Never Kiss a Notorious Marquess

by Renee Ann Miller

  “May I get you something to eat?”

  “I doubt I will ever eat again.”

  “Won’t you at least drink the tincture his lordship brought?”

  “Lord Huntington was here this morning?” Had he forgiven her or come to watch her demise?

  “Yes, he came while you slept. Brought this for you to drink.” Maggie lifted a glass of murky brown liquid off the bedside table.

  By God, he really did despise her if he wished her to drink some thick, mud-colored concoction. She pinched her lips closed, fearing she might retch all over the lovely silk sheets. “What is it?”

  “Hair of the dog.”

  Bile inched up her throat. She swallowed. “D-dog hair?”

  Maggie shook her head. “No, ’tis a name for a liquid one drinks after overindulging in spirits. It’s to make you feel better. It has no hair in it. At least, I don’t believe so.”

  Caroline eyed the glass. Slowly, she hoisted herself into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard while pressing a palm to her rolling stomach. “Do you think it will work?”

  “I’m not sure, but it smells mighty powerful.” Maggie wrinkled her nose.

  With an unsteady hand, Caroline took the glass from the lady’s maid and examined it. Something bright and yellow bobbed within. “Is that an unbroken yolk floating in there?”

  Maggie leaned close. “I believe so.”

  “I think I would rather die.”

  “Come now. You can do it. His lordship said you needed to drink it all.”

  Confirmation that he does hate me.

  Caroline brought the sludge to her lips. The odious smell was enough to make her want to cry. She opened her mouth, pinched her nose closed, and gulped it down.

  Three hours later, Caroline made her way from the west wing, squinting at the sun shining through the Palladian window ahead. James’s concoction had stopped the upheaval in her belly, leaving only the drumming in her head and some odd shapes floating before her eyes. A door opened, and her husband’s valet stepped into the corridor.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Reilly. Is his lordship in that chamber?”

  “No, Lady Huntington. He’s on the grounds with his steward.”

  What is new? “Do you know if he intends to be gone for the remainder of the day?” She couldn’t temper the derision in her voice.

  “I believe Lord Huntington will return shortly. His siblings are expected soon.”

  Oh goodness, I’d forgotten.

  “Are you feeling improved, madam?”

  Did he know about her fiasco? Most likely. Valets were skilled in making remedies for overindulgence. “Are you responsible for the concoction I drank this morning?”

  “I am. Your husband said you had a bit of an upset stomach.”

  What an adept liar Mr. Reilly was. If he’d made the potion, he knew what it treated. “Well done, sir. You are as worthy as any schooled apothecary. Though I pray I shall never need your stomach tonic again.”

  Grinning, he bowed his head.

  She continued down the corridor, grasped the handrail tight, and descended the steps. Halfway down, the sound of clopping hooves, carriage wheels, and the jangling of harnesses rent the air.

  A moment later, a cacophony of approaching voices assaulted her ears. She cringed.

  The front door flung inward. Georgie and Nina entered the house, sounding like banshees accompanied by a herd of elephants. Fingers pressed to her temples, Caroline fought the urge to run back up the steps.

  Georgie ran forward. “Hello, Caroline! Where’s James?”

  She set a hand on the child’s head, as much for balance as to ruffle his mop of hair. “I believe with his steward outside.”

  Uttering a thank-you, the child sped off, his heels striking the marble floor like claps of thunder.

  Nina darted forward and embraced her. “Sister, I’ve been so anxious to see you. We must talk.”

  The way Nina’s mind worked, the girl most likely wished to ask wicked questions about Caroline’s wedding night. The heavy thump of a cane drew Caroline’s regard. Her gaze shot to the old woman at the threshold.

  She stifled a groan. God help her. James’s grandmother had accompanied them. Penance came in many forms.

  The dowager stepped into the entry hall, one gnarled hand braced on Anthony’s arm, the other fisted over the gold knob of her cane. The matriarch possessed the innate ability to intimidate with just a glance of her steely eyes.

  Refusing to be unnerved, Caroline tipped her chin in the air.

