“I want you,” she breathed.
“Let me show you something,” Hart panted.
* * *
Meg was ravenous for him. She pulled his hips toward hers, wanting him inside her. Now. But Hart moved down her body. She nearly sobbed as his hips moved away from hers. “No,” she cried, trying to pull him back up to her.
“Wait,” he murmured, kissing the tops of her breasts, her belly, the inside of her thigh. When he spread her legs with his hands on her knees, she bit the back of her hand. What was he planning to…?
Oh God.
His tongue dipped into her cleft and Meg’s eyes rolled back in her head. Lucy had never told her anything about this. His hot tongue stroked her in wave after wave, nudging at the spot that made her thighs tense.
“Tell me you want me,” he murmured again into her softness.
“I want you,” she echoed, crying out and biting the back of her hand to keep from being too loud so the servants wouldn’t hear.
His tongue kept up its gentle assault as wave after wave of lust shot through her. His hands held her knees apart while his mouth worked against her soft flesh. His tongue dipped inside again and again. He moved back up to lick her in that perfect spot over and over and over until she cried out in pure ecstasy. She panted and her breathing hitched when Hart moved back up her body and hovered over her again.
“Tell me you want me,” she demanded, grabbing his head by the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I want you,” he said, pressing her knees apart this time with his thighs. He nudged at the entrance to her body and then there was the smooth slick slide of him as he entered her. She cried out against his shoulder and moved her head back and forth on the pillow. He slid into her and pulled out. “No,” she cried, not wanting him to leave her.
“I want you,” he growled against her throat, sliding into her again.
He stroked into her again. “I want you.” And again. “I want you.” And again. “I want you.”
* * *
The next morning, Hart was pulling on his breeches when Meg rolled over and stroked his back. He closed his eyes. The touch of her hand was pure torture. He wanted her again. She hadn’t told him she loved him last night. He hadn’t said it, either. God, did he even know what love was?
She also had refused to tell him whatever it was she’d been planning to in Lucy’s gardens that fateful night. Damn it. He clenched his jaw and steeled himself. She made him jealous of other men. She made him crazy with lust. She made him want her again and again. He’d never get enough, but if she couldn’t trust him to tell him what she’d been planning to say, what sort of future did they have together? Trust had to be given and received. If he gave her his heart, if she knew she had it, he would be completely vulnerable to her. He made his way toward his bedchamber.
“Where are you going?” Meg’s voice was still sleep-muffled. He glanced at her—she was gorgeous, his wife. Their children would be gorgeous, too.
“To the club.”
“Again?”
“Yes.”
“I thought…” She bowed her head and pulled the sheets higher. “Things had changed between us.”
“I thought so, too.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
That night, Meg picked out a skin-colored gown she’d had made during her time in Northumbria. The garment hugged every curve, was tight in the bodice, and looked as if it were a second skin. It was nearly indecent, unlike anything else she’d ever worn. It was perfect for her purposes.
Sarah had employed a team of dressmakers from the nearby village to come to Berkeley Hall. She’d instructed them on the latest London fashions. The dressmakers had been happy for the work and the information, and Meg had ended up with a lovely new wardrobe purchased on her husband’s credit. At least her time in Northumbria had been good for something other than ruminating on her messy marriage.
The gown was a concoction she and Sarah had designed to make Hart salivate. The décolletage was decadent, the embroidery, expensive, and the pearls she wore with it, picked out by Sarah, who insisted Hart owed them to her.
Emily had straightened Meg’s hair again. She had just dismissed the maid and was dabbing passionflower perfume behind both ears when Hart came into her bedchamber wearing casual attire. Clearly, he wasn’t planning to go out this evening.
“Where are you going?” His eyes narrowed on the tops of her breasts.
“A ball.” She concentrated on keeping her voice even, calm.
He placed his fists on his hips. “You’re not going out of this house dressed like that.”
She set the vial of perfume back on her dressing table. “You’re not about to stop me.”
“Yes, I am,” he said through clenched teeth. “I am your husband.”
She swiveled on her stool and crossed her arms over her chest. “We don’t need to be in each other’s pockets,” she shot back. “Isn’t that what you said to me once?”
He clenched his jaw and a muscle ticked there. “What do you want from me, Meg?”
She stood and strode over to the window, crossing her arms over her chest. She couldn’t fight him anymore. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she savagely wiped them away. “I’ll tell you what I want from you, Hart. I want love. That’s all I ever wanted from you. Do you know what I was going to say to you that night? That night when you didn’t give me a chance to say it? I’ve loved you since I was sixteen! I’ve wanted you to be my husband since then, but I also want a marriage full of love and children and happiness.”
She barely registered the fact that his face had gone pale. He held his breath. “Meg.” Hart took two large steps toward her and pulled her into his arms. She was beyond listening to him.
“On our wedding night,” she continued. “You reminded me of how I said I wanted a child, a family, but you forgot that I’d also said I wanted love. I’ve always loved you, Hart. Always. If you haven’t realized that by now, you’re either blind or stupid or both!”
