Her expression was all innocence, but Trevor was not convinced. He had a sneaking suspicion his beautiful wife was relishing the effect she was having on him. Despite his annoyance, he could not help but admire her. She was such a unique person, so unconventional compared to the other women he had known, even Lavinia.
“First a kiss at the racecourse and now a massage at the theater. I am beginning to believe you enjoy making a public spectacle of yourself, madame.”
“Does that displease you?”
“Not really.” He meant it. The conventional, polite rules of this stodgy society had not held any power over him for nearly a decade. Though he teased her, Trevor acknowledged Meredith had shown far more common sense and discretion with regard to those rules throughout all of her life. “I fancy a bit of fresh air. I believe I will stroll down to the lobby for a few minutes.”
Meredith’s eyes widened minimally. She said nothing, asked nothing, yet he felt her intense regard. Though he preferred to be alone, Trevor recognized when he was defeated. “Would you care to join me?”
“How lovely.”
She rose gracefully. He stepped back to allow her to precede him, and when she passed, he brushed his arm deliberately across her breasts. He could almost feel the faint shudder that traveled through her body, yet she presented no outward sign of discomfort. Most likely he was the only person in the theater who knew she was unnerved. The marquess smiled, pleased at that exclusive advantage.
Trevor kept a proprietary hand on her waist as they negotiated the crowded staircase down to the main level. There were fewer people here, as most were already returning to their seats.
The marquess was about to signal a footman to get them some champagne when a rumbling noise caught his attention. Meredith must have heard it also, for she grasped his arm tightly.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
Trevor grimaced with concern. He heard shouts and jeers from inside the theater, then the unmistakable crash of objects being hurled. “It sounds like the drunks in the pit are losing control. One makes a comment, another disagrees and soon they are brawling in the aisles. I have seen it happen on several other occasions, and ’tis not a pretty sight. We had best get out of here before it becomes a full-scale riot.”
Apparently many of the crowd were of a similar mind. Patrons began leaving in droves, scuttling out of theater, down the stairs, and rushing for the exits. There was an unmistakable undercurrent of fear in their movements.
“We cannot leave without the others,” Meredith cried.
Trevor lifted his head, his eyes darting about, searching the surging crowd. “I can see the duke and Miss Harriet on the opposite side. I assume Wingate and Miss Elizabeth are near them. There is an exit directly to their left.”
“What about us?”
“Come. There is a little known exit on the other side.”
The marquess had taken only a few steps before realizing Meredith was not beside him. He turned in alarm. She stood but a few feet behind him, white-lipped and stock-still. Then the surging crowd engulfed her, forcing her backward, farther and farther away from him.
“Trevor!”
Her cry of fear was swallowed up by the press of squirming, elbowing bodies. The marquess reacted instantly, but it was like swimming upstream. Within seconds they were separated by a wall of people. Digging in his legs, Trevor somehow managed to propel himself forward, into the crowd. Inch by inch, he made slight progress toward her, his eyes pinned frantically to the gold silk fabric that distinguished her from the rest of the throng.
Then suddenly someone shoved Meredith. Hard. In horror, Trevor watched her stumble, then struggle to right herself. He shouted loudly when she disappeared completely from view. With Herculean effort he managed to push closer. Reaching down, he searched for that distinctive flash of gold silk.
It felt like an eternity till he at last caught a glimpse of what he sought. Head whirling, he wrapped an arm around Meredith and half pulled, half dragged her to her feet. She clung to him tightly.
The relief was so great that he paused for an instant. Beside him a man toppled to the ground. A woman shrieked and fell on top of him. Others surged forward, ready to trample the fallen victims. Terrified screams from the far side of the lobby suggested some might have already been crushed in the maddening crowd.
Survival instincts prevailed. “We are going this way,” Trevor shouted.
He wanted to slide one arm around her waist and haul her to his side, but he knew they would never fight their way through the crowd two abreast.
Meredith obviously understood that he needed to lead, for she clutched his arm tightly. “Go. I shall follow you.”
He could feel her fingers digging into his muscles. Convinced she had a strong enough grip, he led her to the edge of the lobby, back toward the theater. The shouts and cursing grew louder as they drew nearer to the escalating brawl, but surprisingly this area held few fleeing patrons.
The marquess never broke stride. Turning left, he headed directly for a door hidden behind a row of velvet curtains. Thankfully it was unlocked. Trevor gratefully pushed it open and they spilled into an alley, filling their lungs with great gulps of fresh air.
Trevor exhaled, closed his eyes, and flopped back against the rough brick wall. His arms were aching from the strain of pushing through the crowd; his head was pounding with shock and the residual rush of adrenaline.
“Are you all right?”
Meredith’s trembling voice roused the marquess from his stupor. He paused another moment to catch his breath, then turned. She was slumped, exhausted, against the wall. Her face was ashen, her hair mussed, and a piece of silk had been torn from the bodice of her gown.
“I ache all over, but I am in one piece, with my limbs in working order,” he answered. “And you?”
“I’m not sure.”
He found her hand, and squeezed it in comfort. She returned the pressure, and he was grateful to feel her fingers were firm and strong.
