An Undomesticated Wife (15 page)

“My lady,” he said, uneasily, “if you are going out alone, that is unadvisable.”

“I am a married woman, as everyone seems anxious to remind me! Please have the carriage brought.”

“Lord Daniston has said—”

“Be bothered with what he has said! Will you have the carriage brought around front, or must I go to the stable myself?”

She thought the footman would fly out at her more, but a sudden, relieved expression stole his frown. She stiffened when she heard Marcus ask from the stairs, “Is there a problem, Gardner?”

Regina demanded, “Why don't you ask me?”

“Very well,” Marcus said with a smile as he descended. “Is there a problem, Regina?”

“I wish to go for a ride, and Gardner refuses to have a carriage brought about for me.” She winced, for she realized how childish her words must sound.

“He fears for your safety.” Marcus leaned his elbow on the railing. “Do have the carriage brought, Gardner. I shall take Lady Daniston for a ride if she wishes.”

While the footman hurried away, she asked, “You? I thought you wanted nothing to do with me after my missteps last night.”

His smile grew wider. “I am in too good a state of mind to pull caps with you today.”

“No doubt. I am sure you had a most interesting night.”

“Do not give me a dressing-down when I am acquiescing to your desire for a ride about London.”

Regina refused to relent. “I must question why you wish to go with me today when you could not wait to leave me last night? Guilt, mayhap?”

“Think what you wish.” He motioned toward the door. “Get your prettiest bonnet and parasol, sweetheart. I think this afternoon will be one neither of us will soon forget.”

Regina struggled not to soothe her heart which urged her to relent and enjoy Marcus's company as they drove along London's streets. He was being thoroughly captivating with his smiles and his easy gossip, which he assured her he had heard last night at his club. How simple it would be to believe that was where he had been!

“I am pleased there has been no interruption in
this
outing,” he said as the carriage wandered into a maze of narrow streets. “I had wondered if I could ever spirit you away from Grandmother and your aunt.”

“The dowager duchess spirited
you
away last time.”

“For a boring meeting with my solicitor.”

“An important meeting, as I recall.”

“For you.”

“Me?”

He chuckled as he put one foot against the front wall and rested his arm behind her on the tufted seat. “Grandmother is determined that my wife and future progeny are well taken care of if I cock up my toes.” Curving his hand around her shoulder, he asked, “Are you curious if you will be a wealthy widow, Regina?”

“I prefer not to speak of such things.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I lost my mother before I was old enough to know her, and I do not want to think of my children being denied a parent.”

His finger curled along her cheek. “I am sorry, sweetheart.”

“I am, too,” she whispered. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she wished they could put aside their differences so they might be close like this more often.

When the carriage slowed and turned toward the walkway, she sat straighter. She had no idea where they might be or why they were stopping. The brick houses were simpler than the grand ones edging Berkeley Square. The windows were without the fancy ornamentation, and the doors were plain.

Marcus got out of the carriage and handed her down to the walkway. When she asked him what he had planned, he only smiled. He slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her toward a door that looked no different from its neighbors.

Regina grew more bewildered when he opened the door with a key he withdrew from under his coat. When he waved her into the foyer, she stared about herself unabashedly. The room, which seemed cramped after the spaciousness of the duke's house, was round. A flight of stairs led up from one side.

“Do not look so uncomfortable,” Marcus said as he put his hand on the newel post. “A friend lives here.”

She did not move from near the door. “But where is he? Where is his household?”

Taking her hand, he brought her up the stairs. “This dear friend always welcomes me. No one is about to signal the Charleys to come and rout us from here.”

“But it does not seem right to be here when your friend is out.”

“I told you I am always welcome here.” He put his arm around her waist as they walked together along the first floor. “We need a chance to be alone to smooth our differences, Regina, so my friend has encouraged me to run tame here. I arranged, last night after the ball, for the house to be available to us today.”

