Mastering the Marquess (18 page)

“It's Annabel,” she blurted out. “I know Lady Stanton wishes you to marry her—to keep her safe. You must not ask me to stand in her way! I could never hurt Annabel like that.”

He stared at her in disbelief and then shook his head, exasperation replacing anger on his features.

“Sweetheart, your sister doesn't want to marry me. In fact,” he said wryly, “I think she would find the whole idea revolting.”

“But you know she must marry, and soon.” Meredith literally wrung her hands, desperate for him to understand what was almost impossible for her to explain.

“She will, darling, I promise,” he soothed, as his hand returned to her shoulder. “No harm will come to her. Please believe me.”

“But . . .”

“No, Meredith, no more questions.” His other hand wound around her waist, and he slowly but inexorably pulled her to him.

Meredith gave a breathless laugh, shivering as a wave of relief and shock washed through her. As she looked into Silverton's ice blue gaze she could swear that his eyes glittered—actually glittered—just like frost on a bright winter's day. He mesmerized her, and she tumbled, heart and soul, into his light.

His lips curved in a knowing smile as he lowered his head toward her mouth. Meredith knew she should turn away, step back from the grip around her waist—do something. But she couldn't move, couldn't deny the yearning to give in to his hunger, couldn't help wanting to appease her own.

And so she stood captive to his slow advance. As his mouth met hers, her eyelids fluttered shut as if her mind had to block out anything that might distract from his touch. At first, his lips gently brushed her, barely kissing the soft bow of her mouth, just feathering the edges of her lips. Then his kiss grew firm, pressing insistently as his tongue slid along her lower lip.

How could something so soft be so hard? Tremors coursed through her body, down her legs, and she was forced to grab his waist to keep from staggering. His powerful arms wrapped around her, his hands on her back pulling her securely against him and more deeply into the kiss.

His tongue felt luscious! It glided over her lips, stroking and coaxing in a gentle but determined manner. Suddenly, Silverton nipped her lower lip, and when she gasped in surprise he surged in, stroking the inside of her mouth and tangling with her tongue. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her limbs turned heavy and oddly weak.

Meredith was stunned. Some small part of her mind registered astonishment that so intimate an act could be so pleasurable. She had a fleeting memory of her cousin Jacob thrusting his thick, wet tongue into her mouth when she was fourteen. It had disgusted her, and she'd kicked him hard in the shins.

Silverton's kiss was velvet, dark, and smoky, and Meredith had not the slightest desire to kick him in the shins.

His long fingers were stroking, moving down her waist and hips, gently urging her body flush against his.

All at once, Meredith felt as if she were going up in flames. Consigning any unpleasant memories to the dustbin of history, she slid her arms around his neck and rose up on her toes, eager to increase the delicious pressure of his lips against her mouth.

Unexpectedly, Silverton lifted his head, and the sudden withdrawal wrenched a whimper of protest from her lips. He cocked his head, apparently listening to something out in the hallway.

As Meredith slowly came back to herself, she realized that she had curled herself around him, still sheltering in his possessive embrace. She finally heard what he did; a light step on the stairs as someone descended toward the drawing room. Cursing softly under his breath, Silverton carefully set her away from him. She stumbled slightly, and he put a hand under her elbow to steady her.

The footsteps came down the hall, and a moment later Miss Noyes entered the room, still dressed but with a large and ridiculously overtrimmed sleeping cap on her head.

“Oh, Lord Silverton!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise. “I thought I heard voices and assumed the girls had returned from the theater.” She cast a doubtful glance between the two of them. “I hope I am not interrupting a private conversation.”

Meredith was annoyed to see that Silverton had completely recovered himself, bowing gracefully to Miss Noyes as if nothing momentous had just happened.

“Not at all, my dear lady,” he said with an engaging smile. “I was just seeing Miss Burnley safely inside. Robert and his mother will be escorting Annabel home shortly.”

“Miss Burnley,” he said, turning back to her, “I will bid you good-night.”

Meredith found it a bit difficult to breathe, so she decided it best to say nothing at all. She dropped a brief curtsy, but he gently grasped her hand and carried it to his lips. He lingered there for a second or two longer than was absolutely necessary, which made her breath come in even shorter gasps. As he straightened up, she could see the devilish glint of amusement had returned to his eyes.

