Megan Frampton (27 page)

“Kiss me, then, Lady Datchworth.” He took her chin in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers, angling his leg over hers, his cock brushing against her hip.

He burned for her. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of this, of her, of lying next to her and touching her soft skin.

And, he thought, knowing full well she would rightly accuse him of arrogance, yet again, he would never have to.

She was his. For now.

Mary’s hands were on his chest, stroking and smoothing the planes of his skin. Her touch left a trail of heat until he felt as though he might explode.

But he didn’t want to rush things, not the first time they were together in his London house, enfolded in elegant linen and a comfortable bed.

Her fingers slid down to find him, and he wondered if he could hold out for the next minute, much less take his time with her. She gripped him down low on the shaft of his cock, sliding her hands up and down with a firm but leisurely motion.

“Oh, God, Mary,” he groaned as he moved on top of her. He rose to his knees and gazed down at her, at her pale, lovely body.

He looked into her eyes. She stared back, her eyes half-lidded in sensual pleasure, her mouth wet and open from his kisses.

She guided him toward her and he groaned again as he entered her hot, slick passage. She was so tight, so wet, so ready for him.

She slid her hands down his back and caressed his ass, urging him deeper with an unmistakable motion. “Please,” she said, her voice low and husky.

“Please what?” He couldn’t resist teasing her, not even when he was so close.

She smiled, a sensuous, wicked smile that he felt through his entire body.

“Please fuck me,” she said in a soft whisper.

Those naughty, forbidden words coming from her mouth were more than he could take. He braced his hands on either side of her body and began to move, gliding in and out of her, their breathing, growing steadily louder, and the suction of the movement the only sounds in the room.

She bit her lip. “Harder?” he asked, and she nodded, one vehement motion of her
head telling him just what she needed.

He pushed harder then, and faster, and her expression tightened, her eyes closed.

“Yes,” she moaned, and he kept the same pace as before. “Oh, yes,” she said, as he felt her orgasm tightening around him.

He went faster, then, building to his own climax, thrusting as hard and as fast as he possibly could. The orgasm hit him like a shock, and he groaned his pleasure as he felt the spirals of ecstasy explode.

As the coils of pleasure ebbed, he collapsed onto her, burying his face in her neck.

And barely noticed as she slid out from under him after a few minutes, curling up on her side.

The next morning, Mary somehow found her way to the breakfast room, which was almost as large as her father’s entire cottage. The walls were covered with paintings, dark paintings of severe-looking people glaring down at her.

Or so it seemed.

“Good morning, my lady.” Two footmen were already in place behind the chairs at either end of the long table.

“Good morning.” Mary hesitated, not sure where to go. One of the footmen made a slight gesture, which seemed to indicate that she should take the seat in front of him. She stepped toward it and sat.

“Tea, my lady?” It was her footman speaking.

She turned her head and met his eyes. “Yes, please, that would be lovely.”

He nodded and left the room. The other footman still stood behind the chair on the opposite end of the table. Silent. Not looking at her, but keeping his eyes focused directly in front of him.

If this was what the members of the aristocracy dealt with every day, no wonder they treated the people beneath them as invisible. She cleared her throat.

He did not move.

“Excuse me?” she said. That drew a reaction.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Would it be possible to get a copy of the newspaper, please?”

He hesitated, then gave a brief nod. “Of course.” He left the room as well, leaving Mary feeling incredibly alone. She’d been on her own many times, but never in the past week or so.
He
had always been there with her.

Alasdair was still asleep, and she wondered briefly what he would do if she crawled back into bed with him. She couldn’t, not without making the servants talk—and even if he wouldn’t care, she did.

The first footman returned with a tray and placed it on the table. “I’ll have my tea
with a little sugar,” she said, at his enquiring look. “Also, I do not recall—what is your name, again?”

“John, my lady.” He picked up the teacup and saucer and placed them in front of her. “May I get you some toast?”

