The Dutiful Rake (25 page)
Authors: Elizabeth Rolls
Tags: #England, #General, #Romance, #Great Britain, #Marriage, #Historical, #Fiction
For a moment he was undecided, but then he saw something else on the ground a few yards away. With an oath he sprang forward. Meg might have dropped her reticule and forgotten it, but she would not have dropped that bracelet! Without the least hesitation he began to run back towards the boxes.
‘She said
what?’
Marcus had gone absolutely white at Jack’s information. He felt as though someone had just ripped out his heart. Looking around frantically, he said in a shaking voice, ‘Where’s Meg?’
‘Calm down, man!’ said Jack. ‘She’s with Toby. He’s quite capable of looking after her. And Althea Hartleigh says that Winterbourne is out of—’
‘Hamilton!’
They swung around to see Lady Hartleigh.
She gripped Jack’s sleeve. ‘Winterbourne is here! Have you told—?’ She glanced at Marcus’s face. ‘You did. He chatted briefly to Henrietta Fellowes and then disappeared off after Lady Rutherford and Carlton. You’d better hurry. That bitch looked as though she’d been left with a juicy bone.’
Marcus was gone, running in the direction taken by Toby and Meg half an hour ago. The thought that Winterbourne might try to abduct Meg terrified him. The fury he had felt on his wedding night was as nothing to the rage and panic he felt now. Then he had scarcely known Meg. Now she was his, the most precious thing in his life. No fear of scandal would save Winterbourne this time. Marcus would kill him if he tried to lay hands on Meg!
Dimly he realised that Jack had come with him. He slowed down—they were at the junction of the Grand
Walk and the Grand Cross Walk and he had no idea where to go.
‘Marc, this is crazy!’ expostulated Jack. ‘She’s safe enough with Toby. He’d never leave her alone here, you know—’
He stopped abruptly as a relieved yell came to their ears.
‘Thank God!’ Toby was running towards them from the Dark Walk. He came up, panting. ‘Meg’s disappeared. Garter broke, so I stepped away to let her deal with it. You know, just around the corner. Came back and found these!’ He held up the reticule and broken bracelet.
Marcus took them in hands that shook uncontrollably.
His eyes met Jack’s in anguish. ‘Winterbourne. This time I’m going to kill him.’ The deadly quiet of his tones startled Jack and Toby more than an explosion of rage would have done.
‘What?’ Sir Toby was considerably taken aback. In the twenty years he had known Marcus he had never seen him like this. Had never suspected that he could feel anything this deeply.
‘Where were you, Toby?’ Marcus forced himself to act logically. He could not help Meg by running in circles.
‘Follow me.’
Meg felt her knee crash into her tormentor with satisfying force. And stared in stupefaction at the result.
Winterbourne’s hands dropped from her, all their brutal strength dissolved as though it had never been. He doubled over with a wheezing moan and collapsed in a shuddering heap, practically sobbing in agony.
Agnes’s voice echoed in her memory.
That’ll settle ’im an’ give you time to run.
Meg ran blindly. She had no idea where she was going precisely, but she knew she didn’t want to be there. What she wanted was Marc…his arms around her, secure and warm, banishing her fear. She had not taken more than a dozen strides before she hit a solid wall.
A solid wall with arms that tightened around her and a voice that broke as it said, ‘Meg! Oh, thank God! Are you safe?’
She’d never felt safer. And Jack and Toby were there as well, patting her shoulders and reassuring her.
At first Marc felt as though nothing mattered but having Meg back safely in his arms, apparently unharmed. He held her to him tightly, his cheek pressed to her hair as she clung to him. His hands stroked her gently, soothingly until he felt her shuddering ease, felt her relax against him. Then he spared a glance for Winterbourne, still wheezing painfully on the ground. Dimly he was aware of surprise—surprise that he could feel not the slightest twinge of masculine sympathy for a man in that situation.
Then rage took over. He caught Jack’s eye and said, ‘Look after Meg for me, Jack. There is something I have to do.’ He put her into Jack’s arms very gently, saying, ‘Stay with Jack, my love.’ He caught Jack’s eye. ‘Try not to let her watch.’
He strode over to Winterbourne’s gasping form.
‘Get up, you cur!’ he snarled. ‘This time I’m going to give you what you deserve.’
Winterbourne stayed where he was.
Marcus waited a moment, and then said in biting accents, ‘Toby, go out to the carriages and borrow a whip.
If anyone asks what you want with it, you may tell them, with my compliments, that I need it to thrash Winterbourne, who is too cowardly to stand and face me. He has only enough courage to assault a woman!’
Winterbourne staggered to his feet, still clutching his midriff. ‘Think…scandal,’ he gasped.
‘Your
scandal,’ said Marcus. ‘There are enough witnesses, including Lady Hartleigh, to prove that you assaulted my wife! And if you try it, I’ll have nothing to lose by putting a bullet straight through you! I don’t think either the law or society will find my actions unforgivable. You can tell Henrietta Fellowes that with my compliments.’
He waited a moment, taking a savage satisfaction in Winterbourne’s pain. ‘If you have that flask of yours, Toby, give him some. You can always have the scullery maid boil it before you drink from it again. Or I’ll buy you a new one.’
Toby obliged and Winterbourne gulped at the brandy gratefully. Slightly recovered, he looked around uncertainly, all his urbanity fled. He glanced at the flask and then at Sir Toby.
‘Keep it,’ said Toby coldly. ‘I’ve too much respect for my scullery maid to soil her with anything you’ve touched!’
‘Now,’ said Marcus, from between clenched teeth, ‘now, Winterbourne, I have something to say to you.’