With a nod of the head, he strode from the room, and a few seconds later they heard the front door click behind him.

“Well,” said Miss Noyes, stifling a yawn, “you must tell me all about it in the morning. I'll just go lock the door before I go back up to my bed.”

As she turned to leave the room, she paused and looked searchingly at Meredith.

“Are you sure you're feeling well, my dear?” Miss Noyes asked anxiously. “You seem quite flushed and overheated. I do hope you have not caught something at the theater. Such a crowded place cannot be healthy!”

“Dear me, no.” Meredith tried for a hearty voice. “I'm sure it's nothing that a good-night's sleep won't put to rest.”

She repressed an exasperated sigh, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that the memory of Silverton's kiss would keep her awake for many nights to come.

Meredith huffed out a breath of relief as the Stanton carriage pulled away from the front step of the townhouse. She could hardly believe it, but Annabel was finally on her way to Almack's with her grandmother.

“Oh my goodness, Miss Burnley,” exclaimed Miss Noyes, who stood beside her at the drawing room window. “Annabel looked just like an angel, did she not?”

“She did, indeed,” Meredith said with a smile.

Annabel had truly been a vision in a simple but elegant gown of white mull covered with silver tinsel embroidery. The curving neckline of the wrapped bodice and the gauzy puffed sleeves were the perfect complements to Annabel's youthful beauty. Meredith had little doubt the girl would be a smashing success at Almack's.

“It was so romantic,” Miss Noyes sighed dramatically. “Mr. Stanton was rendered speechless by her charms.”

Meredith laughed. “Dumbfounded, more like it.”

Robert had come upstairs to fetch Annabel, practically skidding to a halt when he first laid eyes on her. Silverton was right about Robert's infatuation with his cousin. Meredith needed to think about that and whether it was a positive development. For tonight, though, she could put her worries aside and enjoy the triumph of Annabel's formal debut into polite society.

As she watched the carriage roll away down the street, Meredith couldn't help but feel a pang of regret that she would miss her sister's debut. In spite of her protestations to the contrary, she did feel lonely, and more than a bit like Cinderella. But Meredith knew that even though she had found her Prince Charming, there was little chance the glass slipper would fit on her foot.

She plucked her sewing from her workbasket, determined to be satisfied with a quiet evening beside her own hearth. Now that the scandal resulting from her ill-fated waltz had faded, she really had no cause for complaint. All in all, they were very comfortably established, and Annabel seemed to be adapting to her new life extremely well. Meredith ought to be happy to spend the evening at home instead of traipsing about a crowded and overheated ballroom.

She tried not to think about the real reason she was so restless, but that grew harder with every passing minute.

Almost a week had passed since the night Silverton kissed her. He had not been at Lady Aldring's dinner party three nights ago, though she was certain he had been invited. Then, after the vouchers for Almack's arrived the next morning, she and Annabel were launched into a flurry of activity. There had been no time for visiting Stanton House as they dashed from one shop to the next in a mad rush to prepare for Annabel's debut.

Now Meredith finally had time to catch her breath and think. And all she could think about was Silverton. How wonderful his strong arms had felt about her. How gloriously intoxicating his mouth had felt on her lips. For the last several nights she had awakened from muddled dreams that left her embarrassed and confused. Dreams about him that involved intertwined, naked limbs, rumpled sheets, and his hot mouth trailing wet kisses all over her body.

Meredith had been so flustered by the parade of images that each night she lit a branch of candles and ruthlessly turned her attention to an improving book. One night she had tried Milton, and another Richardson. Neither had proved salutary, since all she could think about—despite her best efforts—were Silverton's intense blue eyes and how the heat in them made her soften like warm butter.

“Excuse me, Miss Burnley.”

Meredith jumped when Miss Noyes's voice yanked her out of her evocative daydream. She smiled weakly at the little governess and rearranged her work materials to cover her guilty start.

“No, excuse me, my dear ma'am,” she replied. “My wits must be wandering tonight.”

