The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

by Jane Lark

  Tears blurred Mary’s vision as her mother touched her arm… Mary turned to her. “You would have told me not to speak to him again.” Mary sobbed as her mother’s arms came about her.

  “For good reason!” John shouted.

  Anger screamed inside her as she spun away from her mother’s hold. “Except that you never told me the reason! You never said he’d asked Kate—”

  “I didn’t think I needed to spell it out to you! I thought you’d trust my word!”

  “He was nice to me…” Mary’s anger became pain.

  “I’m sure he was,” John growled, “but I do not wish to know how nice!”

  “John,” her mother challenged, “you will solve nothing by condemning her. It is too late for this. I just wish, I wish…” Her mother’s voice broke and Mary turned to offer comfort, as much as to receive it.

  “Mama, I’m sorry—”

  “I’m not angry with you.” Her mother swiped the tears away. “I’m sad because you will suffer from this choice, if Lord Framlington is as bad as John thinks.” Her voice broke, her last words slipping out on a whisper. “It is not an easy choice to elope, I know – and I know you must love him. Just… does Lord Framlington love you, Mary?”

  Mary’s mother waved her hand before her face as if putting off the tears.

  “Anyway, whatever the outcome, unlike when I eloped, you are not leaving your family. We are here. Come.” With that she took Mary’s hand and began leading her upstairs.

  A lump caught in Mary’s throat and to hide her distress she looked back at John, as he followed “Is Kate not here?”

  “No, she’s at Pembroke Place with the children. We left in haste at night—”

  “At night?” Her gaze spun to her mother.

  “Eleanor sent word to me. She saw Miss Smithfield at a ball. She knew you were supposed to be with them and you were not…”

  Mary sighed, “So they know. Does everyone know? Oh Emily will be in so much trouble…”

  “I’m sure she shall, Mary. We have always trusted you. I am appalled by all these machinations. Why did you not trust us?”

  “She was charmed, Mama. I would lay odds he told her not to speak.”

  Andrew had.

  “I would also lay odds he used physical inducement, promised her devotion and claimed he loves her. It is very easy to say the words. It does not mean he feels them.” John’s words echoed about the stone stairs in the marble lined hall.

  Andrew had done all of those things…

  “Men like him lie, Mary. I suppose he said you were special and precious…”

  He’d used such words when they’d made love.

  “It was all lies.”

  She did not want to believe what John said but Andrew had been cold towards her, and angry, since her family had found them.

  Drowning in emptiness when she reached the top of the stairs, she let go of her mother’s hand. “I shall change. Will you call for a maid, Mama.”

  Chapter 16

  When Andrew returned to Pembroke’s house he stood in Pembroke’s opulent Palladian hall, awed, but not by his future brother-in-law’s home; by his future wife. She’d changed clothes and she outshone the gilded splendour of Pembroke’s hall.

  The girl is gorgeous, and mine.

  She wore a pale dove-grey muslin dress, shot through with silver thread. It shimmered as it caught the daylight from the long window above the door. The dress made her appear ethereal – ghost like. The colour engaged with her eyes; and her pale skin and dark hair made a perfect frame for it.

  A vision of her naked before him, with smooth, flawless, porcelain skin, made his throat dry. He knew the body beneath that dress now.

  The bonnet she wore was a slightly darker grey, and at the edge of its brim were small white rose buds. She looked like a virginal bride. She was not that.

  The air left his lungs, when she looked at him. A few ebony curls framed her face beneath the brim of her bonnet.

  I love you, the thought spun through his head. He was certain of it now. The ground had shifted, tilted, beneath his feet when she’d faced him, his feelings were strong and no other word came to him to describe it but love.

  Her gaze met his, but the look did not say, I love you too. It was cold.

  Drew looked away, trying to swallow the knot tied in his throat.

  “Are you ready?” Marlow asked his wife who’d followed Mary downstairs.

