How I Married a Marquess (14 page)

“Royston is the reason that place exists!” She shot to her feet, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “That home is a dumping ground for the unwanted children of English society, a place where they can rid themselves of their accidents without any chance of scandal, far from the attention of anyone in London who might be watching. They leave them there in poverty and filth, to be beaten and abused, and Royston makes certain no one knows.”

He took her shoulders in his hands to make her listen to him. “Orphanages all over England are filled with the castoffs of peers.” Sympathy softened his eyes. “It isn't right, but that's how it is.”

“No, you don't understand!” She tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. “He doesn't take the children of the peers—he takes the illegitimate babies of their sisters and daughters.”

Thomas froze, momentarily stunned speechless.

“Don't you see?” she pressed. “If knowledge of those pregnancies is ever made public, those women and their families will be completely ruined. Their social standing will be immediately destroyed, right along with the men's political aspirations. With an ordinary orphanage, there's always a chance that the children's real identities will be discovered, that the families will be blackmailed. But because Royston controls the Good Hope Home, he can assure them that he can hide away their accidents so no one ever discovers the truth.”

“Why rob only the men, then? Why not also collect from the women?”

“Because men control the money. A woman possesses only what a man allows her to have,” she said quietly, “including her children.” She desperately wanted him to believe her as she added, “And because it's the men who contact Royston, and it's Royston who secretly places the babies at the orphanage in exchange for political favors.”

At her accusation, the surprise that had flitted across his face changed to disbelief. “My father has known Royston for years. Our families are close. He's earned an upstanding reputation among his peers, and I know what a good man he is. He would never do what you're accusing.”

Josie stared at him as her heart tore. His loyalty to the earl was clear in every inch of him. Oh, she'd made a terrible mistake in thinking she could trust him! She paused to draw a steadying breath and blink away the hot tears of fury threatening at her lashes. “Yes, he would.”

He shook his head. “What proof do you have?”

“Information from the servants. Servants see a family's most personal moments and have access to their most private belongings. They know the secrets inside every house, including what the men do while working for the government or sitting in Parliament. It isn't difficult to get servants to share, especially if they were orphans themselves.”

“Only hearsay and coincidence.” His expression melted into one of pity and roused the white-hot anger inside her. “You are mistaken about Royston.”

“I'm not! Those children, all of them, sick and hungry, cold…beaten with belts, locked into the cellar at night with the rats—” Her voice
choked with fury and pain as she twisted his coat lapels into her frustrated fists. “I was
there
, Thomas.” A hot tear slid down her cheek. “I
know
what he's—”

“Stop it,” he growled, grabbing her wrists to tear her hands from his chest.

Josie gaped at him as she staggered back. She'd never told anyone before what life was like for her in the orphanage, not even her parents or her brothers. Until now. From the way Thomas had reacted when she'd told him she was adopted, she'd thought that perhaps he of all people would understand where she came from and why she felt compelled to help the children, but now the furious glare he gave her stripped her breath away.

“You don't believe me,” she whispered, her suddenly hollow chest aching so hard that each heartbeat was agony.

“I don't know what to believe about you.” His jaw clenched. “You've deceived me since the moment we met. The
very
moment we met.”

“I didn't mean—”

“Oh yes, you did.” He took her chin and forced her to look at him. “The spilled punch, the headache, pretending you're too clumsy to dance or ride a horse—even tonight with the damned brandy. And now you think I should just take your word and trust you about Royston? A man who has been a good friend to my family for years, the man who helped me get a position with the First Dragoons?”

Her stomach knotted at the contempt she saw on his face, and with a ragged breath, she pulled away from him.

He was right. She
had
deceived him, just as she had been forced to deceive everyone in her life. And now, when she needed him to believe in her, she'd cried wolf too many times to earn his trust. The irony wrenched at her heart. In her weakness tonight, with her guard down and her secrets exposed, she'd wanted him to trust her. Worse, she'd wanted him to put his arms around her and tell her everything would be fine for her and the orphans.

What a fool she'd been for wanting that! And for thinking she could confide in him.

She lifted her chin. “Quite frankly, I couldn't care less what you think.” With as haughty a sniff as she could muster, she stepped away. “But I do want you to leave. Now.”

