You Can't Always Get the Marquess You Want (36 page)

It was her name he roared as his tempo became more frenzied, and then he delivered one final thrust so deep, she was pinned to the floor as his seed burst out of him, filling her with thick steady pulses.

With their skin slick with sweat and her muscles trembling from the carnal onslaught, she had never felt so complete or powerful as in that singular moment.

She wished she and Chance could stay like this forever.

“No regrets?” he murmured lazily against her shoulder.

“Not at all.” She sighed. “You?”

His labored breathing teased her neck. “Just one.”

She stiffened, but he merely chuckled. He kissed her shoulder and gently withdrew his softening manhood from her sheath. His fingers teased and parted the womanly folds that were wet with her arousal and his seed. She gasped when he unerringly found the sensitive knot of flesh hidden within.

“I never got around to undressing you properly.” Chance picked her up and carried her to the bed. “Don't worry, darling. You will enjoy how I make it up to you.”

Completely enthralled with each other, neither Chance nor Tempest thought about their families or the difficulties that would be waiting for them when they returned to London.

 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“My father will kill you.”

His new bride's lack of faith in his abilities should have annoyed him, but the dark bruise on her cheek was a vivid reminder that Lord Norgrave was capable of violence. “You will not be wearing widow weeds, Lady Fairlamb. Your father might try to contest our marriage, but I assure you that our marriage is quite legal, not to mention fully and most pleasurably consummated. You are my wife in every way possible. He cannot take you away from me.”

Tempest was too worried to be distracted by his gentle teasing. “Why are you convinced that my father will accept our marriage, when your own family is still struggling with it?”

Mathias leaned forward, prepared to refute her claims until his automatic defense of his family was overruled by the unpleasant reality of their situation. He sat back and rubbed the ache in his chest. “An excellent point.”

His family's reaction to Tempest and their recent marriage had divided his loyalties. In his life, there had never been a moment when he was not secure in his father and mother's love and support. It infuriated and hurt him to learn that they were a lie. Their love did have conditions. They wanted him to sever his ties to Tempest.

Never.

“My father is blinded by the past. Whatever your father has done, my father seems incapable of forgiving him.” Mathias sat back in the chair and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Has your father ever mentioned what happened between him and Blackbern?”

“Never.” She crossed her arms and hugged her chest. “My mother never speaks of it either. Chance, you may have to accept that neither family may acknowledge our marriage or our children. Do you still wish to remain married to me?”

He leaned over and kissed her pouting lips. “Yes.”

Tempest started at the soft knock at the door. She and Mathias stood, and she looked so frightened by the prospect of facing her father that he wanted to punch him for hurting her. However, fighting his new father-in-law was not part of the plan. He needed an ally if he and Tempest hoped to end the feud between their families.

“Enter,” Mathias called out, and the butler opened the door.

“Milord, you and Lady Fairlamb have a visitor. Lord Norgrave. He claims to be your wife's father.”

“Show him in.”

“Very good, milord.” The butler bowed and left. A few minutes later, he returned with their first guest.

He reached for Tempest's hand and threaded his fingers through hers to remind her that she was not alone. Her skin was cool to the touch as she visibly struggled to remain calm. “Remember, love, you are my marchioness. He cannot force you to leave with him.”

She shut her eyes and shuddered. “I know,” she whispered, her eyelids lifting at the soft click of the door.

“Lord Fairlamb, may I present Lord Norgrave.” The butler backed out of the library and shut the doors.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

Tempest made no effort to embrace or acknowledge her father. Mathias understood her wariness, so it was up to him to make the first move. He released his wife's hand and stepped forward, as he inclined his head. “Lord Norgrave, we have not been properly introduced. I am—”

“I know who you are, Fairlamb,” the marquess said, his light blue gaze conveying both intelligence and confidence. “I must admit that I was curious about the gentleman who kidnapped my daughter.”

“It was hardly a kidnapping, Lord Norgrave,” Mathias said, silently inviting her father to sit. “It took a little time to secure the special license to marry your daughter. Once I had it, I saw no reason to delay our marriage.”

