Mastering the Marquess (28 page)

Meredith panted, closing her eyes, welcoming the velvet darkness as the ripples faded and her racing heart began to slow. A trembling weakness invaded her limbs. She would have collapsed if Silverton hadn't held her up with a big hand splayed across her stomach.

She felt him stand, his hands gliding from her hips to her waist as he carefully supported her. Her lids fluttered up. He gazed at her through narrowed eyes. A look of savage possession turned his handsome features into those of a warrior.

Meredith dropped her head weakly on his chest. “My lord,” she muttered, “you are a very wicked man.”

His lips brushed the top of her head, and then he picked her up as easily as if she were a small child. “I'm glad you think so,” he replied as he carried her across the room to the bed.

Silverton set her carefully on the edge of the mattress. He reached behind and pulled her braid around to rest on her chest. His clever fingers quickly began to unravel the entwined strands of hair. Meredith sat quietly, breathing a sigh of relief as he pulled her locks free of the tight confines of the braid. When her black curls were loose once more, tumbling around her shoulders, he raked his fingers through her hair and gently massaged her scalp. She moaned with pleasure as she leaned against him.

“Don't do that to your hair again,” he ordered in a hard voice.

Meredith nodded in mute agreement.

Apparently satisfied with her appearance, he removed his shirt, never taking his eyes from her body as she sat naked amidst the bed linens. He yanked off his boots and quickly stepped out of his breeches. When he turned fully to her, she could see that he was intensely aroused. Meredith couldn't help trembling with a volatile mixture of trepidation and excitement.

What demons had she unleashed when she had refused his proposal and tried to push him away? No one ever said no to Silverton. She had not only hurt him by refusing his offer of marriage, she knew she had wounded his pride as well.

He climbed onto the bed, pulling her underneath him and crushing her into the mattress. Pushing her legs wide, he came in, plunging hard and deep. She rose up to take all his length inside her, clinging to him with a desperate need to possess him as he possessed her. He thrust in a relentless rhythm that quickly stoked the growing heat inside her womb.

Without warning, Silverton bent and nipped her shoulder, and the sudden flash of pain shot through her body and deep into her sheath, where his thick sex ruthlessly claimed her. She knew he was marking her for his own, and a primitive part of her thrilled to his loss of control and his masculine need to dominate her.

His hands reached under her bottom, tilting her hips so he could drive more heavily into her. Meredith panted with an almost unbearable excitement, her fingers kneading his muscular buttocks as she tried to pull him closer with every hard thrust. She could feel tension building, a fullness in her swollen flesh giving her such intense pleasure that part of her wished it would never come to completion.

But just when she thought she would scream if she didn't soon find her release, Silverton slid his arms more tightly around her and rolled over onto his back. He pushed her up into a sitting position as she found herself straddling his hips. Her mouth fell open in surprise at the unexpected change in position. Meredith froze, not sure what to do next.

Silverton's eyes glittered, and his mouth curled into a purely wicked, utterly male smile. His hands began to roam over her body, stroking her breasts, pinching her nipples, caressing her thighs. His fingers slid down through her drenched curls, teasing her exquisitely sensitive bud, playing with the wet flesh where they were joined.

Meredith's insides melted like hot syrup. Her head dropped back, a moan escaping her lips as she began to undulate against the huge erection piercing her body. Silverton muttered harsh words that she didn't understand, pushing her thighs even wider as he surged beneath her.

Although she was on top of him, seemingly dominant, Meredith felt totally exposed—open and vulnerable to his rampant desire. It excited her beyond anything she had ever experienced before.

Pushing against him, she rose desperately through a building spiral of need, wanting but not able to achieve release. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his mouth, trying to communicate her urgency in a heated kiss. He grasped her head and held it still while he explored the silkiness inside her mouth, probing her hard with his tongue. She whimpered helplessly, overwhelmed by a burning desire to reach a completion only he could give her.

He broke the kiss and nudged her back into a sitting position. “I know, my love,” Silverton panted, his own face marked with a harsh need. “You're almost there.”

