The Wicked Marquis

by Mary Lancaster

  Serena’s mother sniffed with disapproval. Voices could be heard in the hall as the maid, no doubt, explained the presence of guests. Without delay, Kate entered the parlor, and came straight to the countess with her hand held out.

  “Lady Braithwaite, how wonderful! I glimpsed you last night, so I knew you were back. May I present my husband, Tristram Grant.”

  Kate’s natural manner probably did more than anything else to convince the countess that no crime had been committed. However, she wouldn’t have been Serena’s mother if she hadn’t launched into a criticism of Kate taking upon herself the role of chaperone to Serena before she had been given permission.

  “Be fair, Mama,” Serena argued. “You know I would have been driven mad, or got into quite horrendous trouble through boredom if I hadn’t been allowed to go anywhere!”

  “It seems to me you still did!” her mother snapped.

  “On the contrary,” Mr. Grant said gently. “I believe Lady Serena behaves at all times like the lady you wish her to be. My wife merely lent her company for the benefit of a critical world—even when that meant travelling up to the fort in the pouring rain to face armed enemy spies.”

  It was quite masterly, Serena allowed, absolving both herself and Kate from any blame whatsoever, and reminding Lady Braithwaite that she owed Kate not criticism but gratitude.

  Serena’s mother stared at him.

  “Ah, look,” Kate said brightly. “Here is Lord Braithwaite arriving, too…with Lord Tamar.”

  The blood drained from Serena’s face so fast she was glad to be sitting down. “Together?” she asked anxiously.

  “Apparently so.” Kate met her gaze with a resigned quirk of the eyebrows.

  “You will not go near him,” Serena’s mother hissed in her ear. “You will stay by my side at all times.”

  Serena didn’t answer. She was too alarmed by what the two men might have said to each other that they were coming to the Grants at the same time. Were they coming to ask Mr. Grant to mediate? Or, more likely, to try and force Tamar to renounce her face to face. He wouldn’t, of course, but his refusal would lead to such unpleasantness.

  Well, they could still escape to Scotland.

  She was afraid to breathe.

  The parlor door opened in unusual silence, and both gentleman, the one so exquisitely dressed and the other so shabby, bowed to the room in general. Tamar sought her eyes. He didn’t seem terribly worried, but then he rarely did. It all went on beneath the surface with him.

  Both Kate and her husband shook hands with both lords.

  “Very glad to see you both,” Mr. Grant pronounced. “Have you come for luncheon, or did you want to speak to me about something else?”

  “I want you to call the banns,” Braithwaite said, stunning the room. “For Serena and Tamar here.”

  Serena’s mouth fell open.

  “What?” her mother exclaimed. “Braithwaite, have you taken leave of your senses?”

  Tamar was staring at him, pulling his ear as if he was afraid he’d heard wrongly.

  “Of course not,” Braithwaite said. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

  “Hold on,” Tamar said. “Are you actually giving us permission to marry?”

  Braithwaite’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yes. Didn’t I say?”

  Serena’s paralysis broke. An instant before her reacted, she flew out of her chair and into Tamar’s waiting arms. Before them all, his mouth crushed hers in an exuberant, enthusiastic kiss that had her mother moaning for her smelling salts.

  Emerging breathless and slightly tousled, she caught her brother’s arm, smiling. “Thank you, Gervaise.”

  He inclined his head ironically.

  “What changed your mind?” she asked curiously.

  “He loves you.” Braithwaite flushed slightly as everyone stared at him. “More than that, he knows you and still loves you.”

  Serena punched his arm without anger. “Yes, but how do you know?”

  “I saw his painting,” Braithwaite said. “Both his paintings of you.”

  Tamar loosened his grip on Serena though he still held her with one arm around her waist. “You got all of that from the paintings?”

  Braithwaite nodded curtly.

  Tamar let out a breath of laughter. “By God, I am good!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three weeks later, Lady Serena Conway married Rupert Alan Gaunt, eighth Marquis of Tamar, in St. Andrew’s Church at Blackhaven.

  Serena, who’d never in her wildest dreams imagined that the wedding would happen so quickly unless they eloped to Scotland, went through the ceremony in something of a daze. It was intended as a private wedding, with only her family present. Tamar hadn’t troubled to invite his own siblings since “we’d only have the whole pack of them up here sponging.” She suspected his real reason had more to do with the expense of traveling. And Julian, of course, had only just been sent home.