  The older woman’s lips twitched.

  Did she find humor in the gesture, the way an adept pugilist takes pleasure in knowing he’ll thrash his enthusiastic yet green opponent?

  Langley and two footmen entered the foyer.

  The butler’s gaze swung to the elderly woman. He paled. Obviously, he’d dealt with the domineering matriarch before. He bowed low. “Madam.”

  The matriarch acknowledged the butler with a slight incline of her head. Then releasing Anthony’s arm, she turned her piercing gray eyes on the unsuspecting footmen. “Don’t stand there gawking. Our trunks need to be retrieved from the carriage.”

  They scurried out the door as the woman continued to bark orders. Langley hesitated a moment, then looking as edgy as a cat cornered by a dog, he followed the men outside, echoing her instructions.

  “We shall talk later, Sister,” Nina whispered before stealthily making her way up the stairs while the dowager’s back was turned.

  Anthony stepped close to Caroline and grasped her hands. “Ah, my dear sister-in-law, as you can see, we are blessed. Grandmother has graced us with her presence. While she’s whipping out orders, might I suggest we follow Nina’s lead and make a run for it?”

  Caroline stifled a grin. “As always, you’re incorrigible. And in fine spirits. How are you feeling? Does Dr. Trimble believe you are all but healed?”

  He patted his waistcoat. “I wouldn’t go rowing, but I’m holding up.”

  “Stop pawing your new sister-in-law,” the old woman snapped, her attention returning to them.

  Anthony bent his head to Caroline’s. “You poor, misguided soul. You should have escaped while the chance was upon you.”

  The dowager pounded her cane against the hard marble floor. The sound echoed off the walls and high ceiling. “Anthony, I might be old, but I assure you I’m not deaf.” She jabbed a crooked finger at Caroline. “We need to talk.”

  Had the shrewd woman noticed the tension at the wedding ceremony and afterward? Of course she had. More importantly, had James revealed why?

  Anthony offered Caroline his arm.

  The dowager swatted at her grandson’s sleeve. “I wish to converse with her alone. Your attendance is not required. I won’t bite her.”

  He cocked a brow. “Promise?”

  Without responding, the matriarch strode into the drawing room off the entry hall.

  Anthony squeezed Caroline’s fingers in a reassuring manner. “I shall find James. Tell him we’ve arrived. Buck up, Caroline. I’d take two-to-one odds you could best the old bird in a tussle.”

  Tamping down her apprehension, along with her doubt, Caroline followed the dowager through the double doors. The formal cream-colored room boasted ornate gilded-plaster cornices and wall moldings that framed paintings of Trent ancestors dressed in garb of days gone by. The furnishings were covered in richly textured yellow damask with gold piping, and a massive marble mantel stood on the far end.

  The woman lifted her cane in the air. “I demand to know what’s going on!”

  Caroline forced a smile. “I have no idea what you refer to.”

  “Humph! The discord in the church between you and Huntington was as thick as pea soup, and by the time you left your father’s residence, it hadn’t improved. Something is afoot.”

  So, James had not revealed she was C. M. Smith. He’d had ample opportunity to do so before they’d departed London. Would he now? Her intuition told her no
. He didn’t favor the dowager’s interference in his life. She motioned to one of the chairs that faced the settee. “Grandmama . . . you don’t mind if I address you so informally, do you? Why don’t you sit? I’ll ring for refreshments. I’m sure you’re parched after your journey.”

  The dowager made her way to the chair. “I’ll sit, but I want answers.”

  Caroline tugged the bell rope and sat on the settee. She took an exorbitant amount of time to smooth her skirts. “I’m so pleased you came.” She hoped she looked sincere.

  A knock sounded on the door and Langley entered. His gaze volleyed back and forth between her and the dowager, finally settling on Caroline. “You rang, my lady?”

  “Yes, Langley. Will you bring us some cucumber sandwiches, a dish of sugar biscuits, and lavender tea?” With her pounding head, she doubted she’d eat anything, but hopefully the dowager wouldn’t interrogate while chewing.

