The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

by Jane Lark

  Andrew’s horses were fast, she’d no need for a whip to make them run, they’d wonderful temperaments too. That was because he spoiled them with affection. He had petted them and whispered to them, when he’d greeted them in the stables. No wonder he’d been moody when he’d had to leave them at the inn. The animals seemed as important to him as his friends.

  She glanced at him as they rode back from the park, at a trot, side by side, his eyes were gleaming and his damp hair was plastered to his head beneath the brim of his hat, while his wet riding coat moulded his body.

  He sat a horse well, his strong slender thighs and calves gripping at the animals flanks, while his posture held straight.

  If she saw him from a distance across a field, she would think him handsome, without even seeing his face. He oozed untamed strength and masculinity. It seemed she liked spirited men, as much as spirited horses.

  When they reached the stables, he swung down from his horse, dropping easily and then came to help her.

  “I understand another fragment of you Andrew Framlington,” she said, gripping his shoulders as he took her weight.

  “Do you,” he smiled, lifting her down. “Should I be concerned?”

  “You are an escapist.” They faced one another, her hands on his shoulders, his at her waist.

  “Am I?”

  “You are. I’ve found you out, my lord. This is why you’ve hunted an heiress, rather than settle to a trade, you’d rather escape for an hour’s ride, than work…”

  He smiled still. “I suppose that is not a compliment, but you can hardly judge, you are the same. I’d guess you’d much rather be out riding than sewing or reading…”

  “Guilty.” She laughed. But then she sobered as he let her go and turned to pet the horse she’d ridden. “I understand something else about you too; you are not as uncaring as you want people think?”

  His gaze met hers, and his smile twisted as he patted the animal’s rump, when a groom led it away. “Pray do not tell a soul.”

  He gripped her arm then. “Come, let’s eat luncheon before we go to your brother’s.”

  * * *

  When he arrived at the Duke of Pembroke’s town house two hours later, Drew felt like a king as he stood on the doorstep, solely because Mary was in charity with him.

  They’d walked as the rain had ceased and they both liked exercise, and she’d donned a bright indigo blue day dress, beneath a navy pelisse. Her bonnet was also navy, and sported a small clutch of bluebells above her right ear. She looked charming, and he was not the only one who thought so, many men had noticed her as they’d walked. It had not dampened his mood. It felt good owning something so prized. He’d told her his horses were the most valuable thing he owned, they were not now, she was priceless.

  The large door opened. Drew faced Pembroke’s imperious butler.

  “Mr Finch,” Mary acknowledged, stepping inside as the man stepped back. She clung to Drew’s arm and took him with her. “Is everyone in the upstairs sitting-room?”

  Drew’s discomfort rose like mercury in heat. He did not want to be here, and he doubted he’d be welcome. He was here for Mary’s sake.

  The butler bowed, aiming his supplication at Mary. “Yes, my Lady. They are. Shall I show you up?”

  She laughed. “I cannot get used to being my Lady… Don’t worry Finch, we can take ourselves up.”

  The stiff-looking butler gave Mary a hint of a smile, then glared at Drew. Drew’s devil-may-care side shifted into place, and he answered with a nonchalant smile. Think what you will…

  “May I take your outdoor garments, my Lady?” the butler offered, ignoring Drew. Mary let go of Drew’s arm and pulled the ribbons of her bonnet loose. Drew took it, and her pelisse, and handed both to the butler, along with his hat and gloves. Let the man know his place.

  A moment later they climbed the stairs; she eager, he reluctant but enduring.

  He’d gone no farther than the hall, the other day. The landing was lined by two dozen intimidating portraits, Mary’s ancestors, and artefacts gathered on grand tours. Some he guessed Pembroke had brought back from Egypt.

  Voices reached them from further along the hall and Mary’s pace quickened.

  A drowning sensation took hold. He was tempted to stop and refuse to go further. Why had he said he would come?

  You are an escapist – he heard her words. Or a coward…

  Instead of running, he set his jaw and walked on beside her, as her fingers clasped his arm. He was here for her.

