“There you are,” he said. “I was looking for you. Lucy thought perhaps you might be in trouble.”
“Trouble?”
Hart stepped closer. He was only a pace or so away from her. She could smell his spicy cologne. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent, trying to work up the courage to say what she needed to say. It was more difficult than she’d imagined with him standing here, tall and handsome and smelling good and looking at her with that charming smile.
She ran her hands up and down her chilled arms.
“You’re cold?” he asked.
“A bit,” she replied.
He pulled his coat from his shoulders, stepped forward, and hung it over hers. She pulled it close with both hands. This was so like the night in the gardens next to her father’s house. But so much had changed since then.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Meg, I want to tell you something,” Hart began.
“Good because I want to tell you something, too.” She had to be the first one to speak. She had a bad feeling he was about to tell her he planned to ask Lady Eugenia for her hand and if he did that, there was no way she could tell him she loved him.
“I’m sorry about what happened to Winford,” Hart continued.
Had that been what he’d planned to say?
“It’s not your fault—” She took a step toward him.
“Yes, it is. At least it feels as if it is.” Hart paced away and scrubbed his hand through his hair. Then he turned back toward her. “It feels as if I’ve done nothing but cause you trouble ever since the Hodges’ ball.”
Meg blinked. “Caused me trouble? I don’t understand.”
“I kissed you, I locked myself in a silver closet with you, and then I caused serious injury to the man you hope to marry. The timing could not have been worse, with your father about to cart you off across the Continent.”
“I still don’t understand.” Meg searched his face.
“I’m trying to say that I hope you’ll forgive me for ruining your marital prospects.”
“Ruining my—” Meg opened her mouth and closed it again. She had no idea how to answer that. It was so different from what she’d thought he might say she wasn’t certain how to respond.
She pushed a slipper through the gravel and twisted her fingers together. “Oh, Hart, you haven’t ruined my marital prospects.”
“You won’t have a chance to see Sir Winford again before you leave, will you?”
The last thing she wanted to talk about with Hart here in this romantic garden was Sir Winford. “He’s broken his leg. He’s not dead.”
“You didn’t answer the question. He won’t be able to leave his bed until after you’re gone, correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“That proves it,” Hart replied. “I’ve officially ruined your martial prospects.”
Meg took a deep breath. “Hart, there’s something I must tell you. Something important.”
“There’s something else I must tell you, too. Some guilt I need to resolve myself of.”
“Guilt?” She shook her head. “I told you, you haven’t ruined my marital prospects. I—”
“Please,” Hart said. “Let me finish. Because if I don’t I may never be able to say this again.”
All she could do was nod. He stepped forward, head and shoulders taller than she was. He pushed his hands beneath the coat, and ran his palms down the backs of her arms, pulling her toward him, and cupping her elbows. She sucked in her breath and held it.
“I feel guilt, Meg, not just because of my part in what happened to Sir Winford, but also because I can’t stop thinking about you.” He pulled her against his chest. “Like this.” His mouth swooped down to capture hers. She opened for him and his tongue moved in to slide against hers. He was kissing her. Really, truly kissing her. The coat fell off her shoulders. His hands came up to cup her face. Her hands moved to his shirtfront, outlining the feel of his muscles beneath the fine fabric. He kissed the side of her mouth, her cheek, her ear. His tongue trailed its way down the side of her neck where he gently sucked. Then his mouth moved back up to tangle with hers again.
Meg was on fire. She’d never known kissing could be like this. When his hand moved up to cup her breast, she gasped again, but for an entirely different reason. Not surprise, but … delight.
“Meg,” he murmured in her ear. She kissed him endlessly. Her hands traveled up his shirtfront to tug at his cravat. He helped her and soon his shirt was open and her gloves were off and she placed her palms against his hot chest and ran her fingers over his shoulders inside his shirt to feel the outline of strong, muscled arms.
Meanwhile his hands were busily undoing the back of her gown. His mouth moved down to her décolletage. His lips were on the top of her breast before she even realized it was exposed and she gasped for a third time when they covered her nipple and gently sucked.
Gravel crunched nearby and the hedge shook. They only had seconds to pull up their clothing and cover themselves before Delilah Montebank came racing around the side of the hedge, directly into their path. She stopped short and gasped when she saw them in their state of undress. Then she called out in a loud, clear voice that the entire household could no doubt hear, “Your Grace! I found them. And it’s a scandal just like you said it would be!”
Within seconds half the dinner party came flying around the hedge as gasp after gasp filled the night air.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hart broke away from Meg with an alacrity that frightened him. He pulled his shirt back up over his shoulders and leaned down to grab his coat, vaguely aware of Meg fumbling with her décolletage. She glanced at him, a stricken look on her face, just before Lucy and some of the other ladies bundled her off into the house. Hart was left with his sister, who watched him with a mixture of alarm and uneasiness. Hart ripped at his cravat and tied it. He paced around the small space, his boots crunching the gravel, anger filling him with every step.
Damn it. He’d been a fool. A complete and utter fool. He’d sat in that dining room and watched Lucy and Meg planning this and he’d walked directly into their trap. It was Annabelle all over again, only worse because he’d actually trusted Meg. He’d thought she was better.
