No matter, she thought. I can work on this myself. Macgregor is the only one whose help I need. If Penworth is not here to see, well, then he is not here.
That did not keep her spirits from falling.
Before she could grow too despondent, Crane appeared.
“My lady, there is a gentleman to see you.”
Anne looked as surprised as she felt. This was not her day for callers. “To see me? Who is it?”
“A Mr. Craddock, my lady. He claims to be your guardian.”
Her first reaction was amusement. Uncle Craddock had clearly made a poor impression on Crane. She was sorely tempted to say she was not at home. If she never again laid eyes on her uncle, it would be too soon. But she reminded herself that he could no longer do her any harm. Besides, she would not be able to see Uncle Craddock’s expression when he received the message turning him away, and that would have been the fun of it.
What on earth was he doing here, anyway? A sudden pang of fear stabbed her, but she reminded herself that he could no longer do her any harm. She considered going upstairs to clean herself up, but decided Uncle Craddock was not worth the effort.
“He is my uncle, Crane,” she said with a sigh. “I suppose I will have to receive him. Please show him in.”
“Very good, my lady.” The words were irreproachable. The tone and the look that accompanied them suggested that Crane would prefer to show the visitor out. She shook out her skirts and patted a few stray locks back in place. Then she stood in the center of the room to wait.
Craddock came in scowling. He always resented any slights to his dignity, Anne knew, and being told by a sneering butler to wait in the hall would have put him in a foul mood. But his moods, she reminded herself, were no longer her problem. She held her head high and did her best to imitate the look of bored disdain that Penworth did so well.
“Good day, uncle,” she said. “I had not expected you to call. What brings you to Dorset?” She did not sit, nor did she invite him to sit, curious to see if he would be sufficiently courteous to wait for an invitation.
He remained standing, but looked her up and down with a sneer. “I see Lord Penworth values you appropriately. You look like a housemaid.”
She blinked and then nodded an acknowledgement. “How good of you to say so.” The sarcasm simply increased his glare. “Once more, what brings you here? Surely you did not come all this way to criticize my attire. Never tell me you made the journey simply to wish me happy. I would find that difficult to believe, given the level of fondness you have always shown me.”
“Such insolence! How dare you!” His nostrils flared and angry color stained his cheeks. “Remember to whom you are speaking.”
“I do not think I will ever forget you, uncle. By the by, you might also consider to whom you are speaking. I believe the correct way for you to address me now is ‘My lady.’”
“Stop giving yourself these preposterous airs, you silly chit. Now, come along. I’ve come to take you home, and the carriage is waiting.”
Anne looked at him incredulously, stepping back as he stepped toward her. “What on earth are you talking about? I am home. Did not Aunt Craddock tell you that I am married?”
“Utter rot,” he said curtly. “That marriage is nonsense. I am your guardian, you are not of age, and I did not give permission, so it will simply be annulled. Meanwhile, you are coming home with me.”
“I will do no such thing,” she said, half angry and half frightened. Have the marriage annulled? That was not possible. Was it?
“Impudence? Refusal? Intolerable.” Craddock looked at her in fury. “You will do as you are told!” He stepped toward her, arm raised, and she retreated until she was backed up against the desk. “Now come with me quickly or you will be the sorrier for it.”
“Penworth will not allow you to drag me off,” she said. Fear was beginning to overtake the anger.
“You think so?” Craddock sneered. “He sent me here himself.”
“You’re lying,” she said desperately. “He would never do such a thing.”
“Why would he not? You can hardly think he wishes to be married to you, a penniless nothing. He is a marquess. He could marry anyone.” He grabbed her arm and began to drag her out. Anne snatched up one of the books on the desk with her free arm and struck him hard across the face, shouting for Crane at the same time.
Craddock gave a cry of pain and let loose of her. He put his hand up to his face and realized that his nose was bleeding. His expression of incredulity gave way to fury, and he gave a roar as he lifted his fist to strike her.