  The man had given Drew a lecture on the way to the bishop’s palace to obtain a licence to be wed without bans. The return journey had been threats. If Drew hurt her; if he did not look after her; if he treated her false; if Marlow heard that Drew was behaving inappropriately, setting up a mistress or having an affair… Marlow had found a hundred different reasons to threaten Drew, promising castration at least, murder at the most.

  Unfortunately for Marlow, Drew did not care. The only thing he did care for was Mary, and sadly, judging by her stiffness and her look – she no longer cared for him. He felt as if she lanced his chest with a knife. He would not be able to bear it if she turned her back on him.

  He sighed.

  He’d informed Marlow it was a mistake to tell him no, because he was a contrary man. He’d also told Marlow that his daughter was equally contrary and that if Marlow had not warned her off she’d probably never have gone near him. Then ignoring the pain of his broken rib, he’d patted Marlow’s shoulder with a smile and laughed. He refused to let these people ridicule him and set him down.

  Marlow’s hand had fisted, and Drew had readied himself not to flinch if the man hit him. But Marlow’s arm had not swung, he’d gritted his teeth and growled, “You are not worth fighting.”

  Drew lifted his arm offering it for Mary to take. His rib hurt like hell but he did not show it, he did not wish to look weak.

  Pembroke glowered as Mary laid her fingers on it.

  Drew disregarded him, and focused his attention on Mary. “I suppose Pembroke has been cursing me again,” he said to her quietly.

  Her gaze flicked up to meet his, then darted away.

  She was not admiring Drew’s attractiveness; he sported a black eye and a bruised jaw. So Pembroke had been speaking of Drew and voicing more lies.

  Damn it. Yesterday, he’d been everything to her, and he’d told her a dozen times how he felt, but clearly his words counted as nothing compared to Pembroke’s. Her family still came first.

  “And you’ve been lapping it up… Am I the villain now then?”

  She looked at him but didn’t answer. Her gaze saying, be quiet, as her fingers rested on his arm, light and unmoving, not really there at all, as though she’d rather not touch him.

  Never tell me not to do something, it is like a red rag to a bull.

  “What did he say then? Am I charged with something new or is it still seduction? Perhaps I should get a pistol and shoot him so he has a decent challenge to make. Or I could—”

  “This is not a game, Andrew,” she whispered harshly as they led the little wedding party out on to the street.

  “Am I laughing?” he answered on a low growl before looking over his shoulder at Permbroke. “Have you the cheque?”

  Mary flinched even though the hit was for Pembroke. It was the only way he could hit the man back. Pembroke would hate signing Mary’s dowry over.

  Drew held Mary back when they reached the carriage so the others could enter first. He did not wish to hurt her, but he did not know how to manage this, and she was hurting him.

  A footman held the door of Pembroke’s unmarked carriage and two grooms held the horses’ heads. The coachman was already in his seat, while another two grooms hovered by the footplates at the rear of the glossy black beast. All were dressed in Pembroke’s livery.

  Hell, if this was the service Mary was used to she would find life sparse at the Albany. Drew had no staff.

  Pembroke’s pale impenetrable gaze was no more than a mirror as he looked at Drew before entering.

  The
man must be good at cards; no one would guess what was in his hand. But Drew grinned, he knew the strike had hit. Let them think he was taking Mary just for their money. Let them hurt too.

  After her mother and father had entered, Drew handed Mary up, then climbed in after her. She sat in the far corner. He sat beside her and slid up close, only because she’d sought to move away. He was not in the mood to let her shut him out.

  He took her hand and wove his fingers through hers, before resting them on his thigh, in clear view of her father, mother and brother sitting opposite.

  God, from their dire looks anyone would think she was heading to prison. Surely society did not think him that bad?

  He looked out the window, as the door slammed shut and the lock clicked home.

  But then society had tarnished him from birth with prophetic words and he’d never done anything to dispel their prophecy.

  Why the hell should he? He only cared for the thoughts of those who really knew him – his friends.

  The carriage pulled into movement and silence reigned.