She picked up the two pistols he'd placed on the floor and handed them to him, then moved toward the door. Her hands shook as she slid back the bolt—

“Stop this game, Josephine.” His deep voice was suddenly close at her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck. “Before someone gets hurt.”

She tensed at the nearness of his body, the heat of him seeping through her muslin dress and setting her blood humming. He'd moved so quickly, so quietly she'd not noticed him approach until he was behind her. But his closeness, and her unbidden reaction to him, wasn't enough to calm the anger and humiliation churning inside her.

“Do whatever you need to do, Thomas, but I won't stop.” Her voice was just as low as his and held just as much conviction. “I won't turn my back on those children.”

Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he took her elbow and turned her to face him. As her hands went instinctively to his chest to push him away, the hard muscles rippled beneath her fingertips. The sensation sent an electric tingle up her arms and down into her breasts, and she knew she didn't stand a chance at keeping him away. Nor did she want to. A very traitorous part of her longed to have his hands and mouth on her, his body pressing hard against hers. And one glance at the heat blazing in his eyes as he stared at her mouth told her he wanted that, too.

He was dangerous, both to her life and to her heart, and she should have been running away from him as fast as she could. Instead she was drawn to his fire, and even though she knew she was going to get burned, she craved his heat.

She couldn't fight back the soft moan of need that tore from her throat or the way her arms slipped around his shoulders to tug her against him as she breathlessly whispered, “Thomas, please—”

With a growl he grabbed her with both hands and shoved her back against the wall, his mouth capturing hers.

Thomas pinned her between the wall and his body, a willing prisoner who returned his hungry kiss with just as much ferocity as he gave. But he couldn't kiss her fiercely enough to quench the fires of passion and anger flaming inside him. She tasted delicious, an intoxicating flavor of peaches and brandy that spun his head as if he were drunk and made him wonder if other parts of her tasted just as sweet.

A groan of frustration escaped him. He couldn't get enough of her, of her soft body beneath his seeking hands, the sweet taste of her as his tongue thrust deep into the moist, warm recesses of her mouth, or her soft mewlings of arousal and pleasure. He gasped as she closed her lips over his tongue to suckle gently at him in an unpracticed but impulsive kiss that instantly hardened his cock.

Sweet Lucifer
, the things this woman did to him! She'd lied and deceived him until he didn't trust a word she said, and he should have been shoving her away. Instead his hands encircled her hips and tugged her forward against his erection, shamelessly pressing his hard length into her soft belly. She was completely wrong for him, this woman who had now placed him in the impossible situation of having to arrest her in order to secure his own future. Who was an exquisite, inexplicable release from the haunting darkness. And who would only cause problems for him.

Yet he still wanted her. Desperately.

Shifting back just far enough to caress his hands
up her arms, he slipped his thumbs beneath the shoulders of her dress and tugged, pulling both sleeves down her arms to the elbows and baring her breasts to the firelight. She gasped in surprise against his mouth but didn't try to stop him.

“The second layer,” he explained, nibbling at the corner of her lips and thanking God she hadn't bothered to put on a stay when she changed. “I'm peeling it back now.”

“Thomas—”

“I told you I would, Jo.” She shivered tantalizingly when he cupped her fullness against his palms and began to tease his thumbs over her nipples in slow circles. “That I'd peel back one layer at a time until I'd revealed all of you.”

With a whimper of surrender, she instinctively arched her back against the wall, to bring his hands harder against her. In response he scraped his thumbnails across her nipples, and a shudder of pleasure-pain swept through her as they pebbled temptingly into taut buds.

“And I always keep my promises.” Unable to resist, he ducked his head to lave his tongue over her nipple.

“Thomas!” she gasped. Her hands clutched at his shoulders not to push him away but to keep his body close and his mouth at her breast.

Laughter rumbled from deep in his chest over her reaction to so simple a caress. So, his pistol-wielding highwayman was still innocent of a man's mouth on her body, and knowing he was the first to kiss her like this pleased him immensely. More than he had a right to be. Yet he couldn't make himself stop, not yet. Shamelessly he closed his lips around her nipple and sucked.

She quivered with need and dug her fingers into his hair, and he thrilled at her response. As he suckled at her, drawing her deep into his mouth, his hand gently caressed her other breast. The featherlight strokes of his fingertips against her nipple contrasted against the hard pulls of his lips until she shuddered.