“Well, it is no wonder,” Miss Noyes staunchly defended. “You have been working your fingers to the bone to prepare Annabel for this momentous event. Perhaps you should retire early this evening. In fact . . .” She paused, looking anxiously at Meredith.

“My dear Miss Noyes,” she responded instantly, “you look exhausted. Please go to bed. I shall be fine. There is quite a bit of needlework to go through, and if that fails to hold my attention I can always work on my painting.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Absolutely.” Truthfully, Meredith would rather be alone than make labored conversation with Miss Noyes for the rest of the evening.

“Well then, I'll bid you good-night, Miss Burnley.” Miss Noyes bustled out in a flutter of skirts and tatting material.

The oak and gilt-bronzed clock on the mantel ticked the minutes slowly by as Meredith applied herself to her sewing. She sternly bid her restless mind to cease pining for Silverton or worrying about Annabel's progress at Almack's.

It took a great deal of discipline, but she finally completed the set of table linens she had been stitching for several weeks. She folded the material and stood, pressing her fists into her back to ease the strain from sitting for so long.

Meredith began to wonder if she should go to bed herself, when a loud knock at the door made her start with surprise. Who could be calling this late at night? She hurried to the small pier glass hanging in the corner, smoothed her hair and straightened her wrinkled skirts. A masculine voice rumbled in the hallway, followed by a quiet knock on the door.

“Enter!” she called.

The door swung open and their footman stood on the threshold.

“Your cousin, Mr. Jacob Burnley, to see you, miss,” announced Peter, his voice heavy with wariness.

Her heart dropped to her feet. She had forgotten about Jacob's promised visit. Had it already been three weeks since that horrible scene with her uncle? She didn't feel prepared to face her cousin just yet, especially alone, but it appeared she had no choice.

Taking a deep breath, Meredith nodded her head at the burly footman.

“Thank you, Peter. You may let my cousin in.”

“Yes, miss.”

Peter stood aside, glowering fiercely as Jacob strode into the room. The footman's demeanor radiated suspicion, and Meredith was suddenly very thankful that Silverton had insisted on his presence.

“All right, Peter.” She smiled at the young man. “You may go. I'll call if I need you.”

For a long moment, Meredith and Jacob eyed each other.

“Hello, Jacob,” she finally managed in a polite voice. “It's good to see you.”

Her cousin glared at her, his face set in rigid lines.

“Is it?” he demanded. “Is that why you didn't bother to write me, even though I asked you to?”

He stood much too close, looming over her in an intimidating manner. She masked her confusion by stepping away and stacking her needlework neatly in her basket.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked in a calm voice. Meredith had no intention of offering him a brandy, since she could already smell alcohol on his breath.

Jacob muttered a curse. “No, Meredith, I do not want any bloody tea! I want you to come to your senses and return home where you belong.”

He began to stalk her across the room, forcing her to retreat behind the sofa.

“My home is with Annabel,” she replied, grateful to hear the steadiness in her own voice. “As long as your father continues to threaten her, we will stay in London under the protection of Annabel's grandparents.”

Meredith folded her arms and stared back at him, determined to appear strong. Jacob made an impatient gesture with his hand.

“Do you take me for a fool? I would not have come here if I thought Annabel had anything to fear from my father,” he retorted. His eyes flickered over her body. The look on his face changed from one of irritation to something much more disturbing.

“You should be grateful to me, Meredith. Father has allowed me to decide what to do about Annabel.” He continued his slow stalk around the sofa. “There is no reason to be afraid. I'm sure we can come to an agreement on what is best for everyone.”

She started to move away, but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Meredith gasped as he began to draw her closer.

“Don't you want to come home, my girl?” His voice had dropped to a husky growl. “You must miss Swallow Hill. I know how much you love it in the springtime.”

The thought crossed Meredith's mind that her cousin really didn't know her at all if he believed she liked anything about spring. But that brief reflection dissipated when he captured her other hand and pulled her toward him.

“I . . . we are very content here in London,” she stammered as she tried to wrestle her hands from his grasp.

Jacob laughed contemptuously. “That's hard to believe. You will never be accepted by the fine folk of the ton, and you know it. In their eyes, you're nothing but a shopgirl—fit only to be a fancy piece for their men, not a wife.”