Slipping his hand back to the joining of their bodies, he gave one final stroke to her hooded flesh. Then he pressed a finger just inside the rim of her sheath, alongside his own erection.

It was too much. She was too full, and she finally convulsed around him. Meredith twisted the bedclothes in her fists, crying out as a glorious climax raced through her veins, turning her into liquid fire.

As she gave herself over to the heated release, Silverton flexed his hips and drove himself into her one last time, his shoulders coming off the mattress as he surged against her womb. A long, deep groan rose in his throat as his sex pulsated, spilling his seed deep within her.

Meredith collapsed in a heap onto his chest, nestling her face into his throat. His rapid pulse beat against her cheek. He wrapped trembling arms around her body, pulling her securely against him.

Much later, Meredith rested in his arms, listening to the strong, regular beat of his heart. Never had she felt so safe or so loved. But she knew it to be a false security that could never survive the light of day or the cruel regard of his family and friends. She clung to Silverton with all the love and despair she had within her, knowing he was only a temporary refuge against the emotional tempests swirling endlessly in her soul.

Meredith wept silently with the certain sorrow that she would always be alone.

Silverton leaned his shoulders against the oak banister of the central staircase, observing the bustle in the entrance hall of the Abbey as the travelers prepared to depart. Trask was already outside and mounted on his huge dappled gray, impatient, as always, to be on his way. The earl had agreed to escort Meredith and Annabel back to London, and only that fact enabled Silverton to allow them to leave without him.

That, and the armed grooms who would also accompany the carriage on its short journey to the city.

Silverton cursed the reasons that kept him an extra day in Kent, but he could no longer delay the impending confrontation with his mother. After that, however, he wouldn't rest until he had run Isaac and Jacob Burnley to ground.

In the meantime, he had to stand by and watch the woman he loved—a woman in danger—ride away from him. The possessive part of his nature howled in his ear to keep Meredith by his side. He had both right and obligation to protect her, and he resented ceding those rights to others, even for one day. Fortunately, Trask was more than a match for any dangers they might face on the road, and the actual risk of anything happening, Silverton believed, was slight. He doubted Isaac Burnley would try to hurt Annabel again, especially since he must have realized by now that his first attempt had failed. Still, Silverton had no intention of taking any chances.

He glanced up as Robert dashed by him, directing one of the servants on the correct placement of Annabel's numerous bandboxes. The boy's enthusiasm, and his concern for his fiancée's well-being, brought a reluctant smile to Silverton's lips. His cousin had changed a great deal since his engagement to Annabel, seeming to grow into a man almost overnight.

Of course, Silverton thought with more than a touch of bitter irony, he too was a changed man since falling in love with Meredith. And if he didn't take care, she would likely drive him barking mad as he struggled to understand why she had changed her mind once again.

He glanced over at Meredith, who stood by her sister, tightlipped and as still as a marble statue. Her demeanor was in marked contrast to that of Annabel and Sophia, who chatted and laughed merrily with each other. Silverton studied her carefully as she stared down at the patterns in the ironstone floor, deep in thought and oblivious to the cheerful chaos that swirled around her.

And, apparently, oblivious to him.

He tried to suppress a growing sense of exasperation. What a fool he had been to think he could impose his will on her, sexual or otherwise. Meredith had responded to him last night with a desperate ardor, but he realized now that her passionate response was more akin to a farewell than to a capitulation.

“We're ready to go!”

Robert's cheerful call from the open doorway jogged Silverton from his frustrated musings. Meredith also started, her eyes flying over to meet his before darting away again. She followed Annabel and Sophia outside, waiting silently for Robert to hand the two girls into the traveling coach.

As Silverton came up behind her, he saw Meredith draw in a tremulous breath as she turned to offer him a gloved hand. She refused to look at him.

“Good-bye, my lord. We are most grateful for everything you have done for us. Please extend my gratitude to your mother for her hospitality.”

He held fast when she tried to pull away, forcing her to raise her eyes to his face. One look in the anguished depths told Silverton everything he needed to know.