  In fact, there were less family members than Serena had hoped, since Frances had just given birth to a son and wasn’t fit to travel. On the other hand, Lord Daxton and his new wife—who seemed to be known universally as Lady Dax—had appeared to support the groom, as had the famous Captain Alban and his aristocratic wife. Kate Grant and the Winslows also turned out to witness the event. The rest of the church was packed with Braithwaite people and as many Blackhaven townspeople as could fit through the open doors.

  Deliriously happy, Serena smiled at everyone, especially her grinning and slightly smug little sisters, and clung to her new husband’s arm as they walked out of the church as man and wife. Tamar looked wildly handsome in a smart new suit of clothes bought for the occasion, while Serena wore her favorite white trimmed gown with dark red.

  An impromptu wedding feast had been set up under canopies, for the tenants and estate workers, while the “quality” breakfasted in the castle dining room.

  Serena knew she chattered and laughed her way through the meal, though she had no recollection of what she said or what amused her. She seemed to be only aware of Tamar by her side.

  Then, quite suddenly, it came to her. Laughter gurgled into her throat. She lowered her voice. “I’ve just realized I’m the Marchioness of Tamar. I have precedence over my mother!”

  “I knew there was a reason you married me.”

  “That must be it,” she agreed happily.

  He smiled while his eyes darkened thrillingly. “I can’t wait to show you a few other reasons.”

  Although she flushed, she lifted her chin in challenge. “On the cellar floor?”

  “Or under the apple tree.”

  “Or in our rooms, hurriedly refurbished by my favorite brother for our use.”

  “Or there. The location is really immaterial.”

  And suddenly, she wanted everyone gone, leaving the two of them alone together. Braithwaite was returning to London tomorrow and taking their mother with him. They would truly have the place to themselves…if one didn’t count the children. And Miss Grey. And the servants.

  But soon enough, Tamar suggested they could leave. There was no wedding trip to be waved off on, so they were merely applauded through the Long Gallery, after which Serena led him along the passages into the older part of the castle where her bedchamber had been for years, and where other rooms had been made available for them to live in relative privacy.

  “Until Tamar Abbey is ready for you,” Braithwaite had said.

  It was a huge job. As a wedding gift, Braithwaite had made available his own surveyors and engineers and provided funds to begin the repairs, to make at least part of the Abbey habitable. This left Serena’s money to live on for the time being and to plough into the estate along with whatever Tamar could make. He was optimistic this would all lead to a greater yield from the estate in the long term and neither Braithwaite nor Braithwaite’s steward disagreed with him. Even Dax, who, seemed to know a bizarre amount about farming, had offered encouragement and advice.

  Tamar took her hand, and
together, they walked into their sitting room. The connecting door to her bedchamber had once been kept locked, as had the door to the room on the other side, which was now made into a dressing room for Tamar.

  “What do you think?” she asked anxiously as she showed him through the rooms. “Do you like them? Will they do for now?”

  “They’ll more than do, Serena. Come here.”

  Suddenly shy, she found herself blushing as she walked across the bedchamber and into his arms. His kiss was tender and thorough, and the hovering butterflies in her stomach seemed to take flight.

  He lifted his head, gazing at the wall beside the window. “You hung my picture by your bed.”

  “I was being selfish. I know more people should see it, but I wanted to go to sleep and wake up with it every morning. It seemed the next best thing to having you here.”

  He took her face between his hands. “What did I ever do to deserve you in my life?” he said softly, and kissed her again as she slipped her arms around his waist.

  She imagined his hands shook slightly as he pulled the pins from her hair and unfastened her gown with rather more efficiency than was quite seemly in a man.

  Besides, it was still light outside.

  She dragged her mouth free with a gasp. “Why don’t you go to the other room and—”

  “No,” he said uncompromisingly, and took back her mouth.

  Desire flamed through her. She pressed closer to him, emitting a tiny moan of hunger when she felt the hardness of his erection. His knee pushed between her legs and his thigh stroked the hot, heavy place she most needed his touch. Her mouth opened wider, and he plundered it with ruthless sensuality.

  Somehow her gown, petticoat, and stays slipped to the floor around her feet. One of his hands swept down her back to her bottom, holding her closer into him while his other hand found her breast and caressed.

  Her whole body trembled. And then her shift followed the rest of her clothes and she stood fully naked in his arms.

  His breathing was more labored than hers. “Oh, Christ,” he muttered. “You are beautiful.”