His words infuriated her. She fruitlessly yanked her hands away from him again before staring sullenly at the floor.

“Well, well,” Jacob said softly, “sits the wind in that quarter, does it? The swells have already let you know you're not good enough for their sons, eh? What a surprise. Did you really think they would?”

Bitterness wrapped itself around her heart, his words resurrecting the ugly memories of Lady Framingham's ball and its painful aftermath. Meredith barely noticed when Jacob slowly pulled her against his chest.

“They don't want you.” His mouth brushed against her ear, sending a cold shiver down her spine. “They'll never want you, and you'll never be happy here. But I want you and I understand you—I always have. I know exactly what you need.”

Ice water seeped through her veins, and his words pressed on her so heavily she could hardly breathe.

“Enough is enough, my girl,” he whispered. “Time to come home.” Quite suddenly, he reached up into her hair and pulled her head back, his lips pushing wetly against her mouth.

His touch, so different from Silverton's, shattered her paralysis and she pushed back with all her might. Wrenching an arm free, she slapped his face as hard as she could. Her fingers stung with the force of the blow.

Jacob fell back, stunned for a second, but then his face blackened with rage. Despite his momentary shock, he didn't lose his iron grip on her other wrist. He shifted his hands to her upper arms, clutching her in a punishing hold.

“You'll be sorry for that, Cousin,” he snarled.

She struggled to break away but was powerless against his brute strength. Meredith opened her mouth to scream just as he fastened his lips to hers, trying to force his thick tongue into her mouth. A wave of nausea swept through her and, for a terrible moment, her vision blurred with panic.

As she fought back, trying to free herself, she heard the door open and a firm bootstep cross the room. Jacob was pulled away from her body so forcefully that she staggered and almost fell.

Meredith looked up just as Silverton delivered a powerful blow to Jacob's face, driving her cousin to his knees. The marquess glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes shimmering with a cold light she had never seen before.

“Are you all right?” His voice sounded as hard as iron, but his hand was gentle on her arm.

Meredith nodded, unable to speak. Carefully setting her out of harm's way, Silverton turned back to her cousin, who was dragging himself up off the floor.

Jacob's nose bled profusely. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and swiped his face, smearing blood across his mottled cheeks.

“I'll kill you, you bastard,” he rasped.

“I should be interested to see you try,” Silverton responded softly, his hands clenching once more into fists.

Meredith came to life, knowing that she had to intervene before the two men tore each other apart.

“Jacob!” she cried. “You will do nothing of the sort.”

Her cousin ignored her, twisting his huge body into a fighter's crouch as he advanced toward Silverton.

Meredith stepped between the two men, raising her hands imperiously in the air.

“Stop!” she commanded Jacob. “There are four here, and only one of you. If you do not leave my house immediately, I will call the night watch and have you taken to Newgate.”

Jacob halted and glanced around him, finally noticing Peter and Mrs. Biggs in the doorway of the drawing room. The servants looked more than capable of wrestling her cousin to the floor.

“I would advise, Mr. Burnley,” Silverton added in that voice like iron, “that you take the lady's suggestion to heart while you can. My patience is almost at an end.”

Jacob looked ready to explode, but he obviously knew he could not overpower both Silverton and Peter. His gaze swept over Meredith, and the hatred she saw in his eyes froze her deep in the bone.

“You'll regret this, girl,” he flung at her. Jacob turned on his heel and stumbled to the door, pushing past Mrs. Biggs and Peter as he left the room.

Silverton cocked his head at the footman. “Make sure the door is locked after him.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Now that the danger had passed, Meredith's legs began to tremble so forcefully she could hardly stand. Silverton took one look at her and steered her by the shoulders to the sofa. Mrs. Biggs bustled over, her round face crimson with outrage.

“There now, dearie,” she exclaimed, flapping her apron in Meredith's face, “I'll wake Miss Noyes and fetch her smelling salts. You just rest here on the couch till I get her.”

Meredith practically bolted off the sofa at that suggestion. Silverton pressed her back down.

“No, no, Mrs. Biggs,” she gasped. “Please don't wake Miss Noyes—she'll be terrified, and I couldn't bear that tonight. I'm fine, truly.”