The Dutiful Rake (12 page)

Dimly he was aware that this was not what he had expected of marriage. He had thought to take an experienced woman to wife, not an innocent who had to be cherished and protected. Even when he had decided to take Meg, he had thought it would be a relatively simple matter. Bed her with the consideration due to her virginity, teach her to enjoy her marital duties and get on with his hedonistic life while granting her every possible indulgence.

He had not expected to take her in a burning of pas
sion such as he had never experienced. A passion that left him dazed and confused with the knowledge that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman. That possessing her had only increased his desire tenfold. Certainly he had not wanted to feel this shattering urge to protect and defend his wife. He had certainly not wanted to find himself caring about her any more than any other woman he had enjoyed in the course of a long and misspent career. Jack Hamilton’s words came back hauntingly:
You’ll think I’ve run mad…find a girl you can care for…
And he had laughed, told Jack he had slipped his moorings. Had thought the notion of risking the same grief his father had suffered to be rank insanity. And yet, here he was with Meg in his arms, rapidly finding her way into his barricaded and cynical heart. His blood ran cold as he recalled the chilly bargain he had struck with her. In return for his name and protection, he had asked for children and her discretion. Nothing more. And she had accepted him on those terms. He had not the slightest right to ask for anything else. He was by no means even sure that he wanted more, never had he felt so completely out of control in his life and the sensation was not at all an agreeable one, like a ship adrift in a storm. No, the best thing Lord Rutherford could do would be to return to London and try to get on with his life while allowing Meg to discover hers.

I
t took them another two days’ travelling to reach London. By himself Marcus would have covered it easily in a day’s driving, but the chaise was far slower. Besides which Meg slept well into the morning after their wedding night, not stirring even when Marcus left her bed to go down to breakfast. She was still sleeping when he came back after arranging a basket of food with the landlord.

It was another glorious day and he thought that a picnic somewhere for lunch would be pleasant. He was tolerably certain that Meg would feel happier if she did not have to deal with the world at large just yet. It was with relief that he learned Winterbourne had left very early. He was not entirely sure that he would have had the self-control to leave the cur with a whole skin and he certainly did not wish Meg to encounter him.

They set forward just after eleven with Meg perched up beside him in the curricle. She had been very quiet since arising and seemed very shy with him. Hardly surprising, he thought with tender amusement. She was not a chatterbox at the best of times, and with Burnet
up behind them there was little opportunity for any private conversation.

Meg having breakfasted late, they did not halt for their picnic until well after two, driving down a lane between high hedges and spreading a rug under a beech tree. Burnet, who had hitherto maintained a proper distance, proved to be a very agreeable companion. He had been with Marcus for years and took the opportunity to make a speech and wish the bride happy, toasting her heroically with lemonade.

‘Here’s a health to a bonny bride, my lady! An’ wishin’ you very happy!’ he finished cheerfully, raising his glass to her.

Meg blushed and stammered her thanks shyly. She had thought that Marc’s servants might look down their noses at her, but the genuine goodwill in Burnet’s face told her she had at least one friend.

Marcus clapped lazily and said with mock severity, ‘I thank you, Burnet, for your approval. But do tell me! Do I not rank as worthy of your wishes for future happiness?’

Burnet grinned at him unrepentantly. ‘As to that, sir, if you ain’t happy now, you never will be! I’m happy to congratulate you howsumdever on gettin’ a damned sight more than you deserve! Beggin’ her ladyship’s pardon!’

Marcus chuckled and said, ‘Well, I’m glad you only speak your mind with such beautiful frankness out of hearing of the rest of my staff! Thank you, Burnet.’

He turned, to Meg who was giggling. His heart skyrocketed in his breast to see the laughter in her eyes again. She had been so quiet and reserved during their drive that he had been quite worried. ‘This is the sort of insubordination I have to put up with, Lady
Rutherford! I am counting upon you to reform my unregenerate staff out of all recognition!’

After lunch Meg found that she was very sleepy and it did not take much persuasion to convince her to travel in the chaise. In fact, Marcus insisted.

‘You may curl up on the seat and have a nap. We have another three hours before reaching our night’s lodging,’ he said firmly.

