The Earl's Return (Marriage Mart Mayhem) (13 page)

But her body chose to ignore the message from her brain.

“Yes, perhaps it is best if we returned to the party.” She offered him a saucy grin. “After all, I am sure we won the game.”

…

Two days later the house party was coming to an end, with the engagement ball to be held that evening. All the ladies were resting in preparation for the culminating event, and the gentlemen had departed to The Ale and Grain. The alehouse boasted its own bowling green, and Grayson had offered a wager on his expertise in bowling. Apparently, none of the men could resist either joining in the wager or watching the activity.

Mary had tried to nap, but she’d been too restless. Being near Redgrave constantly during the party had unsettled her nerves. It seemed every time they were alone together, kissing, touching, and panting ensued. She stared out the floor-to-ceiling window in the Billingsley library at the rain dripping down the pane.

“Here you are.”

Mary closed the open book in her lap that she hadn’t been reading to see her mother enter the room. “Why are you not resting, Mother?”

“I preferred to spend the time with my daughter. Although we have been at the same party for days now, I feel as though we have rarely spoken.” She sat on a well-padded chair across from Mary and smoothed out her skirts. “It seems to me Lord Redgrave has taken up quite a bit of your time.”

The heat started in her belly and traveled to her face. She raised her chin, refusing to succumb to embarrassment. “We have partnered in a few games.”

“And dances.”

“I have also danced with Lords Grayson, Billingsley, Draper, Beamer, and Stephenson.”

The dowager sighed. “Mary, the man broke your sister’s heart.”

Mary picked at a loose thread in her morning dress. “Frankly, I do not think Abigail was so very heartbroken.” When her mother did not respond but merely raised her eyebrows, Mary continued. “She’d been in love with Joseph most of her life.”

Her mother closed her eyes and shook her head.

“She was, Mother. Abigail once told me she’d had a
tendre
for Joseph when she first came out, but he did not encourage her. Just last year she admitted that she had gotten over her feelings so quickly for Redgrave that she couldn’t possibly have loved him the way she thought she had.”

Mary did not want to think about why she felt it necessary to defend Redgrave and have her mother think better of him. Even if the dowager changed her opinion of him, Drake was a hurdle she could never jump. Once they all returned to London, she would be better off putting Redgrave from her mind for the rest of the Season.

Then once more she would return to their country estate, Manchester Manor, as an unmarried woman very close to being on the shelf. Far from a life of home, husband, and children.

And love.

“And what, my dear, does that have to do with your fascination with the man?”

“I am hardly
fascinated
by him.” Mary bristled. First Drake thought she was
championing
him, and now Mother saw it as fascination.

The dowager folded her hands in her lap. “What do you call it?”

She shrugged. “Friendship.”

Anxious to get as far away from that conversation as possible, Mary stood. “I think I may take a rest, after all.”

Her mother dipped her head. “As you wish. I will see you at dinner.”

She left the room, away from the accusations and her troublesome thoughts. The house remained quiet as she made her way up the stairs to the east wing. Just as she reached her door, a deep, velvet voice called her. “Mary.”

She turned to see Redgrave striding down the corridor. “What are you doing here? This is the women’s side.” She looked frantically around her.

“I know.” He grabbed her arm, opened the door to her room, and pulled her inside. He closed the door, leaning against it. “We must talk.

“Alone.”

Chapter Thirteen

He could not believe he actually grabbed Mary and shoved her into her room. What the bloody hell was he thinking? They stood not ten feet from her bed.

Best not think about that, I am already in too much trouble.

Running his fingers through his hair, he paced, gathering his thoughts.

“Redgrave?”

Abruptly, he turned and pulled her into his arms. “I want to court you. I want to speak to your brother and gain his permission to escort you to the park for drives, to the theater, the museum. I don’t want to keep up this blasted hiding.”

Thinking back on her conversation with her mother, she asked, “The question is, what are we hiding?”

He sighed. “That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

Mary seemed to soften in his arms. “I don’t know, either.” She reached up to smooth his hair. “Mother just questioned me on why we seemed to be together so much.”

“Why
are
we together so much?” He closed his eyes. “I should not have asked that.” He stared down at her, and his insides twisted as he regarded this woman he did not deserve. Her clear, bright eyes surrounded by dark lashes. Full, moist lips that he wanted to kiss until neither of them remembered why they should not be together.

For always.

He drew lazy circles on her silken cheek. “Promise me all your waltzes tonight.”

She grinned. “You know I cannot do that. ’Twill cause a scandal.”

“Let us cause a scandal. Then we will be forced to…”

Mary put her finger to his lips. “No, don’t say that. Furthermore, you should leave. The last thing I wish to put my mother through is another scandal.”

“Another scandal caused by me, you mean,” he asked wryly.

“I meant no such thing. My sister Sybil would have caused a scandal had word leaked out about her ‘condition’ when she arrived back home at Manchester Manor from Scotland. And my sister Sarah scandalized Mother when she shared a room with a professor on a trip to Scotland, thereby accidentally marrying him.

“In any event, you should leave now. I do not want to get caught in a compromising situation. Please?”