“Lord, that was awful,” he muttered. “I would not be surprised to learn that people were killed tonight.”
Meredith made a small sound in her throat and he thought she might burst into tears. “I kept seeing you through the crowd, so close, and yet it felt like you were miles away, for I could not reach you. Then someone shoved me hard, knocking the breath from my lungs. My ears rang and my vision went blurry as I toppled to the ground. I feared I would never regain my feet, that I would be crushed and trampled.
“Then suddenly, seemingly out of thin air, you appeared.” In the shadowy light of the street lamp, Trevor saw her bite down on trembling lips. “You saved my life.”
Her tone was fervent. Yet it was the look of wonder and amazement on her face that brought forth a surge of emotions in him. Never before in his life had he felt so accomplished, so important, so bloody useful.
It should have frightened him, these feelings that came over him with such unbearable force, yet instead it warmed and soothed him, leaving him feeling strong and important.
Trevor noticed then that Meredith had begun to shake violently. She swayed toward him, and the marquess caught her up in his embrace, holding her tightly, almost savagely against his chest.
Mine, his brain screamed with possessive determination. Mine to keep safe and protect.
He lifted her ankles and scooped her up in his arms. “Hold on to my neck. My carriage is at the front of the theater, and there is sure to be a large crowd.”
Meredith nodded and settled back, her expression softer and more vulnerable than he had ever known it.
The marquess was right. There was a large gathering in front of the theater, but the nature of the crowd had once again shifted. Now safe from imminent danger, people were milling around discussing the event. Some were pale and dazed, while others were shouting, trying to locate the members of their party. A few were offering assistance to the injured.
Amazingly, Trevor was able to locat
e his father. The duke had managed to escape before the worst of the crush had occurred. He had escorted Miss Harriet and Miss Elizabeth safely to Wingate’s coach and had come in search of the marquess and Meredith.
“Is she badly injured?” the duke asked in a concerned voice.
“Just shaken. But we need to get her home as quickly as possible.”
The duke nodded. “My carriage awaits. I’ll have one of the grooms find your coachman and tell him you are returning to the house with me.”
A few minutes later, they were climbing into the duke’s black barouche. Sitting beside her, Trevor could still feel his wife trembling, could feel the tension in her body. Without saying a word, he shifted in his seat and cradled her in his arms.
The carriage shade was open. He moved to a spot where the moonlight streaked inside. Meredith’s impassive countenance was bathed in silver, and for an instant he thought he might have mistaken her fear.
Then, with a small cry of distress, she turned her face into his chest and tightened her arms around his neck. A lump formed in his throat. Her complete trust was humbling, as if she believed there was no one in the world more capable of protecting her than he.
The duke signaled his driver, and the coach lurched forward. Trevor gathered Meredith closer, and as they traveled the darkened streets he tried his hardest to make her feel safe and secure.
An hour later Meredith was seated in an overstuffed chair in her bedchamber with a glass of brandy in her hand. Though she was trying valiantly to stay calm, she could feel the edges of panic gripping at her composure.
“I am starting to feel better.” Meredith smiled wanly at her husband as he paced back and forth. “Truly.”
“Drink.” He tipped the edge of her glass and forced her to take a large swallow. “Better, my arse. Your face is pale as a ghost and you’re still trembling all over.”
Meredith wet her lips. She wanted nothing more than to shout a denial, but her teeth were chattering too hard. It all seemed so ridiculous, but now that it was over, she felt even more frightened, more at a loss to control her body and emotions.
“I fear I might have lost one of the diamonds from my necklace.” With a shaking hand, she held it up for Trevor to inspect.
“Will you forget about the damned necklace?” He snatched it out of her hands and flung it onto a nearby table. “It does not matter.”
Meredith blinked. She would not cry. She would not show weakness. She would remain calm and coherent, for she had something important to tell her husband about this horrible incident tonight. Given his current state of agitation, she suspected he would not be pleased.
“Those are not my personal property, they are family jewels,” Meredith said softly. She met Trevor’s eyes. “If I have damaged the piece, I want to fix it. ’Tis my responsibility.”
The marquess knelt in front of her. He stretched out a hand and lifted a fallen lock of hair back from her face. She could see he was struggling to stay calm. “Since it appears to be so damned important to you, I will make certain the jeweler examines the necklace. If it needs to be repaired, I will instruct him to do so immediately.”
“Will you send me the bill?”
“Meredith.” He tightened the hold he had on her wrist.
She burst into a nervous giggle. The strain on his temper was showing. Best not to push it past the breaking point. “Thank you, Trevor.”
“I need you to tell me everything you remember about what happened at the theater,” the marquess said.
Meredith settled back in her chair and took a small sip of her drink. “I’ll try, but it all happened so fast. There was the crush of the crowd, that surge that seemed to carry me off my feet. I felt someone bump into me, jostle me from behind. I was so worried about staying on my feet, so frightened that if I fell I would be trampled that I hardly noticed who had shoved me. But it happened again. And then a third time.
“That final impact drove me to my knees. I remember trying to catch myself, but there was nothing steady to grab. It was all a mass of tangled limbs. That’s when I felt the hands.”