He walked over to a cabinet and opened the doors to reveal several decanters. “Brandy?”

“Yes, I wouldn't mind a glass. The occasion calls for it, do you not agree, Daughter?” the marquess asked, his gaze fixed on Mathias as he poured brandy into one of the glasses.

Tempest stared at her father. “Do not pour one for me, Chance.”

“No celebratory toast, Tempest?” Norgrave lightly mocked while his daughter became more stone-faced by the minute. “You have my sympathies, my good man.”

“Chance is my husband, Papa. This is his house. You will speak to him with respect or you may leave,” she said, her delicate shoulders shaking with anger.

“Tempest, darling, I was the one who invited him,” Mathias said, giving her a silent warning that baiting him would not gain the old rogue's cooperation. “Your father and I have a few things to discuss. If you would prefer to go upstairs, I think we both would understand.” He handed the marquess his glass of brandy.

Lord Norgrave sniffed it before he took a sip. Satisfied that he was not being offered inferior spirits, he took a healthy swallow. He nodded. “Fairlamb is right, Tempest,” her father drawled. “Give me a little time to talk to your husband, and then we can leave.”

“I am not going anywhere with you,” she said, decisively walking to Mathias's side and touching his arm. “You chose Lord Warrilow; however, Chance is my choice. And now he is my husband.”

“Still mad at me for cuffing you for your disobedience, I see.” The marquess sighed. “I had good reason and the right to reprimand you, Daughter. However, the mark on your cheek offends me, so I offer my sincerest apologies for hurting you.”

Tempest nodded, seemingly surprised by her father's remorse. “I think I will take my tea in the drawing room.”

Mathias waited until she left the library before he sat down. Over the years, inherent curiosity had prompted him to observe Norgrave at a distance, but he had never spoken to him. They drank in companionable silence as each studied the other.

Finally, Norgrave said, “Your invitation was unexpected. It arrived while I was deliberating with my son about whether or not he should challenge you.”

“Did you come to an agreement?” Mathias asked. He took a sip of his brandy, not particularly concerned about Marcroft.

“I am certain you are aware that Croft has been eager to put a bullet in your chest for some time,” he said casually, his light blue eyes assessing his opponent.

“He may try, but I would regret shooting family.” What Mathias didn't add was that he would make an exception for Marcroft.

“Ah, family,” Norgrave said, savoring the word on his lips. “And where do your loyalties lie, Fairlamb? Your father? Your mother? Your lovely bride?”

“All three deserve my allegiance, Lord Norgrave,” he replied, suspecting that Tempest's father was playing word games with him.

“And your mother and father … they approve of this marriage?” he politely inquired.

Mathias tried not to choke on his brandy. “My family was surprised by my haste to claim my bride. Also hurt that I would marry without them at my side.”

The pain in his mother's eyes still made him feel guilty. Mathias noticed his father-in-law's glass was empty, so he stood and walked over to the cabinet to retrieve the bottle. He removed the stopper and refilled the man's glass.

“And why did you do that?” He elaborated at Mathias's questioning glance. “Choose to hurt your family when it was within your power not to by simply declaring your intentions.”

The older man had forced Mathias's hand and he knew it. Not only had Norgrave struck Tempest in anger, but there was also a risk that he might force her to marry Warrilow. “You know why.”

“Aye, I do.” Norgrave cocked his head to the side. “The real question is, do you?”

Mathias placed the bottle next to the marquess's glass of brandy. “No more games, Lord Norgrave. If you have something to say to me, be forthright about it.”

Approval gleamed in the other man's eyes. “Very well. I want you to encourage Tempest to return home with me. In the morning, you will return to Doctors' Commons and put into motion a request for an annulment.”

He snorted. “Impossible. Your daughter is my wife in every way.”

Norgrave tipped his head back and laughed. “I'll wager she was yours in all ways before you secured that special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury.” He raised his hand to silence Mathias's need to defend himself and Tempest. “Although he prefers to deny it, your father and I have known each other since we were boys. We discovered and shared women, and my instincts tell me that you are very much your father's son.”