Beneath his mouth and hands, he felt her resistance slipping away. She was a criminal, and he should have been arresting her and hauling her away to face the constable, yet he wanted nothing more at that moment than to seduce her, to bury himself between her thighs and thrust into her warmth until she shattered around him, then hold her close until dawn, when the nightmares and darkness had all passed.

He groaned and fought to hold on to what little self-restraint he still possessed. A small taste of her he could excuse, but anything more…
madness
. And not only because he'd prove himself no better than those other men who'd thought they had a right to bed her without consequence, but because he now wanted her for more than just her body, more than the way she calmed his racing heart and put him at ease. He found himself now wanting
her
.

But at what cost?

Even as the highwayman, she was a distraction from the darkness. Yet he knew exactly how dangerous distractions could be, how they could easily claim a man's life.

“You have to stop the robberies,” he murmured against her soft skin, placing delicate kisses against her nipple.

Her fingers tensed as they traced against the nape of his neck. “I told you, I can't.”

“You'll make a mistake eventually.” He shifted his mouth to the other breast to take another taste of her, one so sweet yet torturous because he knew he could never claim more from her, no matter how much he longed for it. “And you won't have an easy explanation to save you.”

“And then”—she panted for breath, arching herself into him—“you'll arrest me?”

“Yes.”

“You won't.”

“I will.”

“No, you—” Her fingernails scratched into his neck as he took her nipple deep into his mouth and suckled hard, so hard she moaned. “You won't.”

He released her breast and slid back up her body, kissing her throat before nipping at her earlobe in warning, both to stop the robberies and to put an end to the impossible dilemma she posed for him. “You shouldn't tempt fate.”

“Fate shouldn't tempt me,” she whispered.

He lifted his head to gaze down at her, her eyes and face dark with arousal, her lips moist and trembling.
Dear God
, she was frustrating, stubborn…every inch of her screamed trouble. And he'd never wanted a woman more in his life.

“Stop this now.” Best he heed that warning himself, so he dropped his hands away from her and stepped back.

“Or what?” Her chin lifted slightly, although he couldn't tell if in defiance or with a longing to be kissed again.

Regretting that he couldn't stay to discover which, and knowing he'd enjoy either far too much, he pulled up the sleeves of her dress to cover her and smoothed the fabric back into its proper place. “Or there won't be anything I can do to protect you.”

He reached past her to jerk open the door and stalked outside into the night.

I
'd heard he killed a man.”

Josie stabbed herself through her embroidery. “Ouch!”

She stuck her finger in her mouth and scowled. Sitting in Blackwood Hall and listening to the dozen or so female guests discuss Thomas Matteson was the last way she wanted to spend her afternoon, but the ladies' drawing room had seemed the safest place to avoid the rake in question. Unfortunately, all the ladies in the room had heard the rumors floating through London about the young marquess and his roguish reputation and so had made him the center of their gossip.

“Because he saved the Prince Regent's life,” Mrs. Peterson corrected Lady Denton's accusation. “That assassination attempt, you remember? That was the man he shot.”

Josie blinked. Thomas had…killed someone?

“Right there at the Stanhope ball!” Mrs. Peterson spoke with such conviction that no one in the room doubted her. “Absolutely ruined Penelope Stanhope's debut. The poor girl was completely unnerved. Couldn't waltz for weeks.”

If that story was true, Josie decided, then the Prince Regent had more of a reason to be unnerved than Lady Penelope.

“And then, last year,” she continued in hushed tones, “when he was nearly killed by that robber in Hyde Park—so dreadful!”

Josie's head jerked up, her breath catching in her throat.

Lady Denton snorted. “I'd heard it was really a French spy who shot him.”

Shot
Thomas? Her face paling, Josie leaned forward.

“No,
he
was in France during the war,” Lady Agnes interjected.

“It was Spain,” Mrs. Peterson corrected.

“It was Mayfair,” someone else put in.

“Why would anyone be spying in Mayfair?”

“No, no! He was
shot
in Mayfair.”

“I'd heard it was because he was on a secret assignment to protect the prime minister.”

“Well,” Miranda Hodgkins piped up, “I'd certainly let him protect
me
!”

At that a round of muffled giggles sounded throughout the room.