  “Papa!” When they entered the drawing room she let go of Drew and rushed to her father.

  He’d been ambushed. Not only her mother and father and her brother and his wife, but her aunts and uncles were here; the Duke and Duchess of Arundel and Bradford, and the Earl of Barrington, Marlow’s brother, and his wife. There were others too, her cousins.

  He’d been thrown to the Pembroke lions.

  Looks were cast across the room, aimed at him, all judgemental and accusing.

  His jaw set and his lips pressed together. Mary came back and pulled him towards a woman he’d not yet been introduced to. It was then he noticed the children in the room too, a couple of dozen of them, seated on the floor playing games, laughing and talking, and younger ones settled on the knees of their mothers, or beside them in chairs.

  His heart clenched.

  Family life like this was a thing of books – a fairytale.

  A group of boys captured his attention. They sat crossed legged on the floor in the corner of the room playing cards, and it was hard to tell which child belonged to whom, so many of them bore the Pembroke’s dark hair and pale eyed colouring.

  Mary completed an introduction. Drew had not listened.

  But he knew the woman, it was Arundel’s Duchess. She bid two of the girls to move from a sofa and make room for him and Mary to sit together. Then she offered him tea.

  The whole occasion felt surreal. He could not recall ever in his lifetime attending an afternoon tea.

  He had been confined to the nursery as a child, out of sight and mind, and as an adult, well he’d never been invited to take tea.

  Mary’s family laughed and chatted around him. He accepted a cup from her mother, but could not force any words of gratitude from his throat.

  Lifting the cup to his mouth he did not drink, as he watched the girl who’d moved to let him sit bring an embroidery hoop to Mary and ask advice on some stitches. The child was her sister…

  The women sat in the chairs all talking, the children playing about them. Drew felt as if he looked in on them through glass.

  When Mary finished speaking to her sister, the girl glanced at him, like he was some oddity, before swiftly turning away. A much smaller girl ran up to them. A ragdoll dangled from her hand.

  “You’re my new brother aren’t you?” Her small hand rested on his thigh.

  “Jemima,” Mary caught the little girl up onto her knee. “Every one of us is new to Lord Framlington; I think he is a little overwhelmed.”

  Drew looked at Mary. His cup had been balanced before his lips for an age, and he’d not sipped from it. He did so, then set the cup and saucer down on a table.

  He didn’t know what to say, or do. A lump swelled in his throat, blocking off the air.

  The little girl began telling Mary all about her doll.

  Mary’s fingers brushed his thigh, as though she understood. But she could not understand his childhood. It would be as inconceivable to her as this was to him.

  A deep masculine laugh rang from a group of men in the corner behind Drew. He stiffened, wondering if their laughter was directed at him. He was sure he made a fine sight, sat in Pembroke’s parlour, with the women, drinking tea. God, Harry would laugh his head off if he knew, and Peter and Mark would have him sentenced to a madhouse in a week.

  Drew cleared his throat, trying to shift the lump within it.

  “Jemima,” Marlow’s voice called from across the room.

  Drew look
ed up. The men had split up and were joining their wives.

  The girl on Mary’s lap slid off and ran to Marlow, with a bright smile. “Papa.”

  Despite the fact her name had been barked she did not seem scared. When she reached him, she clutched Marlow’s thigh, then he bent and picked her up. She lifted her doll up to show him, and he answered her, whispering to her ear.

  Drew looked away. He’d glimpsed a bond that must hold between Mary and her father too – years ago it would have been Mary in his arms. No wonder Marlow had not liked Drew taking her away without a by-your-leave.

  Mary had turned to talk to the women. Drew glanced about the room and met the Duchess of Pembroke’s gaze. She sat in a chair near them. She had probably been watching him. She had reason to dislike him. What she made of his marriage to Mary he didn’t wish to contemplate.

  “Helen, dear,” she said, looking away, at one of the girls. “Please pass about the plates and offer people some of the cakes, would you.”

  The girl, one of Marlow’s Drew would guess, and therefore another of Mary’s sisters, did as she was asked.