  “Of course, madam.” Langley backed out of the room and pulled the double doors closed.

  “I find lavender tea so soothing, Grandmama. I brought my own blend. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

  The older woman drew in an impatient breath. “Now tell me—”

  “What makes my tea so special? Bergamot with a hint of Seville orange peel. Not too much or the citrus overpowers the floral essence.”

  The woman’s lips thinned. “I’ll not have you avoiding my questions, child.”

  Approaching footfalls sounded. The doors flew wide and James charged into the room. He wore a white shirt and tweed trousers tucked into his high, mud-spattered boots. The ones she’d stolen . . . borrowed, then returned. His collar hung open and his sleeves were folded above his elbows to the powerful muscles that contoured his upper arms. He stripped off leather work gloves and raked his long fingers through his dark hair, brushing windswept strands off his forehead.

  He looked so masculine, so vital. A memory flashed in Caroline’s mind of his heated, sculpted body settling between her legs. His strong arms braced as he’d lowered himself, joining his body with hers. She forced her lungs to control the rhythm of her breathing.

  His gaze drifted over her as though he expected to find her bruised and battered. Anthony must have informed him the dowager was here and had demanded a private meeting. Was James concerned, or did he simply not wish the matriarch to get involved in his business?

  He bent down and pressed a kiss to his grandmother’s cheek. “I hope your trip was uneventful, madam.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Good Lord, Huntington, you smell as if you’ve rolled in pig slop. And why are you dressed like a stable hand? It’s unseemly for a gentleman to display such an abundance of skin.”

  With quick, efficient movements, he rolled down his sleeves.

  Caroline bit off the urge to protest.

  James buttoned his cuffs. “A new bull arrived. The randy beast took exception to having a pasture separating him from the cows. The men and I had a dickens of a time corralling him.”

  What little color the dowager’s cheeks possessed evaporated. “And you thought it fitting the lord of the manor should assist in such a task? Utter madness when you’ve not sired an heir.”

  “Your concern for my welfare is overwhelming,” James replied dryly.

  The old woman thrust her chin forward. “I do care, but one must always think of the future. And besides, it’s just not done. You are a marquess, not a laborer.”

  In her wildest dreams, Caroline wouldn’t have believed she’d agree with the dowager about anything, but the idea of James in proximity with an animal whose horns might surpass the length of her forearms sent a shiver down her spine.

  She stood and stepped up to James. His grandmother was mistaken; he smelled wonderful, like overheated male and spice. “Surely, there is danger.”

  “Ha! Even your new bride agrees.” The woman thumped her cane. “Now, I demand to know what is going on. The two of you appeared at odds in London.”

  He slipped his arm around Caroline’s waist.

  A shiver of delight raced down her spine. The cadence of her heart increased. His regard was still on his grandmother. Was this an act for the benefit of the matriarch or had his outrage drained, leaving forgiveness? She prayed it was the latter. She slid her hand around his lower back.

  Beneath her palm his muscles tensed, belying his true feelings. Disappointment shot through her.

  “You are mistaken, Grandmother,” he said.

  Seizing the opportunity, Caroline pressed her side tighter to him, knowing he’d not step away with the dowager’s acute gaze on them.

  Dark eyes locked with hers.

  The depth of his regard would make anyone believe he adored her and that the rift between them didn’t exist. He thought her a skilled actress. She feared he was far better.

  A charged silence filled the air.

  The dowager cleared her throat.

  With difficulty, Caroline pulled her gaze away from James.

  The older woman’s all-seeing gray eyes shifted over them. A small, nearly imperceptible movement edged the corners of the dowager’s thin lips upward. Leaning her weight on her cane, she stood. “I see my concern was misguided. The discord between you appears to be settled. Good. Now that I’ve confirmed all is well, I wish to return to London. If you truly care about my health, you’ll not force me to stay. The fresh air, along with your siblings, will surely be the end of me.”

  “Of course,” James replied.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You responded too quickly, Huntington. As if you wished me gone and not privy to what’s going on here. Odd after you all but demanded my presence. I shall remain at Trent Hall a bit longer. Perhaps until your bride is increasing.”