“In a moment.” Mary took a sip of the tea, which was just the right temperature. Probably her husband had forbidden tea that was either too hot or too cold.

“Of course. I’ll go fetch it.” He bowed and left the room again, closing the door with a soft snick behind him. The door immediately opened again, and the butler appeared, holding a newspaper out in front of him like a sacrificial offering.

“My lady, the newspaper.” He laid it to the right of her place setting and unfolded it. As if, Mary thought, she was incapable of unfolding it herself.

It was
The Tattler
, which Mary had never seen before. It certainly had many more pages than the publications her father had received.

Perhaps she was incapable of unfolding it after all.

He spread the paper open to what Mary could tell was the society page. Excellent. No time like the present to become intimidated by knowing the names of everyone who was likely to look down on her.

One name, however, caught her eye:
It is reported that Mr. and Mrs. Michael Waters, late of Northumberland, have been blessed with the birth of their daughter, Louisa Mary Walters. The family will remain at the Walters’s country estate through the Season
.

Amelia! Amelia had had a baby! How long had it been since they’d written each other? Clearly longer than nine months, if this was happening.

Perhaps Matthias had intercepted Amelia’s letters so that Mary would feel yet more alone. She couldn’t imagine Amelia holding anything back—she had certainly told Mary enough about her marital duties. She felt a grin twist her mouth as she thought of how useful Amelia’s stories had been.

She would write to her friend immediately, and congratulate her. And if she did have to leave, she was certain that Amelia would take her in.

Why didn’t that make her feel better?

“We will throw a ball to introduce you.” It was long after breakfast, and he’d finally condescended to show himself. Mary had spent a few hours in his library, writing Amelia a letter that said enough without saying too much, and reading, even though her mind kept wandering.

She raised her eyes from her book. He stood at the doorway, his command almost preceding his body into the room. “And you are so sure your world will accept me?” She couldn’t keep the fear from her voice.

He walked over to her, shutting the door behind him. When he was dressed as befit a gentleman of his rank, he was breathtaking. At least, she found it hard to breathe around him.

His black jacket fit over his shoulders as though it had been molded to him—likely it had—and his hair had been cut, showcasing the stark, handsome lines of his face even better.

Those green eyes were focused on her with an intensity that would have made her breathless—if her breath hadn’t already been stolen..

He stopped to stand directly in front of her chair. “My world, as you call it, will accept you, as I have.” The certainty of his tone made her stomach settle, somewhat. “Whether or not Hugh will cause enough trouble to give them an excuse to question my actions is another story entirely,” And there went her stomach’s brief moment of comfort. “We’ll just have to convince them. And what better way to convince them than to throw a party with champagne, and delicious food, and a newly married couple deeply in …” he said, and faltered.

“In necessity?” she supplied, wishing he hadn’t hesitated.

“If that is how you see it,” he replied, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Of course, it is necessary that you be here because otherwise you would be …”

Again, his words stopped. Likely he didn’t want to remind her of where she would be: somewhere at Matthias’s mercy, with no money, no hope, no future.

Small wonder, then, that he seemed as determined to save her as she was to save him.

“And my mother? How are we to find her?”

He leaned on the arm of her chair and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, placing his warm palm on the back of her neck. It sent shivers through her. “I imagine she is in town for the Season. We will invite her to the ball so you may see her and decide if you wish to make your presence known to her.”

“That sounds so … underhanded.” She didn’t like the idea of spying on her mother, but she liked even less the idea that her mother might reject her entirely. Perhaps his way was the best.

He shrugged. “It makes the most sense. Besides, the ball must take place in a few days, so there would not be time to meet her first.”

Now she was breathless for the entirely wrong reasons. “A few days? But that leaves us with so little time to prepare.”

“There is nothing you need concern yourself with. The staff will handle all of the preparations. You just need to greet our guests and try not to bore them with talk of poetry, or how arrogant you find me.”