“I'll follow you up to London tomorrow,” he said quietly, so the others wouldn't hear. “We'll talk then about what is troubling you.”

She tugged again, but he refused to let go. He turned over her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing a gentle kiss on the exposed skin above her glove. Meredith closed her eyes, her mouth trembling. Relief washed through him at this small display of emotional vulnerability. For the first time all morning, Silverton breathed more freely.

“Don't worry, love.” He bent his head to murmur in her ear as he escorted her to the steps of the carriage. “All will be well.”

She shook her head but managed to give him a smile even though her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Silverton had to repress the urge to sweep her into his arms, carry her to his bedroom, and love her until she knew beyond all doubt that she belonged to him—irrevocably and forever.

The time for that would come soon enough, he vowed to himself, as soon as he whipped any and all interfering relatives back into line.

The door to the carriage slammed shut. Robert, Annabel, and Sophia waved their good-byes, and the vehicle moved forward.

“I'll see you in London,” Trask called as he cantered by, followed closely by the armed grooms.

Silverton raised his hand and watched the carriage until it disappeared down the long drive, rolling quickly into the dense woods flanking the estate. He then spun on his heel and strode through the massive oak doors into the house. As he moved past his butler, Deacon, he barked a question over his shoulder.

“Has Lady Silverton left her room yet?”

“No, my lord. The maid has just brought her ladyship her morning chocolate,” Deacon replied. His barely arched eyebrows indicated disbelief that his master could even ask such a question.

“Well, then, I suppose she'll be in for a surprise,” Silverton retorted as stalked to the stairs that led to his mother's apartments.

 

 

Meredith counted the chimes of the clock out in the hallway. Only nine o'clock, but already the evening seemed endless. She blinked repeatedly, her eyes gritty from an annoying combination of repressed tears and lack of sleep.

The departure from Kent yesterday had depressed her more than she thought possible. She had struggled not to cry when Silverton kissed her wrist before handing her into the carriage. That simple gesture had almost broken her resolve as she struggled against a terrible desire to surrender to his masculine protectiveness.

Luckily, she had managed to restrain the impulse. Meredith bleakly congratulated herself on her willpower in the face of such overwhelming temptation.

What had taken almost as much discipline, though, was containing her frustration with her lighthearted companions on the trip back to London. Robert's spirits, in particular, were so ebullient that Meredith had wanted to box his ears. Only Annabel had noticed her grim silence, casting numerous worried glances her way. Fortunately, her sister had been sensible enough to leave her alone, both yesterday and today. Meredith couldn't bear to talk about Silverton and had avoided mentioning his name as much as possible.

She sighed, pushing away the bills that had accumulated on her desk during their trip to the country. The numbers seemed to swim before her eyes, and she knew it was pointless to do any more work until she got some sleep.

Sleep, Meredith thought gloomily, was not likely to occur anytime soon.

She jumped in her seat when a firm knock sounded on the door of their townhouse. Silverton, no doubt, finally coming to call. Meredith had been expecting him all day with an exhausting combination of breathless anticipation and crushing dread. Rising from her desk, she scrubbed her suddenly damp palms with her handkerchief. She shook the skirts of her light cambric gown and quickly checked her reflection in the mirror that hung over the fireplace.

A quiet tap sounded on the door of her study. Meredith had to clear her throat twice before she could bid the footman to enter.

“Lord Silverton begs leave to see you, Miss Burnley,” Peter said as he bowed her visitor into the room.

“Thank you, Peter,” she replied, inwardly cursing the slight tremor in her voice.

The door shut. She stood awkwardly by her desk, too nervous to move forward and greet him. Silverton did not move from his position by the door. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and carefully studied her through narrowed eyes. His stance did nothing to assuage her anxiety.

His face was inscrutable, almost grim, she thought. As he allowed the silence between them to lengthen, Meredith fought the urge to shift under his gaze like a disobedient child—and not just because he observed her with such a critical eye.