  He snatched her up in his arms and strode with her to the bed. As she landed on her back, he tore off his coat and necktie, then kicked off his shoes and swung himself over her. Holding most of his weight on his elbows, he pinned her lower body with his hips while he kissed her mouth and throat and breasts.

  Totally awash with sensation, she found herself scrabbling beneath his shirt to feel the hot velvet of his skin. Impatiently, he pulled the shirt up over his head and threw it aside. She rose up with him, flattening her palms over his chest in wonder, caressing.

  Slowly, gently, he pushed her back, and she saw that his lower clothes had gone, too. She had a glimpse of his manhood, huge and strangely thrilling, and then he lay on her once more, his mouth seducing all over again as his hands played over her body and found the heat between her thighs.

  She cried out when he entered her body, but only with surprise. The minor discomfort was nothing like the pain her mother had warned her about, and even that began to vanish as he moved in her. She clung to him, following in blind, desperate hunger. His voice shook as he told her over and over of her beauty and how much he loved and desired her. And then his whole body trembled, and so did hers as the building pleasure galloped out of control and swept her away in a tide so intense she thought she would never recover.

  His blissful groans filled her ears as he collapsed upon her. She held him to her, seeking his mouth, and he gave it in a wild, gasping kiss.

  Rocked to her core, Serena listened to their heartbeats gradually slow.

  “That,” she whispered, “must have been what I wanted all along.”

  “It’s certainly what I’ve wanted.”

  “And now that you’ve had it, are you satisfied?”

  He smiled. “Only for the next three minutes.”

  She couldn’t help the shocked widening of her eyes. “You mean we may do it again?”

  “Oh yes,” he said fervently. He stroked her hair and smiled down at her. She could not doubt the pleasure he’d taken in her. It made her proud, almost triumphant. “But since I’m looking after you, not until morning.”

  *

  When Tamar woke in the morning, she wasn’t in the bed. He’d wakened several times during the night, his limbs wrapped around her soft, delicious body and only by superhuman effort had he prevented himself from taking her again. Especially when she’d pushed back into him, encouraging him. To save her, he’d made love to her with his mouth, and his own painful frustration had drowned in delight at her pleasure.

  But in daylight, he missed her. He sat up. Through the open bed curtains, he saw her standing at the window in her night rail, waving. The rumble of carriage wheels and the clop of horses’ hooves on stone drifted up to him. Throwing off the covers, he rose and walked to the window, drawing her back against his naked body. She smiled, nestling into him.

  “Is someone coming or going?” he asked.

  “Gervaise and Mama, returning to London.”

  “You mean we have the whole castle to ourselves?”

  “Apart from the children, Miss Grey, and the servants.”

  “Who will all be busy.”

  “Edwards brought us coffee,” Serena offered. “Would you like some?”

  “I’d love some.” He was busy searching his way beneath her nightgown as he drew her away from the window. She twisted her head around and kissed him so sweetly that he forgot about the coffee in his urgency.

  “And then,” she said breathlessly, wickedly. “And then, at some point during the day, would you like to finally make good your threat and take me on the cellar floor?”

  He gave a shout of laughter. “Yes, damn it, I would.”

  And he did.

  Mary Lancaster’s Newsletter

  If you enjoyed The Wicked Marquis, and would like to keep up with Mary’s new releases and other book news, please sign up to Mary’s mailing list to receive her occasional Newsletter.

  Other Books by Mary Lancaster

  VIENNA WALTZ (The Imperial Season, Book 1)

  VIENNA WOODS (The Imperial Season, Book 2)

  VIENNA DAWN (The Imperial Season, Book 3)

  THE WICKED BARON (Blackhaven Brides, Book 1)

  THE WICKED LADY (Blackhaven Brides, Book 2)

  THE WICKED REBEL (Blackhaven Brides, Book 3)

  THE WICKED HUSBAND (Blackhaven Brides, Book 4)

  REBEL OF ROSS

  A PRINCE TO BE FEARED: the love story of Vlad Dracula

  AN ENDLESS EXILE

  A WORLD TO WIN

  About Mary Lancaster

  Mary Lancaster’s first love was historical fiction. Her other passions include coffee, chocolate, red wine and black and white films – simultaneously where possible. She hates housework.

  As a direct consequence of the first love, she studied history at St. Andrews University. She now writes full time at her seaside home in Scotland, which she shares with her husband, three children and a small, crazy dog.

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