The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

by Jane Lark

  “Things to do?” Her pretty eyebrows lifted.

  “Duns to pay, Mary.” He lifted her fingers off his arm, and tapped her under the chin. “As I said I will collect you at five.”

  “At five then.” She nodded, her gaze wounded and suspicious.

  Damn it.

  He thought about kissing her but remembered the church and did not attempt it. He had never had to force his kiss on a woman.

  He walked away then, without a word to Pembroke or Marlow. Let them stew. But he glanced back to smile at Mary when he’d walked a few feet. She’d clasped the iron railing at the edge of the steps and watched him with a look of doubt.

  He would not just pay the duns, he would go to his boxing club and beat the hell out of someone.

  Chapter 17

  Mary watched his tall figure walk away, his arms swinging in time with his long strides.

  She gripped the iron railing tighter to stop her knees from giving-way. Within an hour of her taking his name, he’d taken her money and left. He’d said he would come back but how could she believe him when she was unsure of anything he said anymore.

  “Where has he gone?” Her father’s fingers touched her arm, offering consolation. When she turned she saw pity shining in his eyes.

  “To fetch his curricle,” she lied, but she could hardly tell her father he’d gone to pay off his debts with the money they’d given him moments before. “He said he will collect me from John’s at five, once my things are packed.”

  Her father smiled. “Come then, let us get you home.”

  It is not my home anymore, Papa. Desolation cut through her middle. She had no idea where her new home was, she’d never asked Andrew where he lived.

  Her father led her to the carriage, as her mother smiled sympathetically.

  They were not angry anymore.

  Everyone sat in silence during the journey home. There was nothing to say, nothing could be changed. Time could not be turned back.

  As the streets passed the window Mary promised herself, she would be happy. I will make the best of this. Perhaps if she continued to love Andrew, he’d learn to love her back.

  When they reached John’s, her mother called for the maids to help, and then pandemonium erupted as they all began emptying wardrobes and drawers, and her mother and one of the maids hastily folded and layered ball-gowns, dresses, underwear and outerwear into trunks.

  Mary gathered together her personal items and filled a bag. Opening each jewellery box as she did, remembering the moments each gift had been given to her, by her father or John.

  She put her writing desk on top of one of the full trunks, tears clouding her gaze.

  “Mary.”

  She turned to face her mother.

  “When we return to Berkshire, I shall have the maids pack your winter clothes and send them to you too. But your pianoforte… shall I write and ask for that to be sent to you now?”

  The tears brimmed over and rolled onto Mary’s cheeks.

  Her mother turned to the maids. “You may all go, we have nearly finished and I wish to speak with my daughter alone.”

  Once they’d gone she took Mary’s hand and led her to the bed, then sat down and simply held her, offering physically comfort as she could not offer words. How could she, her mother knew nothing of Andrew, and he’d not given them any impression he cared.

  Eventually, sniffing, and taking a handkerchief from her mother to blow her nose, Mary set aside her tears.

  “I’m sorry. Please do not tell Papa, I cried? It will only make him worry…“ She did not want either of them to know she regretted eloping, but at that moment she did.

  Her image in the mirror across the room revealed her red, puffy eyes. Her father would know anyway.

  “Let me ring for tea.” Her mother rose from the bed. Once she’d pulled the cord to ring for a maid, she turned back.

  “Do you wish to take one of the maids with you? I know your father would agree to it.”

  “No, Mama, I should leave such decisions to Andrew.” And besides she had no idea where she was going – if there would be space for her own maid…

  Her mother returned to sit on the bed, and held Mary’s hands. “I suppose I must tell you all you should know… It is too late for your wedding night but I hope he has been kind to you and if you argue, then seek to resolve it, rather than let it run into another day, even if it sometimes means saying sorry when you do not think you are in the wrong.

  “There will be disagreements, at first, arguments are natural for any couple as they come to know one another, and you should not let them upset you too much. Yet if you feel hurt or angry you must simply tell him how you feel because if you do not, how is he to know. Talking to one another is the best foundation for a marriage…”

  Mary let the words pass over her. Her mother spoke about Papa. He was gentle, kind and thoughtful. But Andrew was bold, brash and independent. He was not the same.

  A gentle knock tapped the door. “Your tea, Ma’am.”

  “Bring it in.”

  As they drank it her mother talked of more things Mary should know. About running a household, and managing staff, and marriage…

  But then Mary heard horses whinnying outside.

  She put down her cup, her heartbeat racing, and rose to look from the window.

  Her fingers touched the glass as she watched Andrew climb down from his curricle.

  “He’s here.”

  Her mother’s eyes welled with tears as she rose and turned to collect the bag of Mary’s personal items.

  Mary rushed from the room. Despite everything she felt… in love.

  When she leaned over the banister, he looked up, and for a moment there was a glimmer of the looks they’d shared before her father had found them, as there had been at the church. But it was gone in a second.

  Was that look a lie? It still felt real… She still saw an intensity of feeling in his eyes.

  John and her father were already in the hall. Mary hurried downstairs. She supposed they’d planned this welcome reception. Her father bristled as John stood like a stone statue observing, and behind her, her mother sniffed, wiping away tears with a handkerchief.