It was a fact he could not deny. “Bait me all you like, Norgrave. I am not seeking an annulment. Tempest is mine.”

“It heartens me to see that my daughter has found a man strong enough to love and defend her, even to her father. Under different circumstances, I might have given her to you without demanding a price.”

“What circumstances? The old feud with my father?” Mathias braced his palms on his knees and leaned forward. “Tempest loves you. I do not want to keep her from you and Lady Norgrave. There does not have to be animosity between us. You are dealing with me, not my father.”

A flicker of admiration lit the gentleman's light blue eyes and then it faded. “Regrettably, there is just one problem.”

The hairs on the back of Mathias's neck bristled in warning. “You are just like my father,” he spit, disappointment rising within him. “You cannot let go of the past.”

“Not quite, Fairlamb,” he said, his forefinger tapping the edge of his glass. “The past won't let go of us. There is a reason why Blackbern and his beautiful duchess have kept you and their children away from me and my family. Blackbern knows the truth.”

“What truth?” he pressed.

“You are
my
son, not his,” he said succinctly.

His field of vision narrowed at the marquess's declaration. Mathias sat down in the nearest chair and glared at his companion. “I am impressed,” Mathias said, a harsh laugh escaping his lips to dispel the ugliness of Lord Norgrave's words. “Never have I heard a more brilliant and abhorrent reason to separate a wife from her husband. I congratulate you on your inventiveness, my lord.”

The hint of pity in the older gentleman's eyes seemed genuine. “I cannot take credit for speaking the truth, Fairlamb.”

“No.” Mathias gripped both armrests to keep himself from slamming his fist into Norgrave's arrogant jaw. “I do not believe you.”

Lord Norgrave idly stroked the scar on his cheek. “It appears Blackbern has not been honest about his debauched past and it is up to me to enlighten you. Perhaps it is fitting since you are my—”

Mathias pounded his fist against the armrest. “I will not be accountable for my actions if you finish that statement.”

The marquess's eyelids narrowed at the promise of violence, but he possessed enough common sense to retreat. “Now where was I in my tale? Ah, yes, Blackbern. In his misspent youth, my friend bedded any female that caught his eye. We often placed wagers about which one of us would fuck the wench first. It mattered little who won, Blackbern and I just enjoyed the game. Our friendship had few boundaries. It was not unusual for us to share women.”

Mathias thought of his mother, and his mind blanked. His father wasn't a saint, but he was not the man Norgrave was describing. He would never have shared Mathias's mother with this man.

“Did my father grow tired of your guile? Is that the reason why he cut his losses with you? I have not spent an hour in your company, and already I am bored with your lies,” was his soft reply. “And everything you have said is a lie. My father loves my mother.”

A wistful smile played across his generous mouth. “Yes.”

Mathias stood and glared at the marquess. “The Duke of Blackbern is my father, you wily bastard. My mother would never have allowed you to touch her—”

Norgrave jumped to his feet so they stood face-to face. He realized they were the same height. Appalled at the direction of his thoughts, he stalked away from the man before he did punch him in his deceitful mouth.

“Oh, I did touch your mother, Fairlamb,” the marquess said, circling around Mathias. “It was a night I will never forget. Imogene was so achingly beautiful.” His eyelids lowered and his light blue eyes became unfocused as he recalled the past. “So eager for my touch. I can understand that a son does not wish to view his mother in such a carnal fashion, but you have demanded that I speak the truth. Your mother could not decide which one of us she desired most, so she gave herself to both of us. Even though Blackbern was my best and dearest friend, I could not refuse Imogene. Our passion could not be denied, nor do I regret it. Neither one of us considered the possibility of my seed taking root within her womb that night. When I found out that she was with child, I was prepared to marry her. Blackbern was also in love with her and determined to have her. We fought over her, and he gave me this scar. It is a constant reminder of what I lost when your mother chose him over me.”