He took a step forward. “One kiss?” She stepped back

She shook her head but chewed her delectable lips, uncertainty in her eyes. He moved forward again and raised her chin with his finger, gazing at her. “One kiss? Please?”

“Then you will leave?”

He smiled down at her, brushing aside a curl that had come loose from her bun. “If you wish me to.”

Claiming her lips, he crushed her against his chest, holding her snugly. She fit perfectly—all female warmth and softness. An idea slowly grew that this was the woman he wanted in his arms for the rest of his life. Whatever objections they faced would be nothing compared to the joy of a lifetime of taking her to bed, showing her how wonderful it could be between a man and a woman. Making her his, completely.

Did he deserve such a woman? Did he deserve to have a love that should never be his?

He moved his lips to her jaw, then her neck, kissing, nibbling, and soothing. She tilted her head to give him better access to the smooth, creamy skin. Unfastening the back of her gown, he slowly drew the garment from her shoulders to reveal her plump breasts presented for his pleasure from the top of her corset. He tugged the garment down slightly and her breasts fell into his hands.

“So beautiful, so perfect.” His thumbs slid over rose-colored nipples, causing them to pucker. She moaned and threw her head back as he took one stiff pebble in his mouth, running his tongue over the sensitive tip.

Mary wrapped her hands around his head, pulling him closer. “You should not be doing this.”

Indeed, he should not, but he’d been hungering for a taste of her for weeks. “Should I stop?”

Please say no.

“No,” she murmured.

He took her breast fully into his mouth, sucking, biting slightly, then soothing with his tongue. His hands spanned her ribs, pulling her closer.

A slight knock on the bedchamber door jolted them apart. “My lady, I have your gown for tonight. ’Tis pressed. May I hang it in your wardrobe?”

“Oh, goodness,” Mary whispered, pulling her bodice up. She turned her back to him. “Fasten my gown, and hurry.”

“My lady?”

“Ah, I will be right there, Baxter. I was just taking a short nap.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “Hurry up.”

He leaned close to her ear. “Mary, have you forgotten when your maid comes into the room she is most likely going to see me?”

“Oh God.” She whirled around, looking at every corner. “What will we do with you?”

“My lady? Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Yes, just fine Baxter. I will be right there. Just give me a moment.” She glanced in the mirror and pushed back the loose strands of her hair, shifting her bodice to straighten it.

Redgrave strode to the window and looked down. It was a fall, but if he hung from the window frame, he could drop to the ground and probably only break a leg or two, but most likely not his neck. Mary hurried to his side. “You can’t climb out the window, one of the women might see you.” She wrung her hands. “What are we going to do?”

“I’ll have to hide in the wardrobe.”

“She wants to put the gown in the wardrobe,” she whispered furiously.

A loud knocking came from the door. “My lady, are you sure you are all right? Shall I get one of the footmen to open the door? Is it stuck?”

“No!” She pushed Redgrave toward the wardrobe. “Climb in. I’ll handle Baxter.”

He eased into the tight space and Mary closed the door, leaving him in pitch-black darkness.

…

Mary plastered a smile on her face and opened the door. “Baxter, thank you so much.” She reached both arms out to take the gown from the woman.

The maid eyed her with suspicion. “I thought I heard you speaking to someone.” She sniffed and looked around the room.

“No. What you probably heard was me reading aloud.” She pointed to the open book lying on the table by her bed.

The maid sailed past her. “I would like to hang your gown in the wardrobe, so it stays fresh for this evening.”

Mary flung herself in front of the wardrobe, her arms outstretched. “No, no. that won’t be necessary.”

Baxter raised her eyebrows. “Then what will I do with it?”

Realizing how peculiar her action appeared to the maid—her
mother’s
maid—she straightened and tugged on the cuffs of her dress. “Just lay it out there on the bed. It will be fine. I’m afraid there are too many gowns in the wardrobe, and we don’t want this one crushed.”

The maid frowned, but did as Mary asked. “Shall I send the footmen up with your bath?”

“Not quite yet. Maybe in another hour or so. I might just read a bit more.” She smiled at Baxter and pointed to the open book.

“Very well. I will send them up in an hour.” She headed toward the door. “Is there anything else?”

“No, nothing. Nothing at all. Thank you so much. You are a wonderful lady’s maid.” She laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder and kept her walking. “I don’t believe that I have ever told you that. I very much appreciate what you do for us.”

Baxter blushed. “Well, thank you.”

Mary gave her a slight wave, closed the door, and raced to the wardrobe, yanking open the door. “Are you all right?”

Redgrave crawled out of the space and unfolded himself, brushing off his breeches. “I thought I would smother in there. I’m not overly fond of closed spaces.”

Mary placed her hands on her hips. “What do we do now? The servants are up and down the corridor, getting water for baths and bringing up pressed gowns.”

“The window?”

“No. Any one of the ladies could glance out her window and see you dropping to the ground, and it would take all of three minutes to figure out whose room you were exiting.”

Redgrave crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bedpost. “Then I am out of ideas.”

Mary studied him, tapping her lips with her index finger. As the idea formed in her brain, a huge smile broke out on her face. “I know exactly what to do.”

