The Earl's Return (Marriage Mart Mayhem) (16 page)

Redgrave assisted her into the carriage and settled on the seat across from her. Mary placed her hands in her lap and stared out the window, giving him the opportunity to study her. The slight flush on her face told him that, despite her attempt to ignore him, she was affected by his presence.

However, instead of her feeling the warmth of an attraction, the flush might very well be in preparation for a scathing lecture that he most certainly deserved. He tapped on the ceiling of the carriage and it rolled forward.

“I am an ass,” he confessed.

It was not possible coming from such a lady as Mary, but he swore she snorted. She still continued to stare out the window. He tried to convince himself he merely wanted to offer an apology so they could resume at least a friendship. It didn’t work.

He wanted her, and she looked as though she preferred to throttle him. “There is no explanation for my behavior the night of the Billingsley ball. I apologize and hope we can remain friends.”

“Indeed? I am afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.” She brushed her skirt and picked off an imaginary piece of lint. “I had a wonderful time at the Billingsley ball. ’Twas one of the best events I have ever attended.”

No doubt she would not accept an apology for his behavior, which meant her pride would not allow him to think she had even noticed. Very well.

“I am glad to hear that. I must admit I had no such wonderful time myself.” He reached out and placed his index finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I missed you.”

Her body softened, no longer cold and distant. “Strange, that, my lord. Since I was there all evening.”

“Touch
é
.”

“Besides, I think it best if we remain formal friends.”

“I disagree. I cannot get you out of my mind, and I know you feel this attraction between us.”

She swallowed. “Whether or not I feel anything is irrelevant, since you have deigned to withhold from me the circumstances surrounding your abandonment of my sister. That is not something I can easily dismiss.”

When he hesitated, she said, “Apparently, either you do not trust me, or the circumstances were just as they appeared.”

Was the reputation of a dead woman worth more than his chance at happiness? And Mary was correct. If he truly cared for her, he would trust her with anything, including the sordid tale of his marriage to Priscilla.

“I can assure you, the situation was not at all how it appeared.” He stared out the window as the words tumbled from his soul. He started slowly until, like a phaeton gaining momentum racing in the park, the story poured out. Every lie, every hateful word, all the misery, and the day in, day out wretchedness they’d both endured. He didn’t dare look her way, afraid to see her thoughts, always so visible on her face.

Would she condemn him for not making more of an effort? For keeping Priscilla from London when she wanted so much to be there? Was he at fault for her wandering into other men’s beds because he would not go to hers?

Or worse, did his words paint a picture of a bitter, angry man who deserved what he’d received?

Silence filled the carriage once he finished speaking. The steady rhythm of the carriage, the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones, grated on his nerves. Taking a deep breath, he turned his head and looked in her direction. One lone tear slid down her cheek. She raised her eyes to him. “I’m so sorry. What a horrible thing Rumbold did to you. Also to Abigail and his own daughter. The man is a cretin.”

He let out a huge breath, and before he could consider his actions, he took both of her hands in his and tugged her until she landed on his lap.

“What are you doing?”

“You cannot imagine how relieved I am. I should have told you before now, but I was so filled with guilt.”

“The guilt is Rumbold’s, not yours. And although I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, Lady Priscilla was to blame for the entire mess.”

He rested his forehead against hers. For the first time in years, his world tilted in the right direction.

Chapter Sixteen

Mary reached up and touched his lips with her finger, running it along the smooth expanse. His eyes darkened as he slowly tugged on each finger of her glove and dragged it off. He took her finger into his mouth and sucked on it, scraping his teeth along the pad.

Her eyes drifted closed, and she took in a deep breath at the sensation. With what could only be described as a wicked smile, he released her finger and pressed his lips to hers, caressing her mouth more than kissing it.

By the end of his confession something had shifted between them. They’d both shared their closely held secrets, and a barrier that had been there before had vanished. Even though it had been his story, now
she
felt exposed.

I should move back over to the other side of the carriage.

Despite the words swirling in her brain, her body took over and responded to his kisses and caresses with an enthusiasm that shook her to the core. Where were the defenses she had erected against men and their forceful ways? It had worked so well for years after her disaster with Claremont.

Redgrave had been slowly chipping away at those defenses until she had a hard time remembering exactly why it had been necessary.

While her thoughts had been distracting her, Redgrave had managed to loosen the back of her gown and was now pulling her bodice down, releasing her breasts to his ministrations.

“Beautiful. You are so beautiful.” He placed his warm lips where her neck met her shoulder and scattered butterfly kisses, moving his mouth down until he ran his rough tongue over her crested nipple, hardened and aching for his touch. She blew out a wispy breath, which encouraged him to take her breast full into his mouth and suckle.

“Oh, that feels wonderful.” A wave of pleasure washed over her from where his mouth worked its magic to the very core of her. Her woman’s place tingled and dampened, causing her to squirm. She fisted her hands in his hair, tugging, urging him on. These were new sensations, feelings similar to what her sisters had described when she’d pestered them to death to reveal the secrets of intimacy. Definitely absent during her encounter with Claremont.