The right hook he delivered to Winterbourne’s nose sent the baronet reeling. He followed it with a savage uppercut which snapped his head back and Winterbourne staggered backwards into a tree. Marcus followed him, but Winterbourne slithered to the ground again with a moan.
‘Good God! What on earth has Rutherford done to
Winterbourne?’ A startled, feminine, voice brought Marc up short.
Coldly and deliberately, Marc turned his head. Lady Jersey and her lord stood staring in rampant curiosity.
‘Really, Marc! Do you think this is a suitable venue for you to pursue your quarrel with Winterbourne?’ Lady Jersey appeared to feel deeply over this unseemly fracas.
‘Good evening, Sally,’ said Marc, very politely. ‘While it may not be the venue I would have chosen, since Winterbourne considered it a suitable venue for attempted rape, I was, shall we say, constrained?’
‘What?’
Sally Jersey’s eyes flew to Meg, still supported by Jack. ‘Dear God. Meg, are you all right?’ Horrified sympathy rang in her voice as she rushed across to Meg.
The Earl of Jersey spoke thoughtfully. ‘Sorry to interrupt you, Rutherford. If your arm gets tired, let me know. Be happy to take a turn.’
His wife turned sharply from comforting Meg. ‘Oh, for goodness sake! What if someone else comes along? The last thing Meg needs is for anyone to know about this. Not that anyone will blame her, but for such a thing to get about…it would be intolerable for the poor girl!’
She cast a contemptuous glance at Winterbourne and spoke in tones of shuddering disgust. ‘Rest assured that if he ever attempts to enter Almack’s again, he will be thrown out. Trust me. And I’ll make it quite plain that he is not to be received by anyone!’ Her eyes glittered venomously. ‘I won’t need to say why. No one will question me.’
No one, least of all Winterbourne, doubted her. The Countess of Jersey’s word was law. If she decreed that
Winterbourne could not be received, then he was finished as far as the ladies were concerned.
‘I’ll deal with the clubs,’ offered Lord Jersey, sealing Winterbourne’s ruin. ‘Better if you keep out of it, Marc. Someone might guess the truth. Leave it to Sally and myself.’ He held out his arm to his countess. ‘Come along, my love. Before I am tempted to assist Marc in murdering that filth. Evening, all.’ He led his wife away inexorably.
Disgustedly Marcus stepped back, throttling the temptation to send Toby for a whip. Sally was right. If anyone else appeared…
‘Marc? Could we…could we go home now?’
He turned and looked at Meg. She still stood in the circle of Jack’s arm, but her eyes said clearly that she wanted him. He cast a lingering glance down at Winterbourne. There probably wasn’t much point in sending for the whip. After what Meg had done to him, he wouldn’t even feel it.
He walked over to Meg and took her from Jack, dragging her into his arms. ‘Oh God, Meg! Will you never do anything the way you’re meant to?’ His voice was rough with passion. ‘I expected a fashionable wife who would run up astronomical bills at the dressmakers. The only bill you have run up is at Hatchard’s! I thought I wanted a marriage of convenience and fell in love with you instead! Now I come racing to rescue you and find that you have rescued yourself!’ He held her tightly.
‘Do you you mind?’ asked Meg as she nestled against him. Here in his arms she was safe from everything.
A strange sound, half-groan and half-laugh, was ripped from deep inside Marcus at her question. Mind?
Mind?
How could he possibly mind having his life
turned upside down and his heart turned inside out? He hadn’t even been alive before he met Meg!
‘Not a bit, my love,’ he vowed, dropping a kiss on her hair. ‘Although you will need to order some new clothes soon. Perhaps then you may fulfil at least
one
of my expectations!’
‘I’ve got plenty of clothes,’ she reassured him.
‘Really?’ He ran his hands over her still-flat belly, in tender appreciation. ‘Not for long you haven’t!’ He brought his mouth down on hers, crushing it mercilessly in his relief.
Jack and Toby turned away tactfully. The latter’s eye fell on Winterbourne, still slumped, whimpering, at the foot of the tree, oblivious to anything beyond his own battered body.
A disgusted snort escaped him. ‘Stinking cur! Didn’t even try to defend himself!’
‘After what Meg did to him?’ Jack sounded faintly amused.
Sir Toby shifted uncomfortably. ‘Yes, well. Y’know, Jack, never thought I’d say this—but the bastard deserved it!’
S
even months later Marcus Langley, Earl of Rutherford, stood gazing adoringly down at his pale, exhausted wife who held his son and heir nestled against her soft breast. The baby whimpered and nuzzled hungrily as his parents smiled at each other.
Marcus dropped to one knee beside the bed. ‘Darling Meg, you’re all right?’ His voice shook uncontrollably. It had been the worst nine hours of his life. His hand gripped hers and he raised it to his mouth, turning it to press a kiss into the soft palm.
‘She’s fine, Marc,’ came an astringent voice behind him. ‘Now, why don’t you get out of the way so Agnes and I can show her how to feed the baby?’
The thought of Meg nursing his son sent a wave of sheer joy surging through Marcus. Completely ignoring Diana and the openly grinning Agnes Barlow, he leaned over and kissed his wife gently. Then he bent and placed a very careful salute on top of the fuzzy head at her breast.
A soft whisper reached his ear. ‘I love you, Marc.’
His heart swelled as he stood and looked down at the two of them. His wife and son. His family. He was
complete now, and each new addition would add to that fulfilment. That was the odd thing about love—having surrendered to it, there didn’t seem to be any limit on how much he could give…or receive.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4410-2
THE DUTIFUL RAKE
Copyright © 2002 by Elizabeth Rolls
First North American Publication 2004
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