  When Mary reached Andrew, she longed to kiss him, to be reminded of the man who’d said he loved her, but she did not.

  “Your things?”

  “Papa will have them sent in a cart.” She touched the bruise on his jaw. There was another about his eye. He leaned back, pulling away, giving her a look that said, do not.

  Mary turned and took the bag from her mother, but then Andrew took it from her, before looking at her father. “I will leave my address with Pembroke’s groom.”

  “Mary still has things at our estate to be sent…” her mother said. Andrew looked at her. “Perhaps you would come to dinner soon?”

  “I am not sure we shall be free.” Andrew gripped Mary’s elbow to turn her away.

  “But you will visit us in the country and stay for a while once the season is over. Mary, I doubt we will stay in town much longer now.”

  Mary looked back, hearing the unspoken words, after this. They had come here for her to find a husband…

  Her mother took a breath, moisture glimmering in her eyes. “The children are much happier at home.”

  Marry nodded. “Let me know when you will leave?”

  Andrew pulled her into motion. Tears threatened. She held them at bay ignoring the sharp pain in her throat.

  Her mother moved forward, lifting her arms.

  Mary pulled loose from Andrew’s grip and turned to hug her.

  “Of course we shall,” her mother whispered to her ear.

  She and her mother cried as they hugged.

  Mary’s father came close, she let go of her mother and turned to hug him.

  His arms came about her. “I will miss you,” he whispered to her ear, “I wish I was losing you in better circumstances. But if he treats you ill and you need us, we are here.”

  She
nodded as he pressed his handkerchief into her hand, just as he’d done the day she’d eloped.

  When she looked up into his eyes tears glistened there. She hugged him hard.

  “We need to go,” Andrew stated, his voice cold.

  Her father kissed her cheek before he let her go. Then he threw an angry look at Andrew.

  There was no need to hurry. Andrew was merely prodding her father’s ire again.

  She sighed.

  “You will always be my daughter, and you will always be welcome at home.”

  Mary lifted to her toes and kissed his cheek. “I know Papa, I love you.” She looked at her mother. “I love you too, Mama.” Mary hugged her mother once more, ignoring Andrew’s impatience. Then she turned to John.

  He’d stayed back watching with a look of disengagement. He came forward as Mary moved towards him. When she hugged him, his hand laid on her back and he whispered to her ear. “Kate and I will always be here for you too, we’ll be in town, the House of Lords is sitting for another few weeks. I’ll send for Kate and Paul tomorrow. If you need to come back, just come, you do not need to give us notice.”

  Mary thanked him, and kissed his cheek. John could be misunderstood, because he appeared so stone like, but she knew the man beneath his façade, her brother. His fingers touched her cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping away a tear.

  Andrew coughed.

  Mary swallowed back more tears and turned to Andrew. He gripped her arm.

  “Marlow, Pembroke.” Andrew looked from one to the other, then at her mother. “Lady Marlow.” Then he drew Mary away.

  She held her father’s handkerchief tighter and looked back. “Mama. Papa. John. We will call on you soon.” She hoped.

  As she looked away Andrew’s fingers slid down and gripped her hand, and his ring pressed into her finger beneath her glove. The ring was loose, it would probably fall off if she took off her glove.

  She’d looked at it upstairs, it had the initials T R inscribed on it, not Andrew’s. Perhaps he’d won it in a card game. That felt a little sordid – to have a wedding ring which meant so little. Like a marriage which meant little.

  When they descended to the pavement, Mary looked back.

  Her parents had come to the door. She kept looking back as Andrew let her hand go and lifted her bag to place it under the seat. Her mother smiled. Mary did too. Then Andrew was back at her side, and he took her hand to help her climb the awkward steps.

  When he walked about the carriage to climb up into the driver’s seat, she lifted her hand and waved goodbye, tears running down her cheeks.

  John’s groom stepped away from the horses’ heads. Andrew lifted the reins and flicked them, setting the horses into motion.

  Mary waved harder as her parents waved, and tears ran down her mother’s cheeks.

  “You may call, we will not. And I cannot see why you are weeping. Four days ago you chose to leave them and come to me. You look as if you’ve cried since I left you. I’m not sentencing you to life imprisonment. You may visit them.”

  She turned, pain and anger piercing her chest. “Where have you been?”

  So the accusations began, barely five minutes from her parents’ door. “I told you I had debts to pay.”

  He’d banked her brother’s and her father’s cheques and settled several of his most urgent debts with cheques of his own, including his rent, and after that he’d gone to his boxing club and beat the hell out of anyone daring to step into the ring with him, and the sharp pain in his side had only made him more bloody violent. He’d then washed and changed, retrieved his curricle and his horses, and come to fetch her.

  She said no more, merely looked ahead.

  He guided his horses on through the busy streets of Mayfair his curricle a focus of attention, or rather Mary. Open carriages passed them, Landau’s and Barouches, and people within them stared at the sister to the Duke of Pembroke – niece to quarter of the House of Lords – and seated beside her, ‘that bastard’, Framlington, who sported a black eye.

  Her father would not need to publish the announcement. It had been made.