Regina's eyes widened as she stared at the lace-draped room. Everything was ruffled or flounced, save for the blue Persian rug. She wondered how anyone could live in such a place and why Marcus had chosen this place to bring her.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” he said, pointing to a settee. “I shall get us something to take the dust from our throats.”

Unable to shake her uneasiness, she sat with her feet pressed against the floor as if she was about to jump up and race away. She never had been so utterly alone with Marcus before, and the very thought unsettled her more than she wished to own.

He handed her a glass of madeira as he sat next to her. Smiling, he untied the ribbons beneath her bonnet and drew it off. She flinched when a hairpin fell onto her lap.

“Allow me,” he said softly and held out his hand.

“It goes—”

“I saw exactly where it goes,” he murmured.

Staring up into his eyes, she could not guess what he was thinking. She put the pin on his palm and gasped when his fingers closed over it and her hand. With a smile, he reached up with his other hand and withdrew another pin from her hair. Heavy strands dropped to her shoulder.

“Marcus—”

She could say no more when his mouth covered hers. His arm encircled her waist as his fingers combed upward through her hair, scattering pins to the floor. She raised her hands to push him away, but he leaned her back against the lush cushions. The strength of his body pinned her against the velvet as his lips meandered on a slow, sensual journey along her neck. When he loosened the top hooks at the back of her gown, he drew the neckline lower to reveal the curve of her breasts. Each touch of his moist mouth against her skin was a separate ecstasy, enticing her to want more.

He sat and drew her up beside him. Capturing her mouth anew, he sent fire across her lips. Then he stood. Holding out his hand, he said, “This settee is too cramped. Come with me, sweetheart.”

As if she were outside her own body, she watched her hand rise to settle on his palm. Her hair cascaded down her back as he brought her to her feet. When she wobbled, for her knees were as weak as if the fever within her was a sickness, he laughed and grasped her hand. She grasped a table with her other hand.

“Oh, no!” she cried when a folded gilt frame rocked and fell to the floor.

“Do not worry,” Marcus said.

“But it may have broken.”

“Leave it.”

Regina knelt and picked up the frame. As she had feared, shards of glass fell back to the carpet. She was about to set it on the table when the face on one side caught her eye.

“Regina …”

She jerked her hand out of his as she held up the double miniatures. “Your friend keeps portraits of you and your convenient in his house?”

He took the frame. “Regina, you must let me explain.”

“Why? What is there to explain?” She fumbled with the hooks on her gown as she whirled away. “This is
her
house, isn't it?”

“To be exact, it is mine.”

Wishing he had lied, glad he had been honest about this at least, Regina grabbed her bonnet. She raced out of the room and down the stairs. She wanted to be gone from this place before she was further tainted.

“Regina! Come back! Give me a chance to explain!”

She did not slow. Tying her bonnet under her chin, she threw open the door and rushed to where the carriage was waiting. She did not wait for the startled coachman to open the door. She climbed into the carriage.

“Go!” she cried.

“But Lord Daniston is not—”

“Go!”

The coachman gave her an odd look but clambered into his seat. At her call to hurry, he sent the carriage racing down the narrow street.

She hunched against the seat and squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. Marcus might have a claim on her body, which she could not deny him after their wedding ceremony, but she vowed to keep him from gaining control of her heart.

The street in front of the church was crowded with a rainbow of ladies. The men were dark clouds among them, for most of them wore black or navy coats. Feathers floated from upswept hair, and the sound of laughter was a musical finish to the Sunday service.

Regina winced as she passed a woman who was wearing a surfeit of perfume that would not have been out of place in the Dey's seraglio. A smile teased the corners of her lips, for she knew the woman would be highly offended to be compared with the Dey's collection of concubines and wives.

“Yes, I found it very interesting,” she said to answer the dowager duchess's question.

“I thought your tastes more cosmopolitan than this silliness,” the old woman said with a sniff. “I vow I never heard such a poor sermon.”