‘But—’

He fixed her with a glare of mock severity and said, ‘I have a distinct memory of you vowing to obey me yesterday morning! I’m trying to do my bit in cherishing you!’ Then, very tenderly, ‘Come, Meg. You will feel very much more the thing if you sleep in the chaise.’

His care for her was disconcerting and she raised her eyes shyly to his face. ‘You know I am not really such a poor creature as you think, but if it will please you…’

‘It won’t,’ he said frankly. ‘I like having your company, but I will forgo it this afternoon if it means I may enjoy it tonight.’ His eyes quizzed her wickedly and he touched her suddenly flaming cheek lightly, lingering at the corner of her mouth in sensuous reminiscence. Meg swallowed hard as the caress sent shivers down her spine. Perhaps it would be an idea to sit in the chaise. Even if she didn’t sleep she needed to think, and sitting in the curricle with Marc’s powerful body beside her seemed to disrupt her thought processes completely.

Having won his point, Marcus escorted her to the chaise and handed her up into it. She turned to smile at him, that shy, considering smile which turned his stomach upside down and made him want to kiss her senseless. He reached up and slid his fingers into the soft
curls at her nape, stroking lightly and drawing her face down to him in a brief kiss.

‘Until tonight, little one,’ he whispered, his husky tones full of tantalising promise.

Meg sat back in the chaise, trying to collect her whirling thoughts and even more chaotic emotions. She had known from the start the danger of marriage to Marcus. Despite his occasional coldness, he had a charm and kindness that made it impossible not to respond to him. But she had not expected to succumb to it so swiftly, so completely.

It was not just his lovemaking. It was his tenderness with her, his compassionate understanding. Had he not taken her last night, she would have still loved him. The problem she now faced was that their physical intimacy would make it much harder for her to hide how she felt. And he did not want her love, had no intention of loving her. He had made that quite clear. They were not to make demands upon each other’s sensibilities. And she had already made enough demands upon him. From now on she would have to try and stand alone.

Indeed, she was a great deal better off than she had been. She had a kind husband, a position in the world and a home. God willing she would have children on whom to spend her love. A tremor ran through her as she thought of how she would be given those children. She should be counting her blessings, not feeling depressed because one thing would be forever denied her! She had known the danger and had accepted it. It was just that in her inexperience she had not realised how much it would hurt.

And he must never know. Somehow she had to keep her guard up at all times to hide her secret. Perhaps leading a life of fashion would make it possible to con
ceal her love. She had heard much of how fashionable couples lived largely separate lives: attending their own functions, entertaining their own friends, taking lovers. She shuddered at the last. Never would she be able to bring herself to accept another. And it would hurt immeasurably to know that Marcus had a mistress.

A tear trickled down her cheek. She had agreed to it and she would have to pretend not to mind, not even to see. She would have to live the life he expected her to live. Perhaps when the children came she could be in the country for much of the year and not know what he was doing. Somehow the thought was not at all comforting.

Tired out and lulled by the rocking of the chaise, she lay down on the seat as Marcus had suggested and pulled the travelling rug over her. Perhaps she ought to sleep now. The last thing she wanted was for Marcus to decide she was too tired to share his bed.

That night, as she lay exhausted in his embrace, she wondered if she would need to have a rest every afternoon. It had not hurt at all this time. He had entered her with such gentle patience, urging her to stop him if she felt any pain. But all she had felt was wild excitement as his powerful body invaded hers and possessed it so tenderly, an excitement which had swelled and finally exploded in response to his loving. And this time he had encouraged her to join in, showing her how to please him, his delight in her pleasure and growing confidence reassuring her that in Marc she had the best of husbands.

Her body glowed with the aftermath of passion and, as she drifted towards sleep, she could feel his large, exquisitely knowing hands soothing and stroking her.
One muscular leg was thrust between her thighs in possessive intimacy. His deep voice murmured soft endearments as she pressed sleepy kisses against his shoulder, thinking that even if he didn’t love her, at least he seemed to care about her. Half a loaf was better than none, after all. Wasn’t it?