Elizabeth Carlisle leaned toward Josie and whispered knowingly into her ear, “Not long enough on the vine.”

Josie forced a tight smile at her mother, but her attention focused on the gossip, on what the ladies had said about Thomas. Killing?
Shot?
Although she'd long ago learned that most of the gossip women shared in drawing rooms was exaggerated in order to titillate and shock, she'd stared into those gossiped-about sapphire eyes herself and experienced the undeniable allure of him. It was possible,
very
possible, that he was both England's hero and someone capable of taking a life.

Either way, she needed to be careful. She'd been so stupidly careless in letting him follow her back to the cottage last night, then so foolishly weak in letting him kiss her, touch her—oh good heavens, he'd
licked
her! And God help her, she desperately wanted him to do it again.

“Well, I can tell you this much. He's certainly the darling of the London social set these days,” Lady Tinsdale interjected, flipping through the pages of the gardening book she'd been pretending to read. “Apparently quite the catch. He's heir to a duchy, you know.”

“Oh?” That got Miranda's attention again.

A mischievous smile tugged at Lady Tinsdale's lips as she glanced at Miranda. “Best to stay clear of him, my dear. He's turning into quite the scapegrace, and rather quickly, too. The things he's rumored to have done—well, they're not fit for ladies' ears.”

“Do tell us anyway,” Lady Denton urged, her seventy-two years of age letting her get away with such scandalous suggestions. When the ladies glanced at her, feigning shock, she snorted. “Oh, come now! You all want to know just as much as I do.”

No. Josie certainly did
not
want to know anything about Thomas's amorous exploits. The last thing she needed was more fodder for her imagination, which already kept her awake at night with all kinds of wicked thoughts and fantasies about him. Oh, definitely better to concentrate on her embroidery like a proper young lady. Even if she wasn't one.

“I heard he keeps a mistress in Notting Hill.”

Ouch! She sucked at her thumb.
Blast it
!

“An opera singer.”

“Not a singer,” someone else corrected. “An actress. Parisian.”

As a chorus of
o
oh
s sounded beneath their collective breaths, Josie grimaced. No, she definitely did
not
need to know these things, not when she could still feel the pressure of his mouth on hers, when she was certain she could still taste the brandy flavor of his lips and remember the heat of his hands caressing her breasts. Beneath her muslin bodice, her nipples puckered achingly at the memory of his mouth on them.

She frowned down at the misshapen pattern in her hoop. How, exactly, she was supposed to concentrate on her embroidery when all the talk of Lord Chesney only served to remind her of how wonderfully he kissed? And only made her want even more from him?

“Why is he here?” Miranda asked. “This party doesn't seem his sort.”

Josie paused in mid-stitch.
That
was a very good question.

A moment of silence fell over the gaggle of women, and all eyes drifted to Lady Royston for an explanation of why the marquess had been asked to attend when the Roystons had never invited anyone of his roguish reputation to one of their parties before.

“Royston and I know his family well.” Her answer was stilted, not as if she was trying to hide anything but rather as if she was just as puzzled as the other women and didn't quite believe the explanation herself. “The earl's on a committee with Chesney's father in the Lords.”

Several
I see
s sounded in time to nodding heads. A political connection. Of course. Which satisfied their curiosity.

Until Miranda Hodgkins chirped, “I heard he left Blackwood Hall last night after dinner and went out riding all by himself.
All
night.”

And
that
made him seem suddenly even more mysterious, brooding, and dashing to this group of hens. A clack and clatter of whispers rose up.

Josie's heart leapt into her throat in panic. If they started asking questions about why he'd been out last night, how long until someone realized that she, too, had been missing?

Miranda nodded with authority. “Tom, the groom, said he didn't return until after dawn.”

“Really?” Lady Agnes Sinclair frowned. “I wonder what he was doing—”

Lady Tinsdale interrupted, “Or
whom
he was sneaking out to see.”

“Which could explain his sudden arrival in Lincolnshire.”

“And why he's been so frequently absent when—”

“I'd heard he'd killed a lion with his bare hands.”

That
brought the conversation to a skidding halt.

All the women turned in their seats to stare curiously at Josie for making the unusual comment, as if she were on exhibit at the British Museum. Or in a carnival. Their curiosity was pricked even further by the fact that she so rarely said anything that called undue attention to herself.

