The Dangerous Love of a Rogue (18 page)

Life held up a metaphorical mirror for him to see himself.

That was who he was – what he was. A hunter. An opportunist. A man who ruled the world about him, rather than let it rule him. He was not sentimental and Mary was his carrion; life’s flotsam and jetsam thrown to his shore.

He pitied her.

No woman would be proud of him.

He was conjuring up dreams. It was her effect on him. He was not like her; not accepted in the world.

She would be humiliated, friendless, and family-less when she realised it. God help her. He should stop raising foolish expectations and be prepared to comfort her when her family turned their backs.

Yet he would do what he could to make their marriage good. He would strive to make her happy out of affection and gratitude, whether he had any finer feeling or not – gratitude, affection and admiration would be enough. He hoped.

God,
he hoped.

Chapter 10

When Drew stopped at an inn for luncheon, after hours of travel, Mary’s bottom and back were sore, her neck stiff, and mental exhaustion swept over her.

They’d shared that one brief conversation and then he’d been silent again.

She’d told him she was committing herself to him and he’d said nothing since.

The day was hot, but Mary felt cold. Her reticule dangling from her wrist, Mary clasped her arms, gripping her elbows as Drew spoke to the ostler taking care of the horses.

“You will treat them well. Let no strangers near them. Ensure they are fed…” Drew moved with assurance and strength. She doubted anyone would dare naysay him.

The ostler lifted his cap.

The muscle in Drew’s jaw looked taut and his hazel eyes promised retribution if the man did anything wrong.

An ache clutched about her heart and her stomach teemed with butterflies.

He was handsome, tall, athletic – but vulnerable today too. His external severity seemed to protect and shelter whatever lay beneath. With crystal clear clarity she realised how little she knew the man she had committed herself to.

She’d thought she’d met the real man in the summerhouse. But he was not that man today and he’d been different among his friends too.

Drew checked the legs of the animals he’d chosen to replace his. Then glanced at her before looking at his horses as they were led into a stable. He said something to the groom before he turned back to her

When he approached her he had a look of determination setting his jaw, yet beneath it there was something sorrowful and grim.

Did he not wish to leave his horses? “They will look after them, I’m sure.”

A smile touched his lips. “My horses are the most expensive thing I own, I don’t leave them with any ease, Mary, darling. I’m sorry if I look troubled, I have my weaknesses, and my horses are one of them.”

He offered his arm. She gripped his bicep through the cloth of his coat, rather than laying her fingers on his forearm and they turned towards the inn.

Gripping Drew’s arm felt more intimate somehow; she walked with her father and John like this.

His arm lowered as they walked inside.

“What are the others?” she prompted.

“Others?” Awkwardness flooded the air between them as he glanced at her.

“Weaknesses…”

“Oh. I shall wait until we’re wed to share them. I would hate to put you off.” He said the words with humour.

A man in livery stood in the inn’s hallway which was full of travelling cases. It was a posting inn.

“A private parlour, please, for myself and my wife.” Drew reached into his pocket and withdrew a card, which he gave to the man. “We’ll want luncheon, and I will take a tankard of ale. My wife, I assume, will want tea.”

Mary nodded when Drew glanced at her, heat burning her skin.

She was not his wife yet, but in that case she should not be alone with him, and so he’d had to say something like that.

He smiled, as though sensing her insecurity but the smile twisted to a roguish lilt when he looked back at the man.

The man bowed, then bid them follow. He led them past the busy taproom to another door which opened into a small rectangular parlour. An armchair stood in each corner and in the middle a circular dark oak table with four chairs about it.

“Make yourself comfortable, my Lord, my Lady.”

Once he’d bowed deeply again he shut the door and was gone.

Drew took off his hat and gloves, tossed both into one of the armchairs then smiled at her. “Please tell me you will take off your bonnet and your spencer, its sweltering out there. We can surely have a break from being baked like kippers when we are alone.”

She smiled, though her stomach wobbled like aspic, and pulled loose the ribbons securing her bonnet with shaking fingers.