T
he following afternoon the Countess of Rutherford preserved a friendly smile, as one stiffly polite servant after another was presented to her in the great hall of Rutherford House, an imposing mansion in Grosvenor Square. By the time the maidservants had been presented in a group she was wilting mentally under the glare of the staff’s unspoken disapproval.

As she recalled her husband’s laughing suggestion that she should reform his staff, she shuddered inwardly. It was plain enough that they held their master in the greatest awe and affection while respectfully opining that, in marrying a provincial nobody with a family history like hers, the master had taken leave of his senses. She stole a scared look up at Marcus, who looked quite unperturbed. His aristocratic countenance gave no hint that he was aware of the unmistakable outrage among his staff.

Once the ordeal was over Marcus escorted her to her bedchamber and said, ‘Here you are. This was my mother’s room. Why don’t you have a rest before changing for dinner? I am going to go around to Mount
Street to let my sister know that we are in town. I will ask her to call on you in the morning if you wish.’

‘You don’t wish me to come now?’ Meg asked hesitantly.

He shook his head. ‘No, it is for Di to call on you.’ She flushed slightly and he added reassuringly, ‘Meg, I am not ashamed of you. But I think under the circumstances it might be as well if I saw Di first. Come…’ he held out his arms ‘…give me a kiss and I will be off.’

Meg went to him, trying to hide her eagerness. Their lips met and clung briefly and then Marcus was gone, leaving Meg feeling utterly lost and quite unlike sleeping. She was so stunned by the elegance of her surroundings that her tiredness had vanished to be replaced with an overwhelming urge to explore.

She looked around her with wide eyes. Never in all her life had she seen such a sumptuous bedchamber. The wall hangings were of a delicate violet silk with a printed black border and buff silk pelmet. A very graceful chimney piece in white marble held a number of beautiful and obviously valuable examples of oriental porcelain as well as an ornate clock, with an elaborate gilt mirror surmounting all.

The bed was such a contrast to the old-fashioned and clumsy four poster she had been used to that Meg could hardly believe this fairytale confection was to be used by a mortal woman. Black with gilt mounts, it had a domed canopy, the deeply fringed, white-muslin drapes spangled with gold stars and seemingly suspended from a gilt Cupid.

Meg blinked. Was it possible one was actually meant to
sleep
in this creation? She could not, for the life of her, imagine unsophisticated Meg Fellowes doing any
thing of the sort! With a blush she realised that she was having no difficulty at all imagining the other sorts of things the new Countess of Rutherford might be called upon to do in this bed.

Hurriedly she fixed her attention on the rest of the furnishings. A very charming inlaid fold-over tea table stood behind a gilt sofa, and matching chairs upholstered in the same hue as the wall hangings stood grouped before the fireplace. A dainty dressing table and stool completed the furnishings. Several candelabra were scattered about, presently empty. No doubt the servants would bring the candles in later. Meg did not for one moment, in the face of all this luxury, entertain the least doubt that they would be wax, rather than the tallow to which she had hitherto been accustomed.

A respectful tap at the door distracted her from a delightful daydream in which her late and unlamented guardian totted up the bill for all this feminine froth and suffered a very gratifying seizure in the process.

‘Come in,’ called Meg, trying not to giggle.

A maidservant entered and said, ‘If you please, m’ lady, your luggage is being brought up and I am here to unpack for you.’

‘Oh, how very kind, thank you so much,’ said Meg with a friendly smile which was received with patent surprise by the maid. Oh, dear, thought Meg. Should I not thank her? But how rude not to, even if she is a servant. I always thanked Agnes.

The mention of unpacking made her look around for somewhere to put the unpacked gowns. A puzzled frown creased her brow as no closets or armoires met her eyes.

Before she could stop herself she asked, ‘But
where…?’ And then blushed with mortification as the maid silently pointed to another door.

‘Oh, th…thank you,’ said Lady Rutherford, feeling more and more like ignorant, countrified Meg Fellowes. A dressing room! How many more gaffes was she destined to make? Would they be talked over and sneered at in the servants’ hall?