This was pleasant and exciting. Her heart beat faster, her breathing rapid and shallow. She wiggled as her clothes grew restrictive, like they’d grown too small.

As if he’d sensed her thoughts, he tugged the loosened bodice and it drifted to her waist, leaving her in only her stays and chemise. His large hands covered both of her breasts and he studied them, as though he’d encountered something precious. The contrast between his tanned skin and the pale white of hers thrilled her further.

His gaze slowly moved up to her face, his eyes glowing with an inner fire that ignited her own. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her with a gentleness that turned her knees to liquid. Then, as if freed from self-held restraint, he plundered her mouth, sweeping his tongue into the opening, skimming over parts she never knew were sensitive.

So lost in the new sensations, his hand had already moved up her inner thigh and touched the very core of her before she noticed. He used his thumb and index finger to nudge her to open her legs. He began a slow circle with his thumb which moved smoothly over the wetness gathered there. She broke away from his lips just to gather more air into her burning lungs.

“You are so responsive. So wet, so ready,” he murmured before once more suckling her breast, his thumb pressing harder, moving faster. She moaned at the tension gathering where he played at her entrance, now pushing a finger into the opening.

Wrapping her hands around his head she tugged him closer and pressed against his busy fingers. Like a horse racing out of control, she felt herself spiraling toward something wonderful. “Redgrave…”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“I need…”

“I know what you need, darling. Just relax and let go, I am here to catch you.”

She moved her head back and forth, stretching, straining to reach she knew not what, only that it was something she sought. Desperately. Something that only he could give her.

“That’s it, love, let go.” He raised his head from her breast and stared into her eyes. “Let me help you.”

Not sure what he meant, or what he planned to do, she nodded furiously. She searched for whatever it was he could do to end this delicious agony. His head descended and he bit lightly on her nipple, at the same time pressing against her moist flesh with his thumb. She opened her mouth to scream when he covered it with his own, swallowing her cry of joy.

Waves of pleasure washed over her, rippling through her entire body. When it all came to an end, she slumped against him, certain she would never walk again, since her bones had obviously melted.

Resting her head against his chest, she listened to his heart beat as fast as hers, his breaths coming as rapidly. Redgrave withdrew his hand and showered her forehead with kisses. Finally she was able to draw in enough breath to speak. “Goodness,” she gasped, “what was that?”

She felt his smile against her forehead. “That sweetheart, is what every woman deserves when she allows a man to touch her intimately.”

“I never knew.” She lay there for a few minutes enjoying the feel of his arms around her to the point where she almost fell asleep. Then, remembering they were in his carriage and headed to her house, which must be close by, she jolted up. “Oh my goodness.” She tugged up the sleeves of her gown and pulled the bodice into place. Spinning in his lap, she said, “Help me button up.”

Redgrave made quick work of the back of her gown.

“I must look a fright.”

“No, you look fine.” He tucked a curl behind her ear and studied her face. “You look more than fine. You look beautiful and well pleasured.”

“Oh!” She scooted off his lap and settled on the seat across from him. “I should not look that way. A proper young lady does not appear to be well pleasured.” She dropped her head in her hands and moaned. “I hope no one is home to see me.”

The carriage came to a rolling stop, and the door of the carriage opened. She took the footman’s hand and stepped down. Her brows rose when she saw Redgrave follow her out of the carriage.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going with you.”

Her jaw dropped. “No. You’re not going with me. My brother is most likely at home.”

He took her elbow and led her up the stairs. “It is my hope that he is home.”

Mary yanked her arm from him. “Why?” She was stunned at the slight smile that played on his lips.

“I have an appointment with the Duke of Manchester.”

…

Redgrave enjoyed the startled look on Mary’s face. But more than that, he loved the slight flush to her cheeks, the dewy-eyed look she cast him. He felt a certain sense of male satisfaction that he was able to show her how good it could be between a man and a woman. That her experience with Claremont was not the way a woman should be treated.

His blood boiled every time he thought of the man and how he’d handled Mary, leaving her with a sense of horror and fear of the marriage bed.

The front door opened before they had reached the top step. “Good afternoon, my lady.” The butler smiled at her, then turned to Redgrave. “My lord, I believe His Grace is expecting you. If you will step this way.”

Mary looked over her shoulder at him, her brows drawn together. He merely smiled and followed the butler down the corridor. He turned back to see Mary on the steps, peering at him.

Manchester sat behind a large desk, ledger books and papers scattered about. His wife, whose body was swollen with another Manchester heir, sat on a couch near the fireplace, leafing through a heavy book.

“Your Grace.” Redgrave bowed in the duchess’s direction. She looked up at him over the top of her spectacles and smiled. In that moment she went from quite an ordinary woman to a beautiful one. No wonder Manchester was rumored to be besotted with his duchess. She was truly a woman who loved and was loved in return. It was then he noticed a small child asleep at her feet. On the floor.

Her Grace placed her fingers to her lips and shifted in her seat. “He just fell asleep.”

