The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

by Jane Lark

  Relief overrode every other emotion when they booked into another inn for the night.

  Andrew had said it would take three or four more days to reach Gretna. But tomorrow her parents would discover her gone and follow. What had been done could not be undone, though. Her fate was fixed. She’d lain with Andrew.

  Mama will be heartbroken.

  Andrew’s fingers clasped her elbow guiding her upstairs to their bedchamber.

  They had eaten dinner in a parlour downstairs.

  Papa will be hurt and angry and John will be disappointed.

  She wished they’d find her before she reached Gretna, then they would be at her wedding. But she was not foolish enough to think anything could have been done differently. Papa and John would not have let her marry Andrew by choice.

  The soft light of a vibrant sunset flooded the small room and it cast Andrew in gold, gilding his features.

  He was so starkly handsome. Her heart melted a little more each time she looked at him.

  “You’re silent. A penny for them?” Andrew asked as he closed the bedroom door behind them and turned the key in the lock. His eyes gleamed with a dark honey colour. “What are you thinking, tell?”

  Ah. Why must tears come? They burned in her eyes and her teeth caught her lip to stop them tumbling over, but failed.

  “You are not regretting…” His expression twisted to pain. “Mary?” He caught her hand, and would have pulled her to him, but she pressed her other hand against his chest to stop him, before swiping away her tears.

  “I am not regretting. I was thinking of my parents. They will know tomorrow.”

  His thumb, brushed another tear from her cheek, then he let her hand go and turned away; a bitter sigh escaping his lips as he moved to pour a glass of wine from a decanter by the bed. “Must we go back to this? Must you think of them now? I thought you were past leaving them; that we had left them behind where they belong.” His voice rang with impatience and a note of anger. It was as though something had snapped inside, as he barked out his bitter words. “We have become something of our own, I thought.”

  He did not understand. He was not close to his own family and clearly he did not realize how much she cared for hers. Or because he did not understand he simply did not care. She did not try to explain or persuade him to understand. The emotion made finding the words too difficult.

  Instead she went to him and hugged his waist, her fingers gripping across his stomach as she pressed her cheek to the fabric of his coat at his back.

  He didn’t touch her and his body was stiff; nothing in his stance yielded as she held him.

  “I wish Papa to walk me up the aisle, and Mama to watch us, that is all…”

  A condescending sound left his throat as he turned, forcing her to let him go and step back.

  “Your father would drag you away from the aisle.” Anger and annoyance echoed in his pitch.

  She felt a frown crease her forehead. “I should have tried to persuade them to accept you…”

  His eyes narrowed. “You could not have persuaded them. Nothing would have made them allow it.”

  Mary opened her mouth to speak, but no words came as he sipped from his wine glass, his hard gaze told her he did not wish to discuss her parents’ point of view. After he’d drunk he held the wine glass to her lips and tilted it as if daring her to refuse to drink.

  It was like he offered a poison chalice, or a potion – the devil in him shining in the black hearts of his eyes which had crowded out the honey colour.

  When she had taken a sip, he put the glass down, and then his hands gripped her hips pushing her back against the wall as his lips came down hard on hers. The kiss felt like a brand burning into her – claiming her.

  No one else would ever have been enough for her, no one else would have cared with the passion and intensity that he did.

  When he broke the kiss, his hazel eyes were like treacle not honey, his pupils were so wide. Her bones were as weak as aspic.

  “I love you. You know that.” It did not sound like a statement, but a question.

  “I know.” Her words lacked breath. She believed him, but she knew he could not understand how much it hurt her to hurt her family. Yet it seemed as though when she spoke of caring for her family she hurt him.

  He’d said in his letter, the day she had met him in the summerhouse, he did not know love. He did not – but she would teach him what it meant, what it was. “I love you too, Andrew.”

  A guttural sound escaped his throat and then he kissed her, urgently. Then he spoke into her mouth. “I love you calling me Andrew, no one else does…”

  He kissed her again, and she kissed him back, her arms bracing his neck as her body remembered his touch.

  Then she realised he was drawing up her dress.

  She broke the kiss, her fingers gripping his shoulders and her gaze meeting his dark eyes, but before she could speak he threw her his rogue’s lilting smile.

  “Let me come into you now, here, no foreplay, no procrastination, let us make love now as we are.”

  Her lips trembled as her next breath faltered.

  He gripped her hand taking it from his shoulder and pressing it against the column in his trousers. “See how ready I am.”

  He pressed a kiss against her temple, keeping the pressure on her hand, then he kissed her cheek.

  She tilted her head as sensations of longing spiralled through her and she let him kiss her neck as he pressed the heel of her palm to his arousal. Then he let her hand go, and left her to touch him, as his hands returned to the task of raising her gown.

  Yesterday he’d been tender; tonight he was being wicked. But his wickedness made something lurch low in her stomach as her body recalled how it had held him inside her.

  In moments his fingers pulled at the bow securing her drawers and then he pushed the flimsy garment to the floor, and in another his fingers released the buttons of his flap. It was as if he’d touched a flame to tinder and they ignited as he lifted her feet from the floor, wrapped her legs about his waist and pushed into her.