“Meg.” He cradled her face in both hands.
“All Lucy and I were doing was attempting to get you to finally notice me.”
“Meg, stop.”
She furiously wiped away her tears with the backs of her hands, and her voice held a note of steely resolve. She pushed him away with both hands. “No! I refuse to stop. I’m through holding in what I want to say, what I need to say. I’ve done that my entire life. I’ve sat in the corner and been a good girl and done what I was told. I refuse to do it anymore. Here’s how it will be. I’m leaving here tonight. I’m going to a ball with Sarah and Lucy. You and I, we’re going to love each other and respect each other and be equals. If you want the same thing, you know where I’ll be. If you don’t want that, don’t come for me.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Meg hurried down the corridor in the Litchfields’ town house. She clutched a note in her hand that said, “Meg, meet me in the silver drawing room in five minutes. Come alone.”
It had to be Hart. He’d come for her after all. Her heart raced as she neared the door. Just before entering she took a deep breath. This was it. The next few moments might decide their entire future together. She pushed open the door and raced inside.
She stopped and gasped.
Standing in the middle of the room, a glass of brandy in his hand, was Hart’s father, the Earl of Highfield.
“Miss Timmons,” he said, turning toward her.
“It’s Lady Highgate,” she intoned. “Or have you forgotten?” She turned to leave. She knew how Hart’s father felt about her. She had no intention of listening to his insults.
“Not for long,” he sneered.
She swiveled on her heel to face him again. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I have it on good authority from one of the servants that you and Hart haven’t consummated your marriage. Hart’s spent every night since your marriage in his bed alone. You even left for Northumbria for the better part of a month. Isn’t that true?�
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Good God, the man had hired all the servants. No wonder there were spies in their midst. “Even if that were true, what business is it of yours?” she retorted.
“What business is it? Why, it’s all of my business,” the older man scoffed. “I intend to see this marriage annulled.”
“Have you gone mad?”
“My son was enamored enough of you temporarily to marry you, but now that I know he refuses to touch you, I’m certain I can convince him to seek an annulment.”
“Why would you want that? It would only bring more scandal on your family.”
“So you admit it?”
“I admit nothing. I’m trying to understand your twisted thinking.”
“Do you know what it’s like? Seeing my son make the same mistake I made? My wife never wanted me. She wanted my money, just like you. I know how much money Hart has spent on you and your hideous family, and it sickens me.”
She narrowed her eyes on the earl. “What money?”
“Don’t play dumb, my dear. It doesn’t suit you.” He took a hefty swallow of brandy.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Hart settled a huge sum on your father. He paid off all his debts.”
“What? No.” Meg shook her head.
“It’s true.” The earl downed the rest the brandy and set the empty glass on the sideboard.
Meg’s mind raced. Her parents had decided to stay in London. She had noticed her mother wearing a new gown. “Even if it is true, I fail to see how it’s any of your business.”
The earl’s face turned purplish red. “It’s my business because it’s my money.”
Meg turned to leave. “If you have a problem, I suggest you take it up with your son.”
“I don’t think so, Viscountess. I’ve already hired a solicitor to begin the process of the annulment.”
“You’re insane. Do you even know what the grounds for annulment are?”
“One of them is a failure to consummate the marriage.”
“Because of impotence. Do you truly think Hart will admit to that?”
“He’ll thank me for this one day.”
“You don’t know your son at all.”
“And you do?”
“Yes. I know he’s kind to servants and he adores his sister. I know he has tiny laugh lines around his eyes and when he’s tired he rubs them. I know he’s been far too accommodating to you and your wife over the years, even after you’ve frightened him half out of his wits over the prospect of marriage. And I know without a doubt that all four of our parents aren’t half the people Hart and Sarah and I have become and we certainly don’t have any of you to thank for it.”
The earl rolled his eyes. “A pretty little speech, but a useless one. I’ve whispered news of the annulment into the ears of the ton’s biggest gossips at this ball tonight. By the time you return to the ballroom, you’ll be scorned by the people who’ve been pretending to be your friends.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“I only called you in here to give you a warning. Leave now. Go back to Northumbria or wherever you can go to hide from the gossip. If I were you, I’d talk your parents into going to the Continent after all.”
“I’ll do no such thing.” Meg picked up her skirts and turned toward the door.
“So be it,” the earl replied. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His deranged laughter followed her from the room.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Hart had watched Meg leave for the ball nearly half an hour earlier. By God, she was magnificent, his wife, and she had been right. He was blind. He was stupid. He was both, and he had been all this time. Berkeley’s words from a few nights ago blazed through his mind: “It’s a surprising thing when you realize a happy marriage is within your reach. It’s enough to shock a mere mortal into action.”
By God, Hart was human, too. He did have such a chance. A happy marriage was within his reach. By some mad twist of fate, he had managed to marry a woman who loved him, truly loved him, not for his title or future estate, but for himself. He wasn’t his father and Meg wasn’t his mother. Meg wouldn’t cuckold him. Meg was perfect, and he’d done nothing but push her away.