Before Regina could reply, the dowager duchess turned to greet yet another of her many friends. At a laugh behind her, Regina looked back to see the Duke of Attleby's smile.

“Pay Mother no mind,” he said as he offered his arm. When she put her fingers on it, he put his hand over her gloved one. “She delights in taking apart every bit of a sermon until there is nothing remaining. I daresay, if she were younger, she would yearn for a life behind the pulpit.”

“The dowager duchess?”

“Don't look so amazed, Regina.” Hearing Marcus's laugh, she turned. “She does, after all, enjoy telling us all the right thing to do.” The sweet aroma of wine washed over her along with his chuckle, surprising her, for she had never seen him drink at this hour. Then she reminded herself that after his attempt to seduce her in Mrs. Simpson's sitting room, she had no idea what he might do. “My grandmother has a mind of her own. Good morning, Father.”

“Good morning, son. I leave your wife in your care.” His smile broadened. “Another week, and this wedding nonsense will be over.”

Regina almost replied to the duke's statement, for this was the first time she had heard him speak out against the wedding ceremony. Instead, as he walked to where Mr. Fisher and Aunt Elayne were talking intently, she said to Marcus, “I thought you considered it unseemly for a woman to have a mind of her own.”

“To the contrary, I like a woman to have some imagination.” His finger trailed a flame across her hand and up her arm. Twisting it in one of the curls along her neck, he drew her hair up as he brushed his finger against her ear. “For example, now, I would have you imagine the pleasure we might share.”

“I am sure
you
can.” She settled her parasol more firmly on her shoulder. “You made that clear when you took me to that place.”

“You can say her name.”

“Not here.” She looked up at the steeple. When the bell began to peal, birds scattered like shreds of paper tossed into the air. “Mayhap you can be a hypocrite, my lord, but I find it distasteful. I bid you a good day.”

“Regina,” he said, putting his hand on her arm, “you cannot run away from me forever. We need to talk.”

“Odd that you always tell me that you wish to talk, but then you try to involve me in a far different sort of intercourse.”

“Why do you sound affronted?” His voice grew husky with the longing she knew too well. “I want you in my bed, Regina. I own that I conceived of making love with you at Jocelyn's house when I realized it would be wrong to break the pledge we both made to Grandmother not to become lovers in my father's house.”

She shrugged off his hand. “I bid you good day, my lord.”

His muttered reply was not fit, she was certain, for the churchyard, but she continued to walk away from the church. She must close him out of her dreams and her heart, although that was not an easy task. Only a cork-brained air-dreamer would have believed that Marcus Aurelius Octavius Whyte could be heart-smitten with a woman like Regina Morrissey Whyte.

Suddenly a hand clamped over her mouth. She shrieked, but the sound was muted by the damp flesh. Pulled back into the shadows at the rear of the church, she heard her captor curse under his breath.

In Arabic!

But this wasn't Algiers! It was London! What was happening?

She struggled to escape. Her soft slippers were no use because her captor wore boots. Pulled between the church and another building, she fought to break free. She must get away.

He readjusted his hand as he pulled her backward. She locked her teeth on his finger. He screeched and jerked back. She shrieked, straining her throat. She ran, but her arm was seized. She screamed again.

When she was thrust to the ground, her breath burst from her in a moan. She pushed herself up to sit just in time to see Marcus land a facer on her captor. The man reeled back, blood spurting from his lip, then collapsed. With a whistle, Marcus called to a group of men who had been watching from the street.

“Get the authorities, and have them do what they should with him,” he ordered sharply. “Just keep him away from Lady Daniston, and there will be a guinea in it for each of you.”

“'Course, milord,” one of the men hurried to say. He tipped his torn cap toward Regina before joining the swarm of his fellows around the fallen man.

“How are you?”

Tears welled into Regina's eyes at Marcus's terse question. What a moonling she was to think that her husband had come to her rescue because he possessed a deep
tendre
for her! Instead he sounded as if she had caused this disruption purposely.