  There was heat, in flashes, and pain as he pulsed into her and her arms clung about his neck while her head and back hit the wall behind her over and over.

  “Andrew?” she said, meeting his gaze as his fingers gripped even harder at her thighs.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  The urgency in his voice caught at her heart. He was, but it was pleasure as well as pain. He loved her passionately. It was the thing that made him so addictive. “No.” She shook her head and bit her lip as he continued moving even harder and faster, the sounds releasing from his throat animal like growls and cries.

  “Andrew!” When the ecstasy of their union struck, it was in a rush that knocked her senses to the floor, and it span through her nerves to her fingertips.

  “Hush, darling,” he growled in her ear as he carried on, and on… Her fingernails clawed into the back of his neck, and she panted out her breath, crying at the pleasure while her back hit the wall over and over, until suddenly he growled hard by her ear, and then he held still, as she felt her body tremble around him, and he pulsed with the pace of his heartbeat inside her.

  “This is how I wanted you last night, just like this, quick and hard,” he said over her lips before kissing her. She kissed him too; her arms about his neck. She felt as if he really needed her…

  He broke the kiss, but he did not set her down as his forehead pressed against hers. “Say you love me.”

  Mary smiled, there were so many layers beneath his surface. “I love you.”

  “And I you, Mary. More than you can ever know,” his husky voice seemed full of unspoken words. The grip on her thighs eased, then he set her down as if she was glass.

  When her parents came she would make them understand and like him.

  If she could see the good in him they must be able to see it too.

  * * *

  Drew could not sleep. She lay beside him, naked. But it w
as not only her body that was naked, it was her soul and her heart too and her openness and her innocence had cleansed him. Even the air drawing into his lungs felt different. Clean. He felt clean. He felt… blessed, and hopeful. He wanted to touch her. He did not, because he did not wish to wake her. The candle had burnt to a stub and the flickering light cast differing shadows across her face. She was more than beautiful. Her beauty was indescribable, because it was soul deep.

  She was as clean and white as snow within.

  But she was not innocent now. He had cut the first footprint, and he would keep walking with her, and cut the last too.

  If the sensations within him were love, then love was possessive, and all consuming.

  Her dark eyelashes flickered against her pale skin as her eyes moved beneath her eyelids, as if she was dreaming.

  She had cried when they came upstairs after dinner. She missed her family. He’d feared she’d changed her mind when it was too late for that, but she had kissed him with all of herself still, and made love to him with every part of her being.

  He had never known anyone do that before.

  He did not wish to lose her. But the storm was coming. Soon.

  Her father and brother would come. He knew they would. Then would come Mary’s trial. He felt as though she still loved her family more. He wished for all of her to be his. Jealousy roared inside him.

  He had sought to charm her with his body – to win her back, to hold on to her. The candle flickered one last time, then went out. The room was entirely dark, but he could still feel her breath on his skin, and imagine her face.

  He was afraid that her father and Pembroke would turn her against him.

  Now that he had this, her, he could not bear to lose her.

  She would have to marry him, there was no doubt of that, but he did not want a hollow heartless marriage. He wished for a love match. A true love match. She could give him that, teach him how to live like that. Life would become the two of them together against the world, he would be her defender and she his…and this evening… when she had her second night with him to look forward to… she had cried for want of her family. He had been unable to dwell on what it meant. Yet he feared it had meant that despite leaving with him she still thought more of them.

  He wanted her now.

  He needed her now.

  He only had hours to win her soul and keep it. Please, Lord let her lean towards me for comfort and protection. Let me be who she cries her tears for…

  His hand reached out and touched her hip, then slid up her side and down again. Her skin was like silk.

  He wished to be inside her, to claim her; to calm the fear in his head, and appease the possessiveness in his soul… He did not know how to be what she needed. He was terrified of failing her – of her rejection. Of failing himself. How could he win against the affection of her family, if she still cried for them, now?

  She moved beneath his hand, rolling to her back. He gripped her breast, rose up and leant to kiss her shoulder.

  This was all he knew, he knew how to please her in a bed, let that be enough… Let his physical love wrap around her heart and form a wall that would hold against her father and her brother when they came.

  Chapter 14

  Andrew had made love to her three more times through the night. The second time, like the first, had been rough and vigorous. She’d woken up as he’d touched her, arousing her, then he’d moved over her as she’d lain on her stomach, her fingers and toes gripping the sheet.

  The third time, he’d pulled her over him, and moved her legs up so she’d knelt then bid her to rise up and lower over him. She’d felt uncomfortable and exposed, but then she’d fallen into ecstasy and forgotten her pride, her body hot and fluid like lava.

  The fourth time she’d felt like an earthly Goddess half awake and half asleep as the first light of dawn had flooded the room. He’d made love to her with his lips, tongue and teeth, until she was panting and fighting to catch a breath, begging him to come into her. Then he’d settled between her thighs and ridden her deeply and slowly rocking into her with an adoration that made her mindless.

  It was as if he wished to teach her everything about physical pleasure in one night.