He stood upright, dropping his hands to the side. “I do not particularly like that look on your face.”

Waving her hand in dismissal, she opened the wardrobe and pulled out one of her older day dresses. She turned to Redgrave. “You will dress as a woman and leave right through the bedchamber door.”

“What!”

“It is simple, really. Merely remove your jacket, waistcoat, and cravat and pull this gown over you.”

He burst out laughing. “My dear, I am twice your size.”

“I know it won’t fit, but if you can get into it enough so I can put a shawl over your shoulders, all anyone will see is the bottom.”

“And my masculine head.”

“No.” She reached into the wardrobe once more and pulled out a lace cap. “You can put this over your head, and as long as you keep your head down, the shawl pulled up over your neck, and walk very quickly, no one will give you a second look.”

Redgrave ran his hand down his face, then sat on the edge of the bed, his hands dangling between his spread legs. “Mary. That will never work. There is no woman here who is anywhere near my height.”

“You don’t understand. You will put on the gown and cap, leave the room and walk very quickly to the men’s wing and right into your room. If a lady opens a door for any reason, all she will see is another woman. People only see what they think they see. If they view someone in skirts and a cap they will assume it is a woman and not consider it any differently.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You must have been a hellion for your poor mother.”

She grinned. “You have no idea.”

“And what happens when I get to the men’s side and someone there sees me?”

“The men are all at the alehouse. If you hurry you will be safe in your room before any of them return. But you must hurry.” She tugged on his hand and pulled him up. “I’ll help you.”

“Of course. You will help me right into Bedlam.”

She began yanking off his jacket while he untied his cravat. Hopefully this plan would work. It was the only way unless he agreed to sit in the wardrobe until she was bathed and dressed for dinner and the ball.

Heat rose from her middle to her face at the thought of Redgrave huddled in the wardrobe while mere feet away she was naked in her bath.

Once he was stripped of his outer garments, she pulled and tugged and got the gown at least over his chest, even though the fabric was stretched to the point where the stitches were threatening to tear.

“Here.” She straightened the skirts, lifted the cover of the chest at the foot of her bed, and removed the largest of her shawls. She shook it and laid it across Redgrave’s shoulders. Then she grabbed the lace cap, set it on his head, and burst out laughing.

“That’s it, I’m leaving through the window. What’s a broken limb or two?”

“No. It’s fine. Truly.” She covered her mouth to smother her laughter. “It’s just that you don’t make a very pretty woman.”

“Something I have been grateful for all my life,” he growled.

“Now don’t be grumpy. Just keep your head down, slouch a bit, so you don’t appear quite so tall, and hurry to your room.”

Giving her a stately bow, he took her hand and kissed it. “My lady, our visit has been a pleasure. I will see you at dinner.” Then, mumbling to himself, he opened the door, glanced out, and left the room.

…

Redgrave did just as Mary had said and kept his head lowered as he strode down the corridor. Obviously not as a lady would, but all he wanted to do was get to his room and out of the blasted dress. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe. And how the devil did women maneuver themselves with these skirts tangling up around their legs all the time?

He ducked as he passed two footmen carrying a bathtub. They barely gave him notice. Once he was in his room with the door closed firmly behind him, he took a deep breath for the first time. Hopefully, he could get out of the dress before his valet arrived to prepare him for dinner.

He whipped off the shawl and finally ended up tearing the dress in two in order to get out of the thing. He rolled them up in a ball, with the horrendous lace cap in the center of it all. Had there been a fire in the fireplace, he would have tossed the entire bundle there.

After being alerted by Priscilla’s lady’s maid, Redgrave walked into his wife’s bedchamber to see her tossing her newly delivered clothing into the fireplace. Dresses, petticoats, stockings, hats, gloves—they all went to feed the flames.

“What the devil are you doing? Have you gone mad?” He tried to grab a hat from her.

“I shall walk around naked!” Her eyes glowed with something frightening. “I want to visit my modiste in London. I hate these rags the local dressmaker sent. I refuse to be clothed in them. They are ugly.”

“You chose the patterns and fabrics yourself.”

She yanked the hat out of his hands and tossed it into the fire. “I won’t wear any of them. I deserve much better.” She stamped her foot and shoved her finger into his chest. “I want to go to London.”

The smell of hard spirits emanated from her, making him turn his head. “We are not going to London. We’ve had this conversation before. You so badly wanted this marriage, well, you have what you wanted.”

“And of course I kept you from what
you
wanted.” Her lips twisted in a snarl. “The wonderful, perfect Lady Abigail. The impeccable sister of the Duke of Manchester, whom you left weeks before your wedding. How they must loathe you! Knowing that you are detested by that family keeps me warm at night when you refuse to visit my bed.”

The memories flooded him once more, wrenching him away from any warm feelings he’d had with Mary in his arms. He was foolish to continue this pursuit of a woman who could never be his, who could never provide him with the love he didn’t deserve, anyway. He needed to return to his original intention when he’d arrived in London. To find a bride who he could have a pleasant friendship with, with whom he could share a calm, peaceful life. He didn’t want, or need, love. He would find such a woman, marry her, and set up his nursery. And put Lady Mary out of his mind forever.