The blow to her face was enough to stagger her, but she dodged away, and before he could strike again, Crane arrived, accompanied by the pair of footmen who had been on duty in the hall. They seized hold of Craddock and hauled him away from Anne.
“Lady Penworth, are you all right?” Crane asked.
She stood there shaking, and rubbing her cheek. “Yes, I am all right,” she managed shakily. “Just get him out of here. Do not ever let him in again!” She shot her uncle such a look of loathing that even he was taken aback.
He was not, however, silenced. “I’ll be back, you disobedient little bitch, and I’ll make you regret this.” He glared at Ann and then turned to Crane and the footmen. “You too. You’ll pay for laying hands on me.” With that he straightened his coat, picked up his hat and gloves, and marched out the door.
Anne stood there, staring at the door. Philip sent him? She could not believe it. She did not want to believe it. But…she knew he had not wanted to marry her. It was only honor that drove him. He could marry anyone.
Was that why he left? So he did not have to be here when my uncle dragged me away?
“My lady?” Crane’s voice broke in on her thoughts. “My lady, can I get you anything? Some tea?”
She looked at him. The concern on his face seemed sincere. “No,” she said. “Nothing.” She turned and ran up the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-six
In which our hero comes to the rescue
Penworth rode into the stable yard to find a scene of chaos. Three of the stable grooms were mounting horses, all trying to listen to Galveston, who was giving instructions while in turn trying to listen to Crane, who was relaying information coming to him from various footmen and maids. All of them looked distressed. Finally one of them noticed him and managed to call him to Galveston’s attention.
By the time Penworth swung off his horse, the steward had reached him, wringing his hands in distress.
“Oh, my lord, thank God you’re here. I was about to send riders after you, and no one was sure which road you had taken.”
“What’s wrong? Has something happened to my wife? Where is she?” Penworth had grabbed the steward and was ready to shake an answer from him.
Crane came running over to join them. “Lady Penworth is upstairs,” he said. “I do not think she is badly injured, but her uncle was here. She was very upset, my lord.” Crane looked upset himself. “I should not have let him in. I should have turned him away and told him to come back when you were here.”
Penworth did not hear the last part of that. He was running up the stairs shouting Anne’s name. He burst into her room and stopped. A portmanteau was open on the bench, and a few articles of clothes seemed to have been thrown in. Others were lying abandoned about the room. She was sitting on the window seat, one hand rubbing her arm, staring out the window. If she had heard him calling, she gave no sign. “Anne?” He spoke uncertainly. “Anne? What is it?”
She remained staring out the window, and his first thought was that she was as frozen, as closed in upon herself as she had been that day when she was waiting for him in the parlor at Greystone’s.
“I am sorry,” she said. She sounded remote, detached, as if she were talking about someone else. “I am afraid I panicked. He said you had sent him. I know he lies, so I should have realized right away that you would never do such a thing. But I was frightened, and my first thought
was to run away.”
“Run away? But why? What the devil is going on? What was your uncle doing here?” His first fear had been that she had been injured, but this, this withdrawal, this seemed even worse.
“He said he had come to take me back. He said we are not truly married because he never gave his consent. He is having it annulled. Oh, my lord…”
“Anne.” He could not stand her look of desolation. And she had not addressed him with such chilly formality since their wedding day. He started toward her, but she stood and stepped back.
She spoke softly, her words coming in a rush, not looking at him. “My lord, I know you did not wish this marriage, and if it is my uncle who seeks the annulment, no shame can fall on you. But please, do not send me back to him. There must be someplace where I could stay until I am twenty-one. It will be only a few months. Then we will both be free.”
He felt as if his gut had suddenly turned to ice. He could not move. “Is that what you want, then? To end this marriage? To be free of me? Has it been so terrible?” he asked tightly.