  She smiled when she woke again, blissfully happy, her muscles trembling from a night of adoration, ashes glowing warm beneath her skin.

  His thigh lay over her legs, weighting her down and his broad palm rested on her stomach as she lay amidst tangled sheets.

  The air was heavy with the scents of their bodies.

  Shouts ran from the courtyard outside, urgent, angry masculine voices, along with a clatter of horseshoes.

  Mary slid from Andrew’s embrace and began sleepily gathering up her underwear and dressing as the commotion outside grew in intensity. People shouted.

  Clothed in her drawers and chemise Mary turned to the window, but now the sound of the commotion came from within the inn, as heavy strides struck the stair-boards, reverberating through the internal walls.

  Andrew woke stretching as the aggressive, hurrying, strides drew nearer. Then he sat up, no longer languid, and looked to the door then at her. He smiled but it was not his normal smile, it looked odd. It was like the smile tried to speak to her, it looked uncertain, and his eyes said something she could not read. Something she had never seen there before.

  The footsteps stopped outside their door and someone banged a fist against it, making the wood jolt against the lock. “Mary!”

  “Papa,” she whispered towards Andrew, rushing to grab her clothes. Andrew’s expression immediately changed, it became the expression of the man she had first met in London, the man of the ballrooms. The defiant rogue. “Andrew.” She wished for him to get up.

  The door jolted at another strike. “Framlington! I know you are here! Open this door!”

  Mary feared the door would break as she clutched her clothes to her chest, her fingers shaking and her stomach nauseous with fear.

  “A moment, Papa!” Mary shouted, as Andrew rose.

  He was in his stupid arrogant mood; his movement was languid, again, and his lips twisted in a roguish smile, as if he did not care that they had been caught like this. But he did care; she had glimpsed the defiance in his eyes as he’d risen. It denied that he cared, and the fact he needed to deny it proved he did. What could be seen of Andrew never seemed to be what lay beneath. Yet this was not the moment for his roguery, or his devil to rebel.

  “Let me in!” Her father roared.

  Mary had never heard him sound so angry.

  Her heart pounded as Andrew crossed the room and collected his shirt, then slid it over his head as her father hit the door again.

  “Open up!”

  Andrew walked to the door, wearing only his shirt, which hung open across his chest, without even looking back at her.

  He would not open the door until he’d dressed… He—

  He turned the key in the lock…

  The door flew open and bounced back against the wall as Andrew stepped out of the way.

  The air left her lungs as she stood motionless holding her clothes against her.

  Her father’s fist was already raised and he struck Andrew’s jaw with a swift hard punch. Andrew stumbled back against the wall but he did not fall.

  “Papa!” Dropping her clothes Mary ran across the room, to stop them fighting.

  Her father’s gaze did not even acknowledge her. “I will kill you!” he growled at Andrew. She moved between them.

  She had never seen her father like this. “Please, Papa…”

  He looked at her…His eyes accusing… “Why would you do this? You have hurt your mother! Do you know how terrified we were to find you gone?”

  “Sorry.” The word leaked from her throat on a torrent of pain.

  “Mary?” John stood at the open door. His fingers curled to fists.

  “Don’t hurt him,” Mary begged looking back at her father. “I love him, Papa.”

  “You
love him?” Mary’s father growled. “You fool, Mary!” Contempt and condemnation burned in his voice. “He’s charmed you.”

  Drew looked at Mary without lifting his weight off the wall. Hold by me. He said it with his eyes, but she did not see, she was glaring at her father. Relief gripped in Drew’s chest regardless, she was taking his side.

  Marlow looked at Mary.

  Drew had not expected her father to catch them for another day, but his timing was perfect; to arrive when they’d been in bed made the situation absolutely clear.

  Mary caught hold of Drew’s arm and pulled him away from the wall, then wrapped her arms about him as she stood at his side, in only her underwear, defending him.

  Her hair brushed his chest, catching on his open shirt, as her chin tilted upward. “He loves me, too, Papa.”

  It was surely true, he’d lived under her spell for two days; he did not wish it broken.

  Her father’s sharp slate coloured eyes looked his accusation and judged Drew wicked.

  Marlow had a hard edge when he wished to reveal it. But Drew was not cowed. He smiled in condemnation, pride burning like fire in his chest.

  Mary had stood with him. Against them.

  Her family could go to hell.

  Marlow’s fist lifted as though he would strike again.

  “Papa, it is not his fault.” Mary moved in front of Drew, acting like a shield.

  “Whose fault is this then? Yours?” Marlow growled at her. “Who approached who? Was this elopement your idea? You love him because he wants you to love him! He’s been playing with you! You’ve been seduced! You’re innocent and he’s manipulated your lack of understanding!” Marlow gripped Mary’s wrist, to pull her away.

  She pulled it free and turned to cling to Drew.

  Marlow’s palm hit Drew’s shoulder with a hard shove.

  The force knocked Drew back against the wall and Mary fell with him. Drew’s arms surrounded her and held steady. “How can you know? Have you ever spoken to me? You cannot know!” Drew spat the words at Marlow. He spoke lies. Marlow was wrong.