  “Helen is the perfect helpmate,” the Duchess said turning to look at him, offering another olive branch.

  He nodded, like a fool.

  “I’m pleased you came today. You mustn’t let my father-in-law or John put you off, they will mellow to you, if you prove your loyalty to Mary.”

  Drew fought to choose the right words. She was the one he needed to make peace with; he had insulted her. “Your Grace, I appreciate your…” What? He began again. “I ought to… that is… I’m sor—”

  “That is past, Lord Framlington.” She rose, and moved away.

  Devil take it, he’d upset her. His gaze tracked her as she went to Pembroke, who talked with the Earl of Barrington, the only other member of Mary’s family Drew knew to have had a less than savoury reputation at one stage in his life. Barrington’s hand clasped his wife’s as he talked, and a good number of the brood here seemed to be his.

  Pembroke’s arm settled about the Duchess’s shoulders as she spoke to the others. Then Pembroke whispered something to her ear. She nodded, and then Pembroke looked at Drew, his eyes firm with judgement.

  Drew looked away, anger and hostility stirring, only to see Marlow deposit his young daughter on his wife’s lap, and kiss first the child then his wife. When he straightened, as if sensing Drew’s observation he turned and caught Drew’s gaze. His expression stiffened then and he looked at Mary.

  “Mary, may I speak with you a moment,” alone. He did not say the last word but his voice did, and Mary heard because pressing her palm on Drew’s thigh she rose and went to her father.

  Marlow clasped her elbow and led her to a window seat on the far side of the room.

  Drew watched feeling cut off and isolated – just as he’d done as a child – knowing Mary was about to be coerced with more condemning words.

  “So, Lord Framlington, whereabouts did you grow up?”

  Drew looked at the woman who sat in the seat Mary had vacated. She had unusual emerald eyes.

  “I am Mary’s aunt Jane, Lord Barrington’s wife.”

  He knew.

  Drew saw Marlow’s fingers lift and touch a small bruise on Mary’s throat, left by Drew’s over ardent kisses as they’d made love last night.

  “Mary is precious to us, Lord Framlington.” Lady Barrington said, as Marlow’s hand clasped Mary’s. “Her marriage shocked us all.”

  He turned to look at Lady Barrington. “Mary is a grown woman and capable of making choices.”

  “She is, but she is also very kind and loving. We just wish she’d chosen the right man. A man who could give that back to her.”

  “The right man? Not me then.” His pitch shifted to defiance, and in defiance he gave her a what-do-I-care smile.

  So this was the plot they’d been hatching in the corner, send the women in to get at him. Mary would not spot their ploy and he’d feel unable to defend himself too aggressively. Clever.

  “It could be you,” she answered, “we will have to wait and see, we hope it is you, for Mary’s sake.”

  “Not mine…”

  “At the moment Lord Framlington, you have gained everything and Mary nothing. I think you have enough.”

  His instinct was to leave and to take Mary with him, but her family were important to her and the woman was right, he’d gained much from marrying Mary, the least he could do in return was sit among her family and drink their damned tea. “Mary has gained one thing, Lady Barrington. She has gained me. I’m aware you all think me lacking, but Mary does not.”

  God, he hoped Mary did not find him lacking. The thought took his gaze back to Marlow, who still sat with her, gripping her hands.

  Lady Barrington’s fingers touched Drew’s arm. “I hope you prove us all wrong. Again, for Mary’s sake…” With that she rose and left him seated.

  Anger kicked his gut. No one had ever wished him happy. Was it any wonder he’d grown into a selfish, bitter man?

  Mary’s sister Helen offered him a slice of cake from a plate. He did not take one, he did not feel hungry. Then one of her young brothers, who Drew had a suspicion had been dared, came forward holding out a pack of cards to show Drew a trick he knew.

  The next half an hour was spent with the boys, as one by one, they came closer, asking questions about horses and carriages and boyish things.

  Mary stayed silent when they walked home, her fingers clasping his forearm, her arm tucked under his.