Her eyes widened as she turned quickly to face him. “Oh no, my lord, I did not mean that at all. I love…I love being here, being your wife. It is just…” She closed her eyes and turned away for a moment. Then she straightened and looked at him again. “I would not have you think you must stay in this marriage if there is an honorable way out for you. I do not want you to be trapped. I do not want to be an obligation.”
The ice melted as quickly as it had come. She loved “being here”? The hesitation meant that was not what she had been about to say, but he would not insist on the words now. They would come. He stepped toward her. He wanted to kill the man who had put that frozen look back on her face, but to her he spoke gently. “Anne, your uncle lied. We are truly married. Nothing he or anyone else can do will change that.”
“Are you certain?” She was still frowning slightly.
“Yes, I am certain. I do not know why he would come here with such a preposterous lie, but a lie it is.” Philip moved closer to her and caught her hands in his. “He also lied if he said I regret this marriage. I know neither of us chose this marriage at the start, but now? Were I truly given the choice today, I would choose to be married and to be married to you.” He saw the fear begin to fade. He lifted her hands to his mouth, kissed them, and spoke softly. “You are my wife, Anne. Now and always. I would not have it be any other way.”
“Oh Philip.” She reached up to caress his cheek. “I have been so happy. It has all been so wonderful, you have been so wonderful, and he was telling me it had all been a delusion. He was going to take it away. I did not think I could bear it.”
It was only then that he saw the red mark on her cheek. He lifted his hand carefully to touch it and spoke very softly. “He did this? He hit you?”
“Yes, but it was because I hit him with a book and bloodied his nose.”
“I think I will need to do more than that. How long ago did he leave?”
“Hours and hours. Please, let us forget him. Wait.” She suddenly looked puzzled. “Why are you here? You left for London yesterday.”
“When I awoke this morning, I realized I had left something important behind.” He smiled at her. “My wife. I reached for you, and you were not there. I missed you.”
Her smile was so radiant he felt half blinded by it. “Oh, Philip, I missed you so. Everything was cold and lonely without you.” She threw her arms around his neck.
He pulled her close and kissed her. It was a gentle, reassuring kiss at first, but as she opened and welcomed him it became stronger, more erotic. He caressed her and began to undo her bodice as together they drifted slowly, almost unconsciously, toward the bed. He discarded his coat and waistcoat. Her dress fell to the floor and he loosened her corset until it followed.
He watched her face soften as he caressed her breasts, his thumbs gently rubbing the hardened nipples through her chemise when the noise from the corridor finally penetrated his consciousness. What had started out as a gentle tapping had become a determined hammering on the door.
“My lord! My lord!” That sounded like one of the footmen.
“What?” snapped Penworth.
“My lord, you must come.”
Penworth released Anne abruptly, strode over and yanked the door open. He stood there glaring at the footman, one hand on the door, the other braced against the door frame. “If this is anything other than a matter of life or death, you are dismissed.”
The footman stumbled back but held his ground. “My lord, he has come back. Lady Penworth’s uncle. And he has brought the magistrate with him.”
“The devil he has!” He turned to Anne. “Wait here. I would like to have a word with this uncle of yours.”
From the top of the stairs he could see Falmouth, the magistrate, standing in the hall and looking unpleasantly righteous. The other man, an ugly little weasel who must be Craddock, was bouncing slightly on his toes as he waited, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.
“You!” Penworth roared, pointing at Craddock in accusation as he ran down the stairs. “You cowardly snake! You worthless blackguard! How dare you come sneaking in here behind my back to assault my wife.”
The look of satisfaction vanished from Craddock’s face, to be replaced by a look of panic. He seemed about to run but was too slow. Penworth grabbed him by the neckcloth and lifted him up on his toes. “Well?” demanded Penworth.
“Ah, Lord Penworth,” Falmouth interjected nervously. He was a portly man of middle age, who had rarely encountered this much violence.
Penworth turned to him without releasing his hold on Craddock and demanded, “Falmouth, what are you doing with this cur?”