“God damn it,” he screamed to the night air.
“Hart, your language,” Sarah said quietly.
“I doubt I could cause more of a scandal tonight if I tried. My language is hardly going to hurt.” He paced away from his sister and just as quickly paced back. “I’m only going to ask you one question, Sarah, and I damn well deserve the truth.”
Sarah’s throat worked as she swallowed, but she nodded in agreement. “Go ahead.”
“Did Lucy and Meg plan this? Did they send me out here to meet her on purpose? Did they send Delilah to find us?”
Sarah expelled a breath. “It’s not like—”
“I said I deserve the truth!” Hart shouted so loudly his sister flinched. “You owe that to me. Was this thing planned?” He clenched his jaw so tightly it ached.
Sarah hung her head and stared at her slippers, her arms crossed over her chest. “Yes, but—”
“Yes was the only word I needed to hear.”
“Hart, you must listen to me. There’s more to—”
“I thought I could trust her. I’m an idiot, a fool. I have no one to blame but myself.”
“No, it’s not like Annabelle—”
“It’s exactly like Annabelle. I even told Meg the story of what happened with Annabelle. Only Meg learned from it. She knew enough to send an entire group of people to find us.”
“Hart, you’re being unreasonable.”
“Tell me, Sarah, how reasonable should I be when I discover I’ve been led into a trap? One my own sister was a part of?”
“Listen to me—” Sarah eyed him as if he were as unpredictable as a wild animal. At the moment, he felt that way.
“I can’t even look at you right now.” He shrugged on hi
s coat and began to stride back toward the house.
“Where are you going?” Sarah called after him.
“I’m bloody well going to do what I have to … inform our parents and Meg’s that we’re betrothed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“I’m going to retch.” Meg paced back and forth in Lucy’s drawing room, her hands pressed to her heated cheeks. Less than a quarter hour had passed. Less than a quarter hour in which Meg had pulled up her gown, Hart had straightened his shirt and retied his cravat, and the entire party had bustled back into the house.
Meg had barely a moment to glance at Hart’s stonelike face before she’d been bundled off into the drawing room, Cassandra Swift’s shawl wrapped around her shoulders. There was no mistaking it. Hart had been furious. Meg was going to cast up her accounts. She was certain of it.
Lucy took a deep breath. “Oh dear, please don’t retch. Because if you retch, I will retch.”
“If you both retch, I’m certain to retch,” Cassandra said. “And I’ve been retching every morning for weeks. I cannot take any more retching.”
“If all three of you retch, I cannot promise that I won’t retch, even though I am not normally one to retch,” Jane Upton added.
“No one is going to retch!” Sarah entered the room and shut the door behind her. She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “We must think about this logically. There has to be some way to fix this.”
“Whatever do you mean, dear?” Lucy gave her a quizzical look. “Half of my dining room just saw your brother compromising Meg in the gardens. There is no way out of it. A marriage must take place.”
Meg slumped to the settee. “What did Hart say, Sarah?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.”
“He’s angry?” Meg pressed a palm against her quaking belly.
Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m afraid so.”
“What does he have to be angry about?” Lucy asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jane Upton replied. “Perhaps the fact that you clearly staged the entire scene, given that Delilah yelled it out in so many words.”
“Yes, but I had no idea they’d be locked in an intimate embrace. I’d only hoped,” Lucy replied. “How did you manage that, by the way, Meg? Brilliant!”
“Stop it! I didn’t manage anything. It was entirely innocent until—” Meg’s breathing was unsteady. If she didn’t vomit, she was going to faint. She’d never been a fainter, but now seemed the perfect time to begin.
“I assume you told him you loved him and a passionate embrace was his reply. It seemed perfect to me,” Lucy said.
“I never had a chance to tell him.” Meg swallowed back bile.
“He kissed you for no reason?” Lucy asked, blinking.
Meg pressed her fingers to her temples. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t even remember how or why she and Hart had gone from discussing Sir Winford’s broken leg to pulling off each other’s clothing in the garden, but the moment Delilah’s words echoed through the night air, Hart stiffened and pushed her away.
She’d seen his face, a mask of anger, and knew without a doubt that not only did he believe the entire thing had been planned, he believed she’d planned it. He had to. That was why she was going to retch.
“Lucy, how could you!” Meg stood and advanced upon the duchess. “I told you I didn’t want him forced.”
“Dear, I’m sorry. Truly I am. I should have been a bit more specific with my instructions to Delilah on precisely what to say when she happened upon you both, but you must know my intentions were good. Time is of the essence. The man was about to ask someone else to marry him.”
“Couldn’t you have waited until he had a chance to hear what I was going to say to him?” Meg pleaded.
Lucy turned pink. “Very well. I admit it. I was spying. I simply couldn’t hear what you said. When I saw him take you in his arms and kiss you, I thought it had all gone according to plan, so I sent Delilah.”
“If it was going so well, why didn’t you assume he would ask to marry me?” Meg moaned. “Why did you need Delilah?”
“Extra protection, dear, is never a bad thing. Besides, I know how stubborn the man can be. He clearly cares for you. The scandal part was merely to ensure it went according to plan.”