“Hands? You mean my hands, hauling you upright?”
“No.” She lowered, then raised her chin. “The hands around my neck.”
The marquess leaned closer and for the first time noticed the marks. There were bruises around her throat, deep red marks that were beginning to darken. His face paled as his fists curled in anger.
“Were they the hands of a man?”
“I believe so. I opened my lips to scream, but discovered I did not have the breath to make a sound.” Meredith shuddered. “Though I know you do not wish to hear it, I am sure he was trying to take my necklace,” she said defensively. “And he nearly succeeded.”
The marquess sat back on his haunches. “Was there anything else? Anything that happened before this incident?”
She squirmed in her seat. Finally she whispered, “The stares and scrutiny.”
“What?”
How could she possibly explain something she did not fully understand, something she secretly feared was a part of her imagination? Yet a voice deep inside her head urged her to try.
“ ’Tis hardly a unique experience for me to be the subject of so much fascination for the ton. Over the past few weeks, I have almost gotten used to the stares and whispering. Yet tonight it was greatly heightened. I am convinced we garnered so much attention this evening because we appeared together at the theater.” She smiled faintly. “We so rarely attend any of the same society functions, it seemed only natural there would be considerable curiosity and talk.”
“I felt it, too,” Trevor admitted. “Is it always so intense?”
Meredith shrugged. “Since our marriage there have been times I felt myself being scrutinized by what seemed like thousands of interested spectators. But it is not the multitudes that rattle me. Lately I have had this perception, this feeling, that one single person, one individual is taking an inordinate interest in my movements.”
“Do you have any idea who it may be?”
“No.” She let out a small laugh. “Which is why I am convinced I might be imagining it all. And yet . . .”
Meredith looked up. Trevor’s gaze was fixed forward, regarding her scrupulously. He appeared to be on the verge of saying something, then shook his head as though changing his mind. “You are a levelheaded woman, not given to imaginings. However, you have had a terrible fright this evening. We shall discuss this again in the morning, after you have rested.”
Meredith nodded. Perhaps it would be best to continue the discussion in the morning. Though she did in truth feel exhausted from mental, physical, and emotional fatigue, she wondered how she would possibly sleep. The fear and panic that had overtaken her at the theater lingered still, a dark shadow of fear in the corner of her mind.
“Where is Rose?” Meredith searched the bedchamber for her maid. “She generally waits up for me in my sitting room.”
“I dismissed her. I thought she might become frightened at seeing you so upset. Shall I ring for her?”
“Don’t bother. If you would just unhook the center buttons at the back of my gown, I can manage the rest.”
She stood and presented her back to her husband. The feel of his warm fingers drove away some of the chill. Yet all too quickly he had accomplished his task. She turned, clutching the gaping gown securely to her chest.
It suddenly became difficult to swallow. Meredith wanted nothing more than to beg him to stay with her, yet she could not ask. “Are you going out tonight?”
For a moment Trevor held himself rigid, as if struggling for control. The atmosphere was suddenly charged with a new tension, a different sensation—the alluring pull of sexual longing.
“I think it best if I remain here.”
“In my bedchamber?”
The blue of his eyes became deeper, stormier. But he said nothing. Meredith lifted her chin and studied a slight crack in the plaster work on the ceiling. Her anguish must have show
n in her face.
“I shall stay until you fall asleep.”
The independent, prideful streak inside Meredith fairly screamed at her to object, to deny she needed anything from him. Yet her need for comfort was stronger than her pride.
Silently Meredith went behind the dressing screen to change. She deliberately chose a revealing nightgown of sheer silk, and instead of braiding her hair as usual she left it tumbling wantonly down her back. Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she took a deep breath, then walked boldly back into the bedchamber.
Trevor was sitting in a wing chair beside her bed. His handsome features were composed into an unreadable mask, yet as she brushed near she felt as if he were impaling her with his startling blue eyes.
Meredith’s heart skipped several beats as she climbed into the large, lonely bed. Her husband, the man she loved with all of her heart, moved not an inch. In the still silence of the night, he seemed more distant, more unattainable than ever.
Still, he had proven his regard for her most tangibly this evening by risking his life to save hers. His strong, protective presence brought not only a sexual longing, but a deep measure of safety and comfort.
Meredith drew an unsteady breath, determined to overcome the tangled knot of emotions twisting inside her. She pulled the covers to her chin and settled herself on her side, her back to the marquess. She lay there stiffly, willing herself to relax. Though she would never have believed it possible given all that had occurred this night, eventually she drifted off to sleep.
Sixteen
Cold, strong fingers grabbed Meredith’s hair, twisting the thick golden tresses and yanking it tight. Her neck was stretched and open, an inviting, vulnerable target. First she felt the menacing grip of his fingers. Then his hands encircled her throat. Closing, tightening, they pressed against her, choking her until she could get no air, could draw no breath.
She fought wildly, thrashing her legs, kicking her feet. Her arms were leaden. She could not lift them. Panicking, she tried to flee, to move away from the attacker, but she could not evade the strong hands so intent on doing her harm. Fear slammed into her chest. She could not escape!
To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 23
