Rebel Marquess (22 page)

With another thump of her walking stick to signal the end of the conversation, the grand lady turned to head across the drawing room to where a circle of her friends had gathered around a table.

Eliza was left staring at the marquess with a polite half-smile. She hoped nothing in her manner revealed the lilting exhilaration she felt at being near him.

He stared back at her. His shoulders were squared and he clasped his hands behind his back. His face was set in an expression of uncompromising reflection, but as she looked into his eyes, she caught a flash of something bright and harsh buried in their dark depths. Something made all the more potent for being so severely restrained.

She drew in a swift, unsteady breath and glanced away from him as warmth assailed her body and tingling erupted in her belly.

“I suppose we had better do as she says,” Eliza suggested. “I do not think it would be prudent to ignore a direct order.”

“What did you do to sway her?” he asked.

Eliza glanced back at him, confused. “What did I do to sway whom? Lady Rutherford?”

“It is apparent she likes you. How did you do it? Grandmother does not consider liking anyone until she has known them at least a full decade. I was nearly twenty by the time she managed to tolerate me.”

Eliza laughed before she realized he wasn’t joking. She shook her head. “I doubt your grandmother feels anything for me beyond regal disdain.”

“Either way,” he said, implying that the two conditions were not mutually exclusive. He eyed her thoughtfully before adding, “You were right about one thing, however. Direct orders are to be followed.”

She took the arm he offered and fell into step beside him as they began to circumnavigate the room, neither of them anxious to step into the midst of the fray. It struck Eliza that she didn’t need to consciously pace her steps to his. His manner of moving and the length of his stride had become so familiar to her that her body adjusted naturally to match his rhythm, much like when they had waltzed.

“Has Lady Rutherford planned any dancing during our stay?” she asked without preamble, her thoughts caught in the sudden desire to be swept around a dance floor under his thrilling and capable lead.

“I have no idea what Grandmother has planned,” he replied without glancing at her. “This weekend is her brilliant scheme. I was simply instructed to attend.”

Eliza turned to study him with unabashed curiosity. Something was bothering him. She hadn’t seen him this stiff with annoyance and condescension since the weekend at Silverly.

“You hate this, don’t you?”

He glanced at her with a raised brow. “Hate what?”

Eliza swept her gaze over the room before returning it to his handsome face. “All of this pomp and formality. The sense of being on display for your family. And mine.”

He said nothing at first and then stared straight ahead as he replied, “It is necessary to assure everyone I am fulfilling my role as head of the family.”

“But you hate it,” she insisted, not sure why it mattered so much to her that he admit it, not only to her but to himself.

The corner of his lips twisted and he answered without looking at her. “Yes. I abhor the ostentation.”

Eliza sighed, wondering what it must feel like to have such a heavy responsibility constantly weighing on your shoulders. “And now our situation has added to that,” she muttered as she recalled what Lady Rutherford had said. “I imagine your family is quite disappointed by your engagement to one of the grasping Terriburys. Surely, they expected a more exalted match.”

He gave dismissive snort. “I do not give a damn what they expected.”

“Yet here you are,” Eliza challenged, not sure she believed his attempt at downplaying the situation.

“Because it pleases me to please Grandmother,” he answered. “And because I could not have left you to fend for yourself amidst this crowd.” He looked down at her then. His eyes were warm in spite of the tension still riding his frame. “We are in this together, Eliza. I have not forgotten that.”

A keen sort of happiness flooded through her at his words. She nearly dragged him to a stop so she could throw her arms around his neck and kiss him soundly for his loyalty.

Fortunately, she was prevented from such scandalous impropriety as Lady Terribury appeared before them with a wide grin brightening her flushed face.

“Oh my word, what a lovely party.”

Eliza smiled at her mother’s intrusion, amazed by her timing. Glancing aside at the marquess, she saw all previous hints of warmth replaced by an aloof expression.

“Lizzie, dear, have you met the Hartfords yet? They are such a lovely couple. Lady Hartford is your third cousin, isn’t that right, my lord? What a gracious lady. She has already invited us to her ball in town in two weeks. Oh, it sounds like it will be a delicious affair. Lizzie, you must wear that striking plum-colored gown with the ivory lace.”

As her mother gushed about several more of the guests, she remained unaware that Eliza and the marquess were no longer listening.

Eliza gave Rutherford a skewed half-smile for her mother’s vivacious manner, which had obviously been accentuated by a few too many glasses of wine with dinner. To which he responded by lowering his chin in subtle acknowledgement as his lips curled in an imperceptible smile.

The smile, for being so miniscule was packed with subtle intimacy, and Eliza felt the repercussions of it down to her toes.

The moment was again interrupted as Eliza’s oldest sister, Marietta, approached with her husband, Lord Duncan. Introductions had to be made as the two gentlemen had never had the pleasure of meeting.

Marietta’s husband was a great hulking figure whose size alone managed to intimidate most who first met him. Then there was his great booming voice. The man had spent years competing with the whipping winds of the northern Scottish coast as he bellowed across an ancient stone keep whenever he was forced to administer reprimands to one or more of his five rambunctious sons, which was unfortunately quite often. So rarely having an opportunity to socialize in more genteel environments, the burly laird had less practice speaking in drawing-room tones.

Rutherford didn’t even flinch when Lord Duncan issued a roaring salutation, nor was he the slightest bit perturbed by the Scotsman’s vigorous handshake. The marquess was the epitome of the unruffled aristocrat.

Lord Duncan next turned to Eliza and swept her up in a giant bear hug. After nearly squeezing the breath out of her, her brother-in-law grinned as he held her at arm’s length and gave her a studied once over.

“When did you grow up, wee lass? I swear you were naught but a mite when I last saw you.”