Apparently the rumors were also true that the Duchess of Manchester preferred to deal with her children herself. Redgrave didn’t think he’d ever seen a future duke asleep on the floor. Certainly not before he was old enough to be in his cups.

Manchester rose from his seat and assisted his wife to stand. “I will carry him to the nursery.” He waved at the chair in front of his desk. “Make yourself comfortable, Redgrave. I will return in a few minutes.” He plucked the child from his curled-up position on the floor and placing the child against his chest, he reached out and took hold of his wife’s arm to steady her. She rubbed her lower back as she walked. Or waddled.

Nervous about this visit, Redgrave wandered the library, gazing out the window at the rainy day, scanning the books along the walls. There was an entire section devoted to botany, which served to remind him the duchess was a botanist.

The room was warm enough, the dampness from the day lessened with the low flames in the fireplace. Even with Manchester gone from the room, his presence remained. Redgrave’s memories of the man from more than four years ago when they’d sat in this very room and worked out the marriage contracts between him and Abigail, rose to the surface.

A powerful man, Redgrave was still amazed Manchester had agreed to see him after the disaster of him leaving his sister practically at the altar. But, despite Rumbold’s threat hanging over his head, he had to do this. He owed the man. Not that this was near enough of a redemption, but honor demanded he speak.

He turned swiftly when the door opened and Manchester entered the room. The gentle, warm expression he’d held for his duchess and son was gone. In its place was a visage of steel. This was the man Redgrave knew. Indeed, the entire
ton
knew. A man with whom one did not toy.

Nor with any of his family members.

Manchester nodded at the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”

Prepared to take any sort of insult Manchester chose to hurl at him, Redgrave accepted the order as if they were not peers, and sat. Manchester brought his fingers together and tapped his upper lip. “I am more than happy to beat you to a pulp, but my duchess, whom I respect more than any other person on this earth, asked me to do no such thing. You are a fortunate man.”

“I accept that I am, indeed, fortunate.”

“I will not pretend I have any use for you, Redgrave, but when you stated in your missive this was a matter of great importance, I decided to give you five minutes before I have my butler toss you out on your arse.” Manchester paused, and his eyes flashed. “However, before we begin, if I am not mistaken, you and my sister Lady Mary arrived at the same time. Is there a reason for that coincidence?”

“Yes, Lady Mary accepted a ride from the committee meeting we had both attended.”

Hopefully, that confession would not deprive him of the five minutes the duke had allotted him. When Manchester made no comment, Redgrave continued. “I have heard you are considering, or perhaps have already decided, to throw in with Rumbold on his African diamond mine.”

Manchester sat still as stone, his eyes narrowing, and cold as an ice at Gunter’s. “I have no use for
ton
gossip, and since my financial decisions are none of your concern, I will be happy to escort you out the door.”

“No. Wait.” Redgrave moved to the edge of his chair and took the papers the runner had given him from his jacket pocket. “I have something to show you.”

“It had better be worth my time. You are down to three minutes.”

He spread the papers on the desk and stood. With his hands behind his back and his head down, he paced the room. “There is no love lost between my father-in-law and myself. Consequently, when he came up with this proposal he did not approach me. However, after several of my friends mentioned they were getting into the venture, I hired a Bow Street Runner.”

Instead of studying the papers he’d put on the desk, Manchester sat slumped in his chair, his hand propping up his chin. He made a point of pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time.

“In any event, if you look over the papers I just presented to you, it becomes quite clear that the African diamond mine he intends to purchase with the money from ‘investors’ doesn’t exist.” He stopped and rested his fisted hands on the desk, peering directly into Manchester’s eyes. “He intends to cheat all the investors of their money. There is no mine for sale in that area, and the mine that is there has already been diligently worked, and the owners have no intention of selling.”

The ticking of the longcase clock in the corner was the only sound as Manchester studied him as if he were a bug under glass. “Why? Why did you do it?”

The words, spoken quietly, caught his attention as if it had been shouted from the roof. Redgrave did not pretend to misunderstand Manchester’s question. “I am not at liberty to say.”

All sense of ease left the duke’s body and he sat up straight, his jaw tight, his eyes flashing with anger. “You leave London with Lady Priscilla two weeks before your wedding with my sister, with no explanation, no note, no anything, and you have the audacity to say you are not at liberty to discuss that?”

“Suffice it to say, the circumstances involved in that elopement were beyond my control.”

Manchester snorted and leaned back once more. His position might have been one of relaxation, but Redgrave was not fooled. He felt as though he faced a lion who was about to attack and make him his breakfast.

“Were you kidnapped?”

“No.”

“Knocked unconscious?”

“No.”

This was getting him nowhere. Apparently Manchester had no intention of listening to his proof of the perfidy Rumbold was about to commit until the scandal he had caused Lady Abigail was put to rest.

“Lady Priscilla was with child.”

Manchester made to get up from his chair, and it was obvious from the look on his face that he had chosen to ignore the duchess’s plea to not beat him to a pulp.

“It was not mine,” he growled between gritted teeth. “I had never touched her.”