  Drew glanced at Marlow, he and Pembroke stared out the windows while Mary’s mother looked at her daughter, a picture of concern.

  Mary was also looking out the window – doing her utmost to pretend Drew did not exist.

  She had known he existed the night before last. He rubbed his thumb across her wrist above her glove to remind her of his presence. She did not move, not even a single muscle in her face twitched. He supposed she’d learned that stony expression from her brother.

  When the carriage reached Whitechapel, Drew looked beyond Mary to the narrow street as the stench of the city’s less affluent area assaulted his nostrils. The houses became crowded and the buildings more crooked.

  Drew supposed Marlow and Pembroke had brought them here to avoid the world believing Mary had been forced to marry him. Yet the state of Drew’s face was testimony of that.

  Reputation was all in high society – but it never mattered what people did behind closed doors, just as long as no one actually saw.

  When the coach pulled up before a small church, Drew sneered at Marlow, opened the door and leapt out before the footman could set down the step. Then he knocked down the step and helped Mary down.

  When Marlow descended Drew said, “So, what do I call you once we are wed? Papa?” A vicious vane had cut through him today. He owned her now. Sod them and their lies.

  Marlow scowled. “You may call me, Lord Marlow, and it will always be so.”

  Mary sent Drew a quelling look and whispered, “Please put down your stirring spoon?”

  Drew shot her a smile, saying without words, do I have to. He was enjoying making Pembroke and Marlow uncomfortable. They deserved to feel bad after the things they had said of him.

  She shook her head at him as her fingers slipped from his, then she turned to her father.

  The rejection kicked Drew in the gut, making his ire burn harder. He hated rejection, he had endured enough of it in his life. In general, now, he did not give people a chance to do it. But this was Mary. I love you, you foolish girl… Do you not care for me?

  She walked beneath the church’s carved wooden lynch gate gripping her father’s arm. Drew followed. Pembroke and her mother behind him.

  Drew’s hands slipped into the pockets of his trousers, his patience wearing thin.

  The vicar appeared in the stone porch beckoning them in.

  Drew took off his hat and gloves.

  The dark glass in the church only let a little light in, wreathing it in shadows.

  Their footsteps echoed on the glazed stone tiles as the vicar led them along the aisle to the altar.

  The vicar bid Mary and her father, to stand on the left, and Pembroke and his mother to sit. Then looked at Drew, his eyes bearing disapproval. “Stand here, Lord Framlington.”

  Drew gritted his teeth and set his hat and gloves on the end of a pew. If he did not hit someone, or something, soon, he was liable to explode.

  The vicar let his leather-bound book fall open where a red ribbon marked a page and held it in one hand. Then he looked from the book to Drew, then Mary, and began reciting words in a dirge-like voice.

  Aggression hovered in the air as Marlow stood beside Mary on the other side and Pembroke threw daggers at Drew’s back.

  When they came to the point where Marlow had to hand Mary over to him and lay her hand on Drew’s. Drew grinned at him. Fuck you she is mine now.

  When it came to their vows Drew forgot her family, staring only at her, looking into her eyes, speaking to her face with a firm intonation. He wanted her to hear and believe.

  She looked at the knot of his cravat, and when it was her turn to speak and mumbled the reply with no conviction.

  It was no romantic memory to hold dear for the rest of his life.

  “Have you a ring, Lord Framlington?” The Reverend asked.

  Lifting his right hand to his mouth, Drew gripped the signet ring on his smallest finger between his teeth.

  His mother, or rather his father, whoever he was, had given it to him. A thank you gift for a night’s entertainment, and an unwanted son. The gift had become his compensation for his undesired life. Fitting, he thought.

  He looked at his unwilling wife as he slid the ring off with his teeth. Then he took it from his mouth and polished it on his coat, before sliding it on her finger.

  She did not lift her gaze even then.

  This was not how he’d pictured his wedding. He’d thought her feelings for him would hold. He’d thought she would think more of him than her father and brother, because surely, love, which included the physical kind, was a greater bond.

  Apparently not.