  He did not ask her what Marlow had said. He had a feeling he would not want to know and he had to face them again in a day and half, because before leaving he’d agreed to accompany Mary to a ball her family were attending.

  When they reached his rooms he asked Joseph to order them a good dinner from Gunter’s. Then led her upstairs, suggesting they spend the evening playing cards or chess. Perhaps their marriage might work after all, if he could just cope with continually facing her family.

  Chapter 23

  Mary watched Andrew move the bishop across the board and take her knight.

  She’d discovered a few small elements of him, yet there seemed dozens more. He was so complex. He could be kind and tolerant, but most of the time he was stubborn and defensive, and foolhardy with his friends.

  Her father thought Andrew selfish, although pig-headed was the word he’d used, and he’d sought assurances from her, asking if Andrew let his friends come to the apartments when she was there and if they acted inappropriately towards her. Then he’d touched her neck, where Andrew had sucked her skin and left a bruise, and asked if Andrew was too rough with her.

  She’d answered no, to every question, and sworn that Andrew was gentle, and respectful. She’d not told her father Andrew had stormed out and left her twice. She did not wish to give him cause to doubt her other words. She’d tried telling him about their ride in the park, only to make her father annoyed that Andrew had taken her riding in the rain. He’d called Andrew irresponsible for letting her gallop when the grass was damp.

  She sighed. She was not quite sure what had happened to Andrew this afternoon, but something had. He’d appeared confused, as he’d sat in silence watching her family with an intent but abstract look. It was like he simply did not know what to do amongst them.

  Perhaps he did not.

  Since the day they’d eloped Andrew had not spoken of his family.

  But they must know he’d married; the announcement had been made in the paper yesterday.

  “Have you spoken to your parents?” She lifted her bishop, moving it from the path of his.

  His gaze lifted and focused on hers, and she saw the muscle in his jaw tighten. “My parents?” His pitch was bitter, but as he spoke he leaned across and grasped the neck of the bottle of champagne he’d had delivered with their meal, then topped up her glass.

  It was as though he sought to distract her from her question.

  “Do they know we are married? Have you arr
anged to introduce me?”

  His attention returned to the game and he slid a castle across the board so it faced her king. “Mate. No, Mary, and I do not plan to introduce you. Our marriage is nothing to do with my parents. Are you going to make your move?” He looked away, and took a sip from his glass.

  She moved her bishop to defend her king.

  He also made a defensive move.

  “I’d like to meet your parents.”

  “You would not.” He leaned back, sipping his champagne.

  “Let me decide.” She moved her queen in between two pawns, then looked up. “I do not want to bump into them and not have been introduced, it would be embarrassing. Are you ashamed of me?”

  “Ashamed of you…” His eyebrows lifted.

  “Well, why else would you not wish to introduce me?” His light brown eyes which had been bright and glowing all evening were now guarded. “If we are to make this work, Andrew, you cannot hold me at a distance from your family.”

  He was no longer looking at her but looking at the board, ignoring her, as he awaited her next move and sipped his champagne.

  Her fingers which had been toying with her king, lifted it off the board, and to her lips, so that his gaze followed it. “Are they in town?”

  His gaze lifted to meet hers, with a look that said he thought her wrongheaded.

  “Andrew.”

  They were in town, he’d seen them at the one of the balls he’d attended pursuing her, but Drew was not taking her to meet them. He moved another piece, not really even trying to read the game anymore

  “I want to meet them.”

  He ignored her, sipping his champagne and looking at the board, wishing she would give this up. They’d had a good evening together until now, until she’d broached the untouchable subject of his parents.

  “Andrew,” she said again, prodding at him for an answer.

  He sighed, then answered. “It’s your move.” Without looking at her.

  She moved her pawn from the line of his king and suddenly he realised she’d trapped him in checkmate. Damn, that was the end of any distraction.

  Conceding, he tipped his king over and looked up as she rose from her seat. The fabric of her dress rustled as she came to stand beside him, and then her gentle fingers touched his cheek and lifted his gaze to hers.