  Heat flooded Caroline’s face. Nevertheless, the advantage of having the dowager here didn’t escape her. Under his grandmother’s watchful eyes, James wouldn’t completely ignore her, especially if the woman intended to reside here until Caroline was with child. She set a hand on his chest and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Isn’t that wonderful, darling? Grandmama is going to stay.”

  Though he smiled, the grasp of his hand around her waist grew tighter. Taut lines bracketed his mouth. “Indeed, love, quite wonderful.”

  The dowager nodded, made her way to the door, and closed it behind her.

  The weight of James’s arm fell away. He opened his mouth.

  “You didn’t tell her I’m C. M. Smith?” she asked, cutting off what she presumed would be a scathing denouncement.

  He drew in a deep, audible breath. “No.”

  As if of its own accord, her hand reached up to brush back a wayward lock off his forehead. He stilled, looking uncharacteristically like a trapped animal frozen with fear.

  Now or never, a voice in her head whispered, egging her on. She slid an arm around his lean waist, set her other hand on his chest, and pressed her length against him. “James, I—”

  “Don’t.” His long fingers wrapped about her wrist.

  The gravelly tone of his voice, along with his firm erection against her stomach, were more telling than his reprimand. Her gaze lowered to the golden sun-warmed skin where his shirt draped open. She leaned up on her toes, set her mouth to the hollow, shadowed area below his Adam’s apple, and with the tip of her tongue tasted the salt of his skin.

  Under her hand, his heart picked up speed.

  She trailed kisses over his taut jaw.

  Like a marble statue he stood still.

  “I keep thinking of how you made love to me,” she whispered as she kissed him. “The touch of your skin against mine.” The more she spoke, the more the firmness in his trousers grew. “Have you been thinking of it, James? Is it always that way when two people love each other?”

  He mumbled a curse as his lips covered hers in a firm kiss.

  A moment later, he drew back an inch. A movement that spoke of indecision. Then his mouth met hers. A tender kiss. He coaxed her lips open. The sweet slide of his tongue mated with hers. Warm, entici
ng, somehow verging on scandalous in the movements it mimicked, which she now understood.

  The next thing she knew, she was propelled backward. Her shoulders touched the wall. As he kissed her, his hands feverishly lifted the cotton skirt of her day dress. Cool air drifted over the heated skin of her legs. With the fabric tucked between their tight bodies, he tore her linen drawers. The fabric fell away.

  Beyond aroused, she fisted her hands roughly in his hair, held his mouth to hers, and tangled her tongue with his.

  Taking a single step back, he hastily worked the fall of his trousers. A button flew and skittered across the hearth. He jerked his drawers and trousers down his hips. His engorged manhood sprang free. His hands clasped her thighs, lifting her, spreading her legs wide for his possession. He inched forward.

  The silky tip of his shaft pressed against her wet folds as the hard plaster of the wall bit into her shoulders.

  “Oh, yes,” she moaned.

  His warm breath coasted over her neck. His teeth nipped her earlobe. Holding her gaze, he leaned into her, slowly filling her, stretching and consuming her body with a tantalizing pressure.

  The angle was awkward, eliciting both pain and pleasure.

  As if sensing it, he lifted her slightly, adjusting her body to his.

  She cantered her hips, drawing him farther in.

  Air hissed through his clenched teeth. “Is that better?”

  She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. It was too much. She set her mouth to his shoulder and nipped.

  He made a low sound that was as primal as her own uncontrollable action. Then grasping her thighs tighter, he moved against her, rocking, sliding sensuously in and out. Already her body grew taut—ready to shatter into all-consuming pleasure.

  “I’m going to . . .” Her legs tightened against his hips. Quivered.

  James thrust deep, causing the little heartbeats in her sex to gather every nerve ending in her body into an overwhelming physical sensation.

  His head tipped back. The sinew in his neck strained as he pumped his seed in perfect time to the pulsing between her legs.

  Her megrim a distant memory, Caroline rested her head against his shoulder and listened to their heavy breaths sawing in and out of their lungs.