  He sighed as her hand trembled in his, love lodging like a spear through his heart.

  Finally she looked up.

  He smiled, genuinely, offering reassurance as the vicar continued reciting words, then Drew echoed them holding her gaze. It was as though the hours which had passed since her father had entered that room at the inn slipped away – had never been. It was just the two of them in the church, her pale eyes shining with intensity as they had when they were alone.

  Then the vicar said, “I now pronounce you man and wife. What God has united, let no man set asunder.” His book snapped shut, and the echo of it bounced back off the stone walls.

  Drew bent to kiss Mary. She looked away. His kiss fell on her cheek.

  Straightening, Drew looked at the vicar, as Mary’s fingers slid from his. No one said a word. You could have heard a bloody pin drop in the silence of their acclamations.

  Turning to her family, he declared. “Is no one going to wish us happy?”

  Her father grunted, Pembroke jeered, and her mother bit her lip and glared through glimmering moisture.

  Lifting his fingers to his forelock, Drew tugged it and briefly bowed his head. “Ma’am.”

  “You are not amusing, Lord Framlington,” Mary’s mother stated, her eyes flashing with the fire he’d sometimes seen in Mary’s.

  “No, Ma’am, but I am your son-in-law.”

  “You need to sign the register.” The vicar’s voice cut through the hostile air. “If you’ll come this way?”

  Marlow moved past Drew and offered his arm to Mary, Drew instantly shifted and gripped her elbow, drawing her to his side, before turning and leaning to collect his hat and gloves.

  Drew followed the vicar, with his hat and gloves in one hand and Mary in the other. She was his now, for good or ill. Marlow could go to hell.

  “Must you keep stirring the pot? Why are you upsetting them?” she whispered.

  He leaned to her ear and answered. “Are they not insulting me?” Why did she keep siding with them? It irked him. It hurt him. No one ever cared for his feelings.

  They did not speak again, and her arm was stiff in his hold as he steered her into the vestry, where the large record book lay open on a chest. In silence they watched the vicar enter their names. When he asked for Drew’s fat
her’s details, Drew looked to the ceiling and mumbled the Marquis’s name, the man who’d been forced to claim him but had never been a father to him.

  They both signed against the record of their marriage.

  Her name was now Lady Andrew Framlington, Mary Rose Framlington. Warmth gripped in Drew’s stomach.

  Pembroke signed as a witness, along with Mary’s mother, then the deed was done.

  They donned hats and gloves, and climbed back into the carriage.

  The next stop was Pembroke’s business offices, where Drew discovered Mary knew Pembroke’s man. Mister Philip Spencer was Pembroke’s brother-in-law. That, had Drew’s eyebrows lifting, he did not realise Pembroke had married a commoner.

  Within a quarter hour the cheques from her father and brother were signed and in Drew’s pocket. Joy had ripped through Drew as he took them. No more hardship, no more threats of debtors’ jail. For the first time in his life he could do as he pleased.

  A smile held on his lips as Drew walked from the offices several thousand richer, while Pembroke and Marlow aimed bitter looks at him.

  He did not care what they thought, he’d never been influenced by conscience. Life had taught him the voice of conscience was a feeble thing. No one he had known had ever adhered to it.

  Yet when they descended the steps to the street, Mary gripped Drew’s arm with a gentle and uncertain hold…Devil take it.

  It was her money.

  He must remember that. No matter how much he hated the men in her family, he did not wish to hurt her. He needed her money, but he still needed her too. He did love her and there was a solid lump of heavy stone in his chest crying out for her to love him too.

  At the foot of the steps he stopped and leaned to her ear. “Go back with your parents and pack your things. I’ll come to collect you at five. My curricle should be back at the stables by then.”

  Her fingers gripped his arm tighter. “Where are you going?”

  “I have things to do.” He set his expression in a smile he knew turned female bones to aspic. He was too angry to be natural, and besides he did not wish her father or her brother to see the man beneath his mask. Let them think as they wished. He did not care for them.