone comes?”

  “They will hear us and leave us in privacy. We’ll make lots of noise so they do.”

  “They will think…”

  “That we are enjoying ourselves.” He dropped his evening coat onto the grass. “I promised your Papa I would keep you laughing…”

  “Andrew—”

  “Mary, we are married, no one will judge. Do not deny me…” His fingers worked the knot of his cravat loose. “If you say no, you will always wish you had said, yes. You like being naughty you just lack courage…” His cravat slid from around his neck.

  “Here let me undo your dress for you.” She turned her back.

  His fingers brushed against her skin.

  But then his hands hesitated.

  “You are not wearing stays, or a chemise.”

  Her head tipped back against his shoulder, as his hands slipped about her, beneath the satin, to cup her breasts and his lips brushed against her neck. “I love you, but I wish you’d told me earlier you’d not worn underwear. I would not have bothered dancing”

  Mary laughed. The nights she had met him in the dark, hiding from her family, crept through her soul. He had touched her like this then, and it had been dangerous and desperate. Now the danger felt like home… A place she wished to be. “I only did not because the fabric is so fine, underwear spoils the silhouette of the dress.”

  His fingers slid away. “Then, this has just become my favourite dress.” He released the last of the buttons and helped her step out of it.

  The night air caressed her skin, cool but not cold.