Leaving her bonnet, gloves and spencer in the chair with his articles, she turned back.

A dark heat burned in his gaze as he came towards her, and then his lips were on hers, brushing hers slowly.

Her hands lifted to his shoulders, as his rested on her back, urging her against him as his tongue dipped into her mouth.

A delicious curling sensation, twisted low in her stomach and slipped to pool between her legs.

A sharp knock rang on the parlour door and her arms fell as he stepped back. He caught her elbow, steadying her.

“Come!” Drew’s voice sounded unsteady.

When the door opened Mary caught sight of herself in a mirror above the mantle. Her cheeks shone red and her lips were dark.

She turned her back on the maid and crossed to the window. It looked out upon a broad valley. She could see for miles. Her arms crossed over her chest as she absorbed the view and listened to the maid set the tea and ale down on the table.

Drew thanked the maid, then the door closed.

Mary heard and felt Drew move behind her, her senses tingling, then his arms came about her, clasping over hers. For a moment he just held her, and she rested back against the hard muscle of his chest.

His lips brushed her neck, and she shut her eyes as his hands fell to her hips.

Hers gripped over his.

She had been looking out the window at a new horizon, now she looked at an inner one. Her new life.

His head lifted and he pressed one last kiss behind her ear, before saying in a husky voice. “There was no need to blush, they think you are my wife. It will be true soon.”

She opened her eyes, and turned, smiling.
It would be true soon.

His lips pressed to hers and her fingers slipped through his hair as his gripped her bottom through her gown.

When another knock struck the door she had become breathless and her heartbeat raced.

The maid who carried the first tray glanced at them, but then her eyes turned to the task of unloading the tray. The second maid cast Mary a sly look, though, before setting down her tray.

Drew lifted Mary’s hand and kissed the back of it. Denying the woman’s judgement. Then he moved to pull out a chair.

Mary sat as the maids finished laying everything out.

The second maid looked at her again, then glanced at Mary’s hands.

She wore no ring.

Mary slipped her hands to her lap, beneath the table, and gave the maid a hard condemning look, the same her deceased grandfather, the former duke, and now John, used if he was unhappy.

It made the woman blush at least.

Both maids bobbed curtsies then left and shut the door.

Drew laughed as he sat. “I did not know you could set a person in their place so easily, Mary.”

“There are some things you cannot help but learn when you live in the company of dukes.” She smiled at him.

“Do I need to beware then? Are there other things I should know about you?”

She reached for the teapot. “You may be warned I am stubborn. Papa often complains I will never give in.”

He grinned at her. The look speaking of pride as well as amusement. “So you are stubborn and I am wary. We have both discovered one thing new about each other.”

“What do you wish for?” She indicated the food.

“I’ll serve myself, I am quite capable. You select what you wish.”

As he helped himself to a piece of rabbit pie, awkwardness descended again and Mary wondered when she would become used to being constantly in his company.

She cut herself a slice of bread, but when she lifted it to her plate her gaze caught with his. The roughish glint in his eyes said he was laughing at her. She saw the man he’d been among his friends.

“You are very bad, you do not care what anyone thinks do you?”

“And you adore me for it, it is what enchants you.”

“I take bad back, you are devilish.” It was a joke, but when he had that dangerous look in his eyes a part of her did fear he could be wicked.

Steel gripped at his jaw, as it had done when he’d parted from his horses. “I will take that as a compliment, all women love a rogue and the devil is one better.”

“The devil is one worse.” She wished she had not said it. It made his eyes even darker.

“I suppose you expect me to be an angel when we are wed?”

Why did his words sound bitter?

Turmoil racing inside Mary struggled to redeem the conversation. “Well, the devil is a fallen angel… Perhaps there is hope for you yet…” A strange look caught in his eyes. Pain? Reaching across the table she laid a hand over his. It jolted beneath her touch as if he did not care for comfort.

She looked away from him, cut some cheese and changed the subject. “Tell me what you were like as a child?”