It was at this point that the previously suspicious maid realised that her new mistress was not a scheming hussy at all but, on the contrary, a young lady in a very unfamiliar and daunting situation. Without wishing to compare herself with her betters, Lucy Brown was put forcibly in mind of her first meal in the servants’ hall when she had accidentally sat in the seat reserved for the head housemaid and had found herself sent to Coventry for the entire repast in consequence of this appalling solecism.

‘Never you mind, m’ lady,’ said Lucy cheerfully. ‘I dare say things is different in Yorkshire.’

‘Just…just a little,’ said Meg with relief at this sudden change. ‘Are there any more little surprises for me?’

‘Bathroom’s through that other door,’ offered Lucy. ‘And his lordship’s room beyond it.’

Meg stared at her. She shared a
bathroom
with her husband? A
bathroom
? The very idea was completely and utterly scandalous. And terribly intriguing. Had not Marcus said that this had been his mother’s room? Meg was beginning to get some very interesting insights into her deceased mother-in-law.

Unable to resist, she went over to the door indicated and opened it.

And could not repress a startled squeak of shock.

A vision of subtle eggshell blue, laced with tastefully gilded mouldings, greeted her stunned gaze, hexagonal
in shape with another door directly opposite hers, leading, she presumed, to her husband’s bedchamber. Benches covered in more fringed white muslin stood in four niches. One side of the hexagon was taken up with a large window draped with some gauzy white material, which softened rather than blocked the light. A large alcove opposite the window was entirely taken up with an extremely elegant, canopied sofa-bed, hung with ivory silk and upholstered in silk damask the same shade as the walls. It seemed an odd item of furniture to have in a bathroom, but the bath itself was far too interesting to waste time worrying about details like that.

It was a very large, circular bath, sunk into the centre of the cream-tiled floor. In fact, it was so large that Meg had no difficulty believing that it would hold two quite easily. She cast another lingering look at that sofa-bed…and hastily returned her attention to the bath. Six small bronze lions’ heads were set around it at intervals, their mouths wide open. Goodness! Did the water come out of them? How very ingenious! A lever at the side of the chamber caught her eye. She bent down to try it and sure enough water came pouring out. Meg took a deep breath as she considered the possibilities of such a bath…and the sofa-bed…

Blushing furiously at the scene her rioting imagination had conjured up, Meg turned to the decoration of the niches. Classical scenes adorned them, which seemed innocent enough until she looked more closely. The pointed oval-and-cameo decoration of the pilasters comprised dancing nymphs and satyrs, while the large central panels held scenes which even the innocent Meg recognised as well-known classical seductions.

In scarlet-cheeked fascination she examined them one
by one: Danaë and the shower of gold, Leda and the Swan, Persephone being swept up into Hades’s dread chariot and, finally, Europa and the Bull. Had this room really been decorated for Marcus’s mama? And did Marcus expect her to use it? Did he use it? The possibilities made her feel distinctly wobbly at the knees.

A discreet cough behind her recalled her scattered wits. She turned to see her maid with an unnaturally straight face in the doorway.

‘Shall I unpack, my lady? Your luggage has been brought up.’

‘What? Oh. Oh, yes. Thank you…?’ She ended on a faintly questioning note.

‘Lucy,’ supplied the maid.

‘Lucy,’ repeated Meg to impress the name on her memory. ‘Yes. Unpacking. A very good idea.’ She marched straight back through to her dressing room, leaving that scandalous bathroom behind her. Unfortunately the equally scandalous images it had conjured up refused to remain behind, following her into the bedroom where they intruded on her thoughts with unflagging enthusiasm while she assisted Lucy to put her clothes away. Her precious tea caddy was unearthed from one trunk and Meg placed it proudly on the tea table, where she could see it from the bed. Her hands caressed it lovingly. Her first present.

By the time they were finished it was well after five. Dinner, Lucy informed her, had been ordered for half-past seven. If my lady wanted a nap she had best have it now, since she would need to dress for dinner and leave enough time to put her hair up.

Lucy explained this very tactfully, adding, ‘I will come back in an hour to wake you and help you, m’lady. Mrs Crouch, the housekeeper, said as I’m to wait
on you until you get a proper dresser, like all the fine ladies have.’