  One woman even leaned from the window of a carriage.

  If Mary’s parents went to any balls tonight they’d face a thousand questions.

  That would stir up Marlow’s and Pembroke’s ire.

  God, Drew was angry again. That damned scene in Pembroke’s house had annoyed him, and why the hell was she crying again?

  Because she believed them, not him.

  He glanced at Mary, she sat straight backed, her fingers gripped together on her lap as she ignored the speculation.

  He liked her backbone. Some men preferred meek and mild women, he thought them dull. Mary had fire and passion, but what he did not like was her weakness for the lies her family told.

  Sighing, he looked back at his horses.

  “Do you have a mistress?” Her question shocked him. It was spoken without emotion.

  He did not look at her. “No, Mary. Even if I’d wanted one, I could not have afforded one.”

  “A man does not need to pay for a mistress, I’m not so naïve. You propositioned my sister-in-law, how many others?”

  He did glance at her then. She looked ahead. No one would guess the subject of their conversation from her expression.

  “I have not kept a tally. I do not notch my lovers up on my bedpost, as you will see when we get home. Men aren’t usually celibate until they wed. I know your brother was not, he had an affair with my older sister. I made an indecent proposal to his wife, yes. It was tit-for-tat, if not exactly an eye-for-an-eye. Would you ask your brother, or your father, the same question? How many women?”

  She looked at him and their gazes met and held for a moment, before he looked away.

  “So am I a tooth-for-a-tooth?” she asked on a bitter note.

  “You are nothing to do with that.” I have told you, Mary. “It was long ago.” I have said I love you, and I have never said that to another woman. He did not complete his sentences aloud, they were in the street.

  She was silent for several yards, then she turned abruptly, shifting on the seat to face him, her body expressing her thoughts just as a Landau passed containing three matrons of high society. “What is it that you want from me?”

  He was inclined to pullover and let the passing traffic stare if she wished to argue in public. Damn it she was making him angry again. He gritted his teeth, then breathed in. “I want nothing from you.” That was the best lie he had ever told. I want all from you, Mary, I want to be all to you. Yet you listen to your family over me…

  “Nothing but my dowry.”

  Lord, he needed someone to hit again. Why did she have to listen to them? He did not answer. They’d had this conversation, he was not returning to it, and damn her if she chose to believe her brother over him. Let her. He’d paid off half his debts today. He would pay the other half tomorrow. There would be no more duns knocking at his door with their threats. He wanted to feel happy. He had her…

  He felt empty.

  Chapter 18

  When they reached the mews where he stabled his curricle and horses, the grooms came out to attend to the horses.

  Drew tied off the reins, then jumped down and walked about the vehicle to help Mary.

  Before he reached her she’d lifted her dress and was carefully climbing down alone.

  He took her bag out from beneath the seat and set it at her feet, then moved to pet his horses, slapping the nearside animal’s flank lightly.

  It was good to have them back. He’d always found solace in his horses.

  Moving to the animals’ heads, he rubbed their cheeks as they nuzzled his shoulders, and then rested his forehead against the second mare’s, whispering his gratitude.

  He need not fear losing them anymore.

  He smiled at the groom who began unharnessing them. The man tugged his forelock.

  When Drew turned back to Mary, there was a sudden burst of feeling in his chest, but
it was muted by a nervous sense… Her posture was stiff and she clutched her bag, fire glinting in her pale eyes.

  He walked over and held out his hand for her bag.

  “I’ll carry it,” she said.

  He ought to let her, just to spite her, but instead he gripped the handle and pulled it from her hold. Fortunately she did not fight for it.

  He offered his free arm to her.

  Her fingers lay on it but in the dispassionate way they had at the church.

  At the street corner they waited for a street sweep to clear a path and when they reached the other side Drew gave the boy a ha’penny.

  “Good-day m’lud.” The boy titled his cap. “An’ dun’t forget if y’ur needing y’ur boots cleaned. I’m y’ur man.” He was not a man, he looked barely ten, but Drew had always liked these boys. He bought them bread when he could, and coffee when the weather was cold, and he’d stand and listen to their tall tales occasionally.

  Drew tipped his hat and smiled. Mary’s fingers slipped off his arm. “Good-day, Timmy, lad. When I have a task I’ll let you know.”

  Mary stared.

  God forbid she realised he was not the evil bastard her family had portrayed. He had never been a hunter of women, they had hunted him. He’d make a point of ignoring the boys in her presence in future. He had no wish to improve her ill-informed image of him.

  The entrance to his apartment was a hundred yards from the corner. He knocked on the door, it opened almost immediately.

  “Lord Framlington.”

  Drew nodded at the doorman who gave him a formal bow.

  “This is my wife,” Drew stated, looking from Joseph to Mary. “This is Mr Moore, Mary, our doorman. He’s the man to call upon if you need anything.”

  “My Lady,” Joseph hid his surprise and bowed deeply. “As his lordship says, if there is aught you need, ask.”

  Mary became the woman Drew had seen in the ballrooms, smiling and thanking the man with inherent grace. Drew turned to the staircase.

  The hallway was narrow, tiled with red and black polished diamond shapes and the stairs simple oak.