He laughed and she looked up. He was not looking at her as he lifted a slice of cold ham to his plate, but when he did his eyes glinted with an odd dismissive light. “Well there you have me…” He picked up his knife and fork, humour ringing in his voice. “When I was a child I behaved so badly the servants removed the ‘an’ from my name and cut it short with a capital ‘D’ for devil. To save them having to say, ‘
you devil Master Andrew
’, they just yelled D-rew, the nickname has stuck, even my mother uses it.”

She did not find his story amusing at all, she found it sad.

“How many brothers and sisters do you have?” She skewered a piece of the pie with her fork.

“I have three brothers, and two sisters.” He cut a mouthful of ham.

“Are they all married?”

“No, two of my brothers are not.”

“But you are not close to them, you said…”

He set his knife and fork down. “No, Mary, I am not.” He reached for bread.

“I cannot imagine it. I have always looked up to John. Our entire generation admire him, not just my brothers and sisters, but my cousins too, and Robbie is my closest brother, in age and friendship, he is eighteen months younger than I. We were thick as thieves when we were young until he went to school. When he hears I am married he will hate it that I did not write and tell him what I planned.”

“Eighteen is an awkward age. It is good he’s away. If you had told him he would have been torn between whether to tell your parents or tackle me himself, I doubt he would have been happy for you… Most young men have an unrealistic view of the world.”

“Did you?”

His gaze met hers. “I was different, I had a very real view.”

“Why?”

“Believe me, you do not wish to know.” There was that hard look in his eyes, again. It warned her away from the subject.

“Tell me what you do with your days in town.”

His eyebrows lifted. “I thought by eloping I was avoiding an interview with your father…”

His words stung. “I am marrying you. I need to know more about you than the colour of your eyes and that you care for your horses.”

“The colour of my eyes; you like them then?” His eyes lit up now, dancing with deviltry and humour.

The awkwardness returned. “Yes.”

He smiled. “And I like yours. The blue is so pale your eyes shine like jewels. Your beauty kicks me in the gut each time I see you, Mary.”

Embarrassment flooding her, Mary looked at her meal.

She’d never cared to be complimented on her looks, her entire family had the same appearance. Gentlemen always looked. She found their interest vulgar. She wished to be liked for who she was within, anything else was shallow.

His knife and fork hit his china plate. “I’m sorry. I forgot you do not care to be complimented on your appearance.”

Her gaze lifted.

“You may compliment me.” As long as he loved her for more than her appearance.

“Then I consider myself honoured. But believe me if any other man compliments you now I shall knock him down. You wished to know more about me, then this another thing – I will not be played.”

“Played?” She did not understand.

“No games, Mary, no beaux, no flirting and no frolics. I will not be made a mockery of. I will not be cuckolded.” His eyes were burning with dark heat now.

She was being warned.

Yet there was something else, something deeper in the jet at the heart of his eyes.

Fear? Pain?

“I would not—”

“I know you will not. I shall not allow it.”

“I would never consider such a thing anyway.” She picked up her tea, her hand shaking as she sipped from it, hiding her disquiet, no longer able to look at him. Beneath his mask of self-assurance, Drew was very different, vulnerable, but that was the man who’d come to the summerhouse. He was the one she’d agreed to marry. She wished he would let his guard down entirely.

She looked up, determination flooding her. “I will not call you Drew. I shall call you Andrew, your real name.”

His eyes widened but he did not look displeased.

He was not a devil. He was a man, a man who could make mistakes, had faults and felt fear. He was Andrew beneath Drew’s sharp edges; the rogue was simply a layer upon that, a layer that she hoped would disappear when they were wed.

Chapter 11

Drew did not force the horses but kept them at a steady pace. They had two days or more before her father would find them and he did not wish to get too far ahead. At each tollgate he struck up a conversation when he paid so they would be remembered and when they reached Banbury, Drew asked the man at the toll gate to recommend an inn. If Marlow caught up with them earlier than expected he wanted the man to know where they were.