“She wasn’t,” Marietta interjected. “It has been nearly five years since we traveled this far south, darling.”

“Not so,” the Scotsman exclaimed, finally releasing her.

“’Tis true,” Eliza replied with a laugh.

As soon as she stepped back to Rutherford’s side, she felt his hand come to rest at the small of her back, and she was quite sure she did not imagine him taking a step closer to her. The gesture felt perfectly possessive and she found she liked feeling the weight of his hand at her waist.

“How are the boys?” she asked her sister as a means of distracting herself. Any conversation about Marietta’s five sons was bound to be filled with tales of mischief and daring. Eliza’s Scottish nephews were a terror to their mother and the pride of their chieftain father.

Marietta rolled her eyes in a fashion far more dramatic than even Judith could have accomplished. “I swear Tavish will be the death of me.” She sighed with a mother’s exasperation. “He was caught stealing kisses from the cook’s daughter and nearly had his head bashed in with an iron pot.”

“But the boy is barely eleven years old,” Eliza exclaimed in astonishment.

“Aye,” Lord Duncan said with a wink, “takes after his da. Isn’t that right, sweet,” he said as he pulled Marietta to his side with a heavy arm about her shoulders. Though Eliza’s sister was tall like their mother, she was quite slim, and Duncan’s beefy arm looked like it could crush her with little effort.

Yet Marietta did not appear injured by his harsh embrace as she delivered a swift jab of her elbow to his generous midsection. Lord Duncan dropped his arm with a muttered
ooph
while his wife eyed him with a sly smile. “Quite right, darling. I find I must bash your hard head at least once a week.”

Lord Duncan laughed. “Good thing the Duncan men have skulls of stone then, aye?”

“Even stone can crack under the right force,” Marietta warned.

“Well then,” Lady Terribury interjected, shifting attention away from the Duncans with a frantic flutter of her hands. “Is this not just a lovely party? It is so kind of Lady Rutherford to bring both families together like this.”

“I will be sure to tell her you said so,” the marquess replied. “Now I must take Miss Terribury around to make sure she has been introduced to everyone. If you will excuse us.”

Eliza followed the direction of his hand at her back as he steered her past her family, but their departure was not quick enough to prevent Lady Terribury from placing a hand on Eliza’s arm as she passed. “Do stop and speak with Rose. Since Lord Rutherford was unable to attend their party, I do not believe he has been introduced to Lord Hyndmarsh.”

“Yes, Mother,” Eliza answered. And then she was drawn back to the marquess’s side with the firm and gentle pressure of his hand over her hip.

He led them across the room toward a large gathering of his relatives near the open terrace doors. Fortuitously, the Hyndmarshes were also a part of the group. Eliza found herself relaxing into the idea of having to bounce around the drawing room in the guise of satisfying social protocols. As long as the marquess was with her every step of the way, it may not be such a torturous experience.

“I suppose I should apologize for Marietta and her husband,” she said as they neared the gathering of guests.

“They appear well suited to each other.”

Eliza sighed. “It must be exhausting to bicker so ceaselessly.”

“Quite the opposite, I imagine.”

Eliza turned to look at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer right away but slid her a sideways glance filled with some superior form of knowledge she did not possess.

Then he gave a subtle shrug of his wide shoulders and turned his gaze forward again. “Some couples use such animosity as a means of keeping things…interesting. Lord Duncan appears charmed by your sister’s acid tongue, and I would bet she enjoys expressing her temper so freely.”

“Goodness,” Eliza gasped with dawning understanding. “I had never thought of it that way.” And now that she did, she saw her eldest sister’s marriage in an entirely new light. “Still, I should not think I would enjoy being so constantly antagonistic.”

“Thank God,” he muttered under his breath.

“Though every once in a while might be fun,” she added to tease him.

He flexed his fingers at her waist and glanced down at her again. This time, though, his eyes were heavy and dark. “You antagonize me quite enough already.”

The tone of his voice when he spoke made Eliza think he was not exactly complaining. In fact, something richly sensual flowed from his words and entered her bloodstream in a tingling rush. She was left feeling breathless and warm.

Unfortunately, at that moment they reached their destination. Eliza had to take several swift inhalations before she was capable of redirecting her thoughts toward the purpose of polite socializing.

But the insistent thread of awareness hovered in her consciousness for the rest of the evening, making every glance she received from the marquess, every touch of his hand, every comment he directed to her feel weighted with some deeper meaning.

Chapter Seventeen

Eliza rose early the next morning and joined her father on the short trek to the lake. They were part of a small group who had all roused themselves at the ungodly hour of dawn to sit on the grass-banked shores and cast their lines into the calm waters.

Eliza loved this time of day, when the world was sleepy and life seemed to be in no hurry at all. The morning was grey and damp with the night’s mist and all was still quiet, as if the countryside had not yet awakened. The atmosphere was tranquil and her father’s company was wonderfully undemanding. The invisible tether connecting her to the place where dreams formed had not yet been fully severed and Eliza found it easy to turn her focus inward. New ideas had slowly been taking shape since the highwayman’s story had come to a close. Eliza took the opportunity to explore what characters and plot might be discovered.

The early hours of the day passed quickly, as tended to happen when the fishing was good and her thoughts were active. By the time the sun rose high enough in the sky to burn off the haze of morning mist, Eliza had a basket full of fresh fish and an exciting plan for her next writing project.

Other guests had begun to make their way to the lakeshore, and with the quiet of the morning dispersing, Eliza decided to head back to the house.

At grand country parties such as this, most of the female guests would sleep late into the morning, but the promise of sport had lured many of the men out of their beds. Several gentlemen milled about near the stables as they organized themselves into groups for hunting and shooting. Eliza scanned the area for broad shoulders and a handsomely stoic expression but she reached the house disappointed.