All of the times he’d seen her since she was sixteen paraded through his mind. It was true he hadn’t paid much attention, but she’d blushed, she’d laughed, she’d giggled a bit too much. Sarah had often glanced back and forth between them, something he’d noted but had never given much thought to. Now his memory filled with moments when Meg stuttered in his presence or turned silent when he entered the room. She’d known his horse’s name. Had been at his bedside when he’d broken his leg last autumn. She’d always been there, on the sidelines, quietly watching him. And waiting, apparently, for him to wise up and notice her. He’d been a blind jackass all these years.
“If you don’t want a marriage full of love and laughter and happiness,” she had said, “don’t come for me.” By God, he was going after her—right now! He took the stairs two at a time, flying down them to find her lady’s maid to ask which ball Meg was attending.
“Send for the carriage,” he called to the butler as he ran.
After speaking to her maid, he rushed back upstairs and summoned his valet. He needed to dress, immediately.
* * *
One half hour later, Hart strode through the Litchfields’ ball, pushing people aside, ignoring both acquaintances and friends, desperately searching for his wife. He’d looked everywhere. She was nowhere to be found. Finally, he spotted Sarah. “Where is she?” he asked in a tone that made Sarah know exactly who he was looking for.
Sarah stepped toward him and lowered her voice. “Hart, Father’s in a mood. He discovered you paid off Meg’s father’s debts and he wants to speak with you. He’s been—”
“I don’t give a bloody damn about Father right now. Where is she?” he repeated.
“You must listen, Hart. Father’s been telling the entire party and anyone who’ll listen that you’re going to get your marriage annulled. That your marriage hasn’t been consummated, that Meg isn’t truly your wife, that—”
“What? Where is she?” Hart searched desperately this time. If he found his father first, he’d rip the bastard limb from limb.
Sarah sighed and pointed toward the wall. Hart’s gaze followed her finger. There she was. A wallflower again. Just like the night he’d first danced with her. Because of what his father had been telling people? He’d kill the son of a bitch.
Meg’s fingers plucked at her reticule strings. She looked toward her feet. She was so beautiful and vulnerable and heartbreakingly perfect that he realized … he loved her. He loved her desperately. She was so fragile and lovely, exactly as she had been that night at the Hodges’ ball. Only this time she was his wife. His wife whom he couldn’t live without, didn’t want to at any rate. He strode up to her, his heart in his throat. What if she wouldn’t forgive him? What if she could no longer love him back?
She turned as he approached. “Hart!” Her voice was tentative and she looked frightened, like a hare who might bolt at any moment.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father approach. “Hart,” his father intoned. “I need a word with you. Now.”
“Get out of here, Father,” Hart ground out, unwilling to leave Meg’s side.
“I must speak with you, privately,” his father intoned. “There’s something you need to know.”
“No,” Hart replied through clenched teeth. “Why did you allow Meg to sit in the corner? No one allows Meg to sit in the corner.”
His father narrowed his eyes on him. “You’re being emotional. She’s nothing but—”
“My wife!” Hart shouted. He raised his voice so the entire ballroom could hear. “She is my wife, Father, and I love her desperately. Furthermore, I don’t care what you or Mother or anyone else thinks. If you cannot accept Meg, get out of my sight.”
His father held
up both hands conciliatorily. “I can see you’re not in any mood to be reasonable tonight.”
The people around them were watching with intense interest and a hush had come over the ballroom as more and more of the partygoers turned to stare.
Hart’s voice remained raised. “I’ll never be in a mood to discuss this with you. Sarah told me you’ve been telling people our marriage hasn’t been consummated. Is that true?”
His father replied with a jerky nod. His face was turning red.
Hart pulled Meg up to stand next to him. He lifted his booted foot and climbed onto the chair she’d been sitting in. “Listen to me!” he shouted. “My father has been making up lies, ugly, dirty lies about me and my wife.” He glanced down at Meg and gave her a tender smile. “Meg Highgate is the best wife a man could ever hope to have and I’m lucky to call her mine. Furthermore, I’m happy to announce that we have, in fact, consummated our marriage more than once and hopefully will do so again, tonight, if she forgives me for making this scene.”
Meg’s face was bright pink. She pulled him by the hand off the chair and he wrapped his arms around her.
Hart’s father, spluttering with mortification, his face crimson, pushed his way through the crowd.
Hart picked up Meg and spun her around. The he set her in front of him on the floor.
Meg’s voice was slight, quiet. “Does this mean…?”
Hart nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat, searching her face. He fell to one knee. “Meg Highgate, I love you more than anything in this world. I don’t deserve you. I’ve never come close to deserving you, but I want a marriage full of happiness and laughter and fun and love. And children. Lots of children. An indecent amount of children. At least half a score of them. For the rest of my life I will do anything in my power to make you happy.”
“Only half a score of children?” The tiny smile at the crook of her mouth might not be noticeable to someone else, but he noticed and he knew. He’d won.
The Right Kind of Rogue Page 22