“They know that already, I am certain,” Mary shot back.

***

His arrogant confidence in his staff was borne out, Mary had to admit; in just a few days, the house had been transformed for the event, and all she had to do was decide which of her gorgeous new gowns to wear for the evening.

Her lady’s maid, Mabel, assumed Mary would wear the brown and blue gown that had so struck her fancy, but Mary wanted to save that to wear just for Alasdair, not for a group of people who would be judging her, and likely finding her wanting.

Instead, she chose a deep-emerald gown that reminded her of Alasdair’s eyes. It was lower cut than anything she had ever worn before, and she gasped as she caught sight of herself in the glass.

She almost looked like the lady she was trying to be. Maybe she could do this
after all.

There was a knock at the door, and Alasdair entered without waiting for her to call out. He was holding a slim, blue velvet box in his hands, which he popped open as he came to stand in front of her.

Mary felt her eyes widen as she looked down. It was the most magnificent jewelry she’d ever seen, a diamond necklace, a pair of earrings, and a bracelet, all matching.

The necklace was an entire collar made of square diamonds, but not so large as to be vulgar. He drew it from the box and held it dangling from his fingers. “Do you like it?”

It touched her that he seemed nervous. “Yes, absolutely, but this isn’t for me, is it?”

He laughed as he placed the necklace around her neck, putting the box down on her dressing table. “Well, it’s not for me, if that’s what you’re asking. Who else would it be for?”

He fastened the necklace and placed his lips just below it on the back of her neck. Shivers flowed down her spine, and her breath hitched. Again.

Any more of this behavior and she might stop breathing entirely.

“You look lovely, Mary. As I knew you would,” he said in a soft voice. He placed his fingers on the necklace, on the skin surrounding it, his eyes meeting hers in the glass. “Lovely,” he repeated, keeping his gaze locked with hers as he lowered his head. His tongue slid to the side of her neck and he gave her a quick, sensuous lick.

It was settled. She would never breathe again.

His eyes crinkled as his mouth settled into a satisfied smile. “You are such a find, Mary,” he said. “I am very lucky to have been in that inn that day. To think of what might have happened.” His expression hardened, and he tightened his fingers on her neck. It appeared he wasn’t aware of his reaction.

“But you were there,” she replied, placing her fingers on top of his hand.
And you saved me, and I have returned the favor, and now we are even
.

It hurt so much to think of leaving him, but ironically, his … 
care
had convinced her she deserved more than he could offer.

“Shall we?” He straightened, and held his arm out for her. “Our audience awaits.”

The reminder that this evening was so much more than just her first ball as a married member of the aristocracy—terrifying in and of itself—set her body to shaking. Tonight she would be meeting her mother. He glanced at her, offering what was likely supposed to be a reassuring smile.

He didn’t do reassuring very well. Instead, she saw the fierce possession in his gaze, the cavalier assumption that things would be fine, even though Mary knew she was a fraud, knew his world would see her for what she was: an illegitimate woman from a small village who had tricked an addled marquess into marriage.

But since this was the bargain she’d made, she’d do her best to keep up her end.

***

Her first thought as she entered the ballroom was, oddly enough, how bright the room was. Of course society—
his
society—would demand that candles blaze everywhere it was possible to put them, so that there was no need to acknowledge the limitations of the night.

She waited with Alasdair at the entrance to the enormous room, the glitter of the numerous chandeliers catching the candle light and sending sparks and shards of it throughout the room, as though it were a tremendous lightning storm.

She swallowed as the double doors opened. The real storm was about to begin.

He gripped her arm as he moved her forward to greet their first guests.

After that, the evening was a whirl of unfamiliar, curious faces, the constant crush and hum of people almost overwhelming her. And the repeated questions: “When were you married? Where?
How?
”

Perhaps the last question was never uttered out loud, but the looks and low comments told her precisely what they all thought.