Falmouth swallowed and tried to retain his dignity. After all, he was the magistrate and was accustomed to being treated with deference. He spoke in his best pompous manner. “This gentleman has made a serious accusation, my lord. He says the lady is not your lady—not your wife, that is. She is his ward, and he has come to fetch her home.”
“Not my wife? Not my wife?” Penworth’s first roars had drawn the attention of everyone in the house. Now the servants were all peering around corners and listening breathlessly. Penworth tightened his hold on Craddock, who was turning a mottled red and making odd gabbling sounds. “You slimy toad! You dare to impugn my honor and that of my lady wife?” He shook Craddock violently and then threw him to the floor. Craddock rolled himself into a shivering ball.
Turning to Falmouth and jabbing a finger into the magistrate’s chest to mark each point, Penworth said, biting off his words, “We were married by the Bishop of London, in the presence of the Duke of Winchelsea and numerous others, including the Earl of Greystone, who was her other guardian. All of which this blackguard knows full well,” his voice kept rising till it reached a shout, “since his wife and daughter were also present!”
He loomed over Falmouth, who had paled considerably. “Do you realize that you came very close to abetting an abduction? Do you always take the word of a total stranger who makes an accusation against one of your neighbors? Or do you only believe accusations that are leveled against Tremaines?”
Falmouth kept backing up until he was against the wall, but Penworth kept advancing. When Falmouth could go no farther, Penworth lowered his head until they were almost nose to nose. He spoke softly. “Do you have any idea what I would have done to you if you had succeeded in enabling the abduction of my wife?”
There was total silence for a moment.
Then Penworth stepped back. He was tempted to kick Craddock, who was still quivering on the floor, but instead turned away in disgust and spoke to Falmouth. “Get this heap of offal out of here. If I find him on my land again, I’ll have him horsewhipped.”
As he swung around to go back upstairs, he caught a glimpse of people scurrying around corners and vanishing behind doors. The footman hurrying to open the door to speed the intruders on their way did not even try to hide his smile. And at the top of
the stairs was Anne, waiting for him. She had not, of course, stayed in the room. Instead she had snatched up a dressing gown and hovered in the corridor where she could hear every word, see every gesture of the scene below.
He ran up the stairs, and had barely reached the top when Anne threw herself at him. He wrapped his arms around her and they clung to each other in silence. Then he whispered hoarsely, “You are my wife. I will let nothing and no one take you from me.” He picked her up and carried her down the hall.
No sooner had he kicked the door shut behind him than he was pulling off her dressing gown, her petticoats. He was slowed by the fact that she was pulling off his shirt, and every time her fingers touched his skin he seemed to be frozen for a moment. Her touch drove him mad, and he wanted every second of this madness. Then he pulled off her chemise, and had to stop just to look at her. She was so beautiful—that pearly skin, those lovely breasts, that beautiful curve down to her narrow waist and then out to the flare of her hips. So beautiful, he thought, and mine. My wife, mine. He reached out to cup her breast in his hand. It filled his hand perfectly. He leaned over to kiss it, then he flicked his tongue over the nipple and suckled gently. She arched and gave a little cry of longing and pleasure. He smiled a knowing smile.
He stepped back far enough to rip off what remained of his own clothing and pulled her down on the bed beside him. He wanted to devour her, nibbling his way down her neck while his hands caressed those curves. Her hands were skimming over him then clutching him, and every touch set him on fire.
In the past they had made love gently and tenderly, each taking great delight in slowly learning the other’s body. This time was different. There was not just passion but urgency. He wanted, needed to possess her, to make her completely, unquestioningly his. He cupped her mound, and could feel her ready for him. She was making little whimpers of longing. Mine, all mine. He settled himself between her thighs and drove into her deeply, fiercely. She arched up into him with a cry and wrapped her legs around him to pull him even deeper.
A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS Page 17