“Protection I didn’t ask for and don’t want. He’s going to hate me now.” Meg looked at Sarah. “Does he hate me, Sarah? Does he?”
“He didn’t say that.” The worried look on Sarah’s face betrayed the fact that whatever he’d said to his sister, it wasn’t good.
“Lucy, you’ve really done it this time.” Jane Upton shook her head. “You’ve never known when to leave good enough alone.”
“Good enough is never good enough when left alone,” Lucy retorted, her nose in the air.
“Perhaps we should hold our judgment until we see how Hart feels,” Cassandra offered quietly.
“Yes. Let’s,” Lucy agreed. “If I don’t mistake my guess, a wedding shall result from this. A wedding between two people who love each other. Even if one of them won’t yet admit it. That is never a mistake.”
“It’s a mistake if my husband hates me for it every day of his life,” Meg groaned.
“He’s not going to hate you…” But the duchess trailed off when she caught the look on Sarah’s face. Lucy winced. “Just how bad is it?”
“It’s bad. Quite bad.” Sarah said. “Hart is going to speak with Mother and Father. Their reaction is certain to be anything but pleasant.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Meg’s parents were waiting up for her two hours later when Lucy and Derek brought her home. Lucy had draped a cloak around Meg’s shoulders to conceal her disheveled clothing. Lucy had employed one of her maids to put Meg’s hair back into the semblance of a topknot, but Meg knew she must have looked supremely guilty when she trudged up the stairs to the front door and made her way inside. To their credit, Lucy and Derek remained by her side. She hadn’t asked the duchess to come with her. Lucy had volunteered and insisted she help explain the matter to the baron and his wife.
The moment Meg stepped through the door her mother advanced on her.
“Margaret, what have you done?” Mother’s voice was filled with disapproval. Obviously, Hart had already been here.
Her father stared at Meg in disgust, as if she were a bug.
“Let’s all go into the drawing room and discuss this civilly,” Lucy said.
They all marched into the drawing room and waited while the duchess lit a few candles.
Meg sat in a chair near the fireplace, her parents glaring at her from the settee. Lucy finished with the candles and came to stand behind Meg’s chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. Derek stood on Meg’s other side as if protection might be in order. Meg did feel comforted having them there.
“This may not have happened under the best circumstances,” Lucy began. “But the fact is that your daughter is betrothed to a future earl. I should think you’d be pleased by that.”
“Pleased?” Meg’s mother’s eyes nearly popped from her skull. “She’s shamed us by behaving like a hoyden and is about to shackle us to a family we abhor. What in heaven’s name is there to be pleased about?”
Meg searched her father’s face. It was as stonelike as Hart’s had been. “I cannot condone this marriage, Margaret.”
“You have no choice,” Derek Hunt interjected. “The damage has been done.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Meg’s mother shot back, her voice dripping with anger. She turned her attention to Meg. “I should have known you were traipsing after Highgate. You brought him up more than once lately. I’m ashamed of you, Margaret.”
Meg hung her head. She’d always hoped her parents would accept her wedding to Hart one day, if it happened, if he loved her, if he’d chosen her and had actually asked for her hand. But the entire affair had turned into a shameful debacle and she couldn’t fault her parents for being angry with her for the additional sham
e she was bringing on the family.
“Highgate says the wedding will happen as soon as he can secure the license,” the baron said.
“I can help with that,” Derek replied.
“Father,” Meg said, tears filling her eyes. “Will you be there? At the wedding?”
“We have no choice. To make this matter as respectable as possible, we must attend. We’ll put off our move until after the wedding, but we still intend to go to the Continent.”
Tears dripped down Meg’s cheeks. “I may never see you again?”
“It’s true,” her father intoned.
“What about … your grandchildren? Will you ever visit them?” A sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob escaped her throat.
“That is up to you,” Father replied. “I doubt we’ll have the funds to visit.”
Meg buried her face in the handkerchief Lucy had given her in the coach. Oh, what had she done?
“I suppose you’ll offer to pay for the wedding gown,” her mother sneered to the duchess.
“Of course. Meg will have whatever she needs,” Lucy replied.
“It seems your gamble paid off, Your Grace.” Mother eyed Meg up and down with disgust. “She’ll be well able to repay you now with the money she’ll have as Highgate’s wife.”
“Stop it,” Meg murmured.
“Stop what?” Mother replied. “Isn’t this what you wanted? What you planned for?”
It was so close to the truth and so awful that Meg jumped from her seat and ran for the door. There was no longer any doubt. She was going to retch.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The wedding was held precisely three days later in the drawing room of the Highgates’ town house at nine o’clock in the morning. The wedding party consisted of the nervous bride, who was still convinced she would retch at any moment; the bridegroom, whose face remained an angry mask of stone; the bridegrooms’ parents, who looked as if they were equally torn between anger and retching themselves; the bride’s parents, who both looked completely outraged; the groom’s sister and brother-in-law, who looked worried; the Duke of Claringdon, who looked stoic; and the Duchess of Claringdon, who looked ebullient.
The Right Kind of Rogue Page 14