‘Thank you,’ said Meg, acquiescing in the first part of this suggestion. She was not so sure about a proper dresser. She had better ask Marcus, but personally she would far prefer the simple, kindly Lucy to wait on her, rather than a grand dresser who would probably compare her unfavourably with previous employers. Meg was reasonably sure that, despite her unexpected elevation, she could remember how to look after herself.

Yawning, she permitted Lucy to help her off with her carriage dress and snuggled down in her fantastical bed, which added extreme comfort to its aesthetic charms, in her petticoat and chemise. Silk sheets and pillow slips! Goodness! Meg wriggled against them in voluptuous pleasure as Lucy drew the gorgeously draped ivory-brocade curtains. Within minutes she was fast asleep and dreaming.

In the meantime her husband had called upon his sister and was listening patiently to a blistering condemnation of his intelligence, morals and manners.

She received Marcus in her drawing room and, once her unconvincingly disinterested butler had closed the door, glared at Marcus and asked furiously, ‘What the
devil
did you mean by sending me that letter, telling me to insert the announcement of your marriage to Miss Marguerite Fellowes in yesterday’s papers? Do you have any idea of the scandal broth you have whipped up? Do you have any idea of the number of people who have taken such sympathetic pleasure in condoling with me on the tragic
mésalliance
my only brother has made?

‘You
idiot,
Marc! Do you realise what people are saying? That Robert and Caroline Fellowes’s daughter
entrapped you! How did you of all men fall for such a trick? Aunt Regina has retired to Bath in hysterics!’

‘Well, thank God for that!’ interjected the afflicted lady’s undutiful nephew heartlessly. ‘One furious female relation is more than enough to deal with at once!’

She swept on, very properly ignoring this facetious remark. ‘And if you had any
notion
of the embarrassment I felt in not understanding the
commiserations
I received! It was not until Jack Hamilton enlightened me that I realised who the girl was! And not even to be invited!’ She paused for breath and a perfectly genuine tear trickled down her cheek. The last thing she had wanted for Marcus was marriage to some scheming little hussy!

‘Tell me, Di,’ said Marcus with a faint twinkle that made her itch to slap him, ‘how long did it take you to calm down this much?’

She fixed him with a sizzling glare and said dangerously, ‘I’m acting, Marc. I haven’t calmed down!
You
may choose to think it funny!
I
do not!’

‘Very well, Di,’ said Marcus ruefully. ‘You have made your point. Now, would it be too much to ask you to let me explain? Meg did not entrap me in any way whatsoever. In fact, she did her level best not to accept anything from me, let alone my name! And I’m sorry about the late notice, but the last thing I wanted was Aunt Regina to appear and scare Meg into crying off.’

Di looked up at him sharply. He did not bear any signs of a man forced into an unwanted marriage. On the contrary, he looked quite cheerful and relaxed as he stood twinkling at her. And she could definitely see his point about the redoubtable Lady Grafton, since she had, on hearing the news, shrieked for her travelling chaise, saying that she would send the little hussy about
her business in double-quick time. Only the realisation that the wedding would have taken place before she could reach Yorkshire had stopped her. By that stage she had been packed, so, to save face with her agog staff, she had directed her coachman to Bath.

‘Very well, tell me the worst,’ she said resignedly.

By the time Marcus had told her about how he had discovered Meg, she was beginning to see daylight. Marc and his overdeveloped sense of duty! Meg’s flight made her blink. Was the girl mad? The tale of Mrs Garsby’s inhumanity shocked her greatly and by then Marc’s decision to marry had her full, if reluctant, approval.

‘I see,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And she accepted.’

Marcus outlined the terms of his marriage much as he had done to Meg and his sister winced inwardly. Good God! What a recipe for disaster! No matter what he might think now, Marc was not the man to acquiesce quietly if his wife took a lover. Just look at all the mistresses he had broken with after they had taken a tumble with Sir Blaise Winterbourne. Although that might simply be because he despised the oily baronet for some reason to which she had never been privy. Nevertheless, Di could not see Marc in the role of complaisant husband.

And what of the child he had married? From the sounds of it she had accepted out of desperation, having nowhere else to turn. What was her attitude towards the marriage? Did she care for Marc at all? Understand what she had let herself in for?