Now
she'd done it. In her rush to distract them, she'd brought trouble straight down onto her own head. She cleared her throat. “I only meant—”

“Truly, with his bare hands?” a familiar and oh-so-masculine voice drawled with amusement from across the room. “That's quite a feat.”

Her face reddening with mortification, she glanced up and caught her breath as dark-blue eyes found hers. Those same eyes that now haunted her dreams.

Thomas Matteson leaned against the doorway and grinned charmingly, his arms folded across his broad chest and looking for all the world like the rakehell, war hero, or royal savior—or even lion-killer—they'd just declared him to be.

But Josie knew better. Behind that handsome façade lay a snake. And if she wasn't careful, he might just bite.

“And who is this fierce hunter?” he pressed, much to the delight of the tittering women and much to Josie's chagrin. “Do I know him?”

“Lord Chesney.” Lady Agnes Sinclair smiled, genuinely pleased at the perfect timing of his arrival. “I'd thought you'd gone fishing.”

He returned the woman's warm greeting with a nod. “I changed my mind when I saw the Carlisle brothers heading toward the river with crossbows.”

Elizabeth Carlisle gave a long-suffering sigh.

“So you decided to join us women instead.” Lady Denton waved her hand. “Do come in then and have some tea.”

“Actually, I thought to go riding and wondered if any of you ladies wanted to join me.”

“I'll go with you!” Miranda glowed with excitement.

Thomas's cool smile stated clearly that the invitation was not meant for her, his gaze sliding from the overeager girl to Josie. Along with every other curious pair of eyes in the room.
Oh no
.

“And how about you, Miss Carlisle?” he offered casually. “Will you join us?”

Drat him for causing a scene! He was focusing the unwanted attention of every gossipy hen in the room right on her, and the devil knew it, too. Most likely he'd issued the invitation just to watch her squirm. Reparations for last night's encounter.

When she didn't answer, he persisted annoyingly, “You gave me the honor of a waltz at the dance and didn't complain when I stepped on your toes.” More giggles went up from the ladies. “I thought I'd repay the kindness with a ride.”

Lady Denton let out a loud chortle as Josie's cheeks flushed a hot scarlet color that no one in the room could possibly have missed.

“Her?” Miranda's face fell. “Why, she can't even ride! She fell off her horse just last week, right in the middle of High Street. Everyone saw her!”

“Did she?” Thomas's mouth curled into a self-pleased grin. “Well, then today seems a perfect opportunity for a riding lesson.”

The collective weight of the women's eyes landed on her to catch her response. Her spine stiffened. “I'm sorry, my lord, but I'm not dressed for riding today.”

“Perhaps”—their gazes swung to him—“a walk in the garden.”

Back to her—“I wore the wrong shoes, too, I'm afraid.”

Then to him—“A drive in the phaeton, then. I insist.”

Back to her—
Goodness
!
She felt like a player in a tennis match. Her head was beginning to spin. “I really couldn't possibly.” When he began to open his mouth again, she had no choice but to declare firmly, “
No.
”

The room froze, all the ladies holding their breaths to see what his reaction would be to such a blunt refusal, although none of them would have dared presume she'd ever have accepted such an invitation from a noted rake in the first place. Especially not when sitting by her mother, who watched the entire exchange with a curious expression.

“Well, then.” No one else seemed to notice the mischievous gleam in his eyes, but of course Josie did. She couldn't help but notice everything about this man. Drat him. “Perhaps another time. Enjoy your afternoon.”

And with that he ended the tennis match, although Josie couldn't have said which one of them had emerged the winner.

“Ladies.” He gave them a smile as if completely unaffected by her cut. “If you'll excuse me, I think I'll grab a pole and join the men after all.”

Sketching a shallow bow to the room at large, he turned and left.

“Well,
that
was certainly interesting,” Lady Denton exclaimed, her old but sharp eyes settling on Josie from across the room.

Knowing the ladies expected some sort of comment from her and that they wouldn't turn their attentions away until she'd given one, Josie waved her hand dismissively in the air. “He only wanted to avoid my brothers while they're armed with crossbows.” Faint chuckles rose at that, all of them knowing well the antics of the Carlisle brothers. “You can't blame a man for wanting to keep himself from bodily harm.”