He was dressed in severe but elegantly cut evening attire, the stark black coat hugging his broad shoulders and emphasizing the athletic strength of his physique. Silverton was so handsome, so powerfully
male
, that Meredith felt dizzy just looking at him. She wondered, not for the first time, how he had managed to evade the marital machinations of so many determined debutants. It seemed impossible that he had waited so many years before choosing a wife, before choosing
her
.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Meredith dropped a proper little curtsy. “Good evening, my lord. I have been expecting your call.”

Silverton smothered a curse, closing the space between them so quickly that she gasped. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into his arms.

“Meredith,” he growled, “don't be such a goose.”

His mouth covered hers in a kiss so consuming that her legs nearly gave out beneath her. For a long moment she felt herself melting into his rough embrace, her treacherous body now so obviously conditioned to respond to his touch. But then she fought her instincts, dragging her mouth from his to pull away.

“Please, my lord! You mustn't do that anymore.”

Silverton muttered some more curses under his breath, but he didn't try to hold on to her.

“Meredith, you try my patience exceedingly.” He took a deep breath, his broad chest expanding as he clearly struggled to control himself. Taking her hand in a gentle clasp, he led her over to a chair by the fireplace.

“All right, my love. You may tell me, once again, why you cannot marry me, and I will tell you, once again, why you can.”

In spite of her aching heart, Meredith almost laughed at the aggrieved tones of aristocratic exasperation in his voice. She knew it still astonished him that anyone dared to defy him, especially the woman he chose to be his bride.

Rather than sitting, Silverton planted himself firmly before her, arms crossed over his chest, legs apart in a dominating stance. Apparently, he intended to be difficult.

“You know I cannot marry you,” Meredith began, deciding a firm and direct approach would be best.

“I know nothing of the sort.”

“My lord, surely you comprehend the many obstacles to our marriage! Your mother's objections, for instance . . .” Silverton rolled his eyes to the ceiling. She bit her lip. “Your uncle, General Stanton, will also object to—”

“No, he won't,” he interrupted. “My uncle has come to greatly admire you. And you know that Aunt Georgina cares for you as much as she does for Annabel.”

“Be that as it may,” Meredith forged on before he could say anything else, “you are more aware than anyone of the many responsibilities of the Marchioness of Silverton. I'm not suited to fulfill that role, and there is little doubt in my mind that most of your friends and family would agree.”

He glowered at her. “You are perfectly capable of being an excellent marchioness. I have seen ample evidence of that.”

“The issue is not whether I
am
capable of being the marchioness,” she persisted, resisting the urge to clench her teeth, “but whether I
can
do it. Do you understand the difference?”

“No. And I don't think you do, either. Besides, you would not just be the marchioness. You would be my wife. Did we not agree we both want that?”

Meredith's temper began to shred at his refusal to listen to her. “It's simply impossible! Why can't you see that?” Jumping up from her seat, she paced to the window and back. She felt light-headed with agitation and fatigue, and furious with him for being so obstinate.

Silverton, on the other hand, now seemed to be in complete control of his emotions, watching her with an impassive expression on his face. That angered her even more. Her heart pounded so hard she feared it would leap from her chest.

“You just don't want to understand!” she flung at him. “I have tried to explain this already. Marriage for us would be disastrous. We are too different—our lives are too different.
This
is where you belong.
This
is what is right for you. London, the ton, and all the rest of it.”

She stopped pacing to fling her arms out wide, as if to encompass the entire city and his life there. “All this is your world, not mine. It is what you want. You are respected and admired by those who belong here. You are one of them.”

Meredith swallowed around the painful constriction in her throat. Her words tasted like ashes. “I don't belong in London—in your world—and you know it. Unlike you, I don't want it. You shouldn't make me have to explain it,” she exclaimed bitterly. “You know perfectly well what a failure my Season has been.”

Silverton frowned and shook his head at her.

At his disapproving gesture, something inside of her snapped. She was so tired of others, even him, telling her how she should feel. Suddenly, it all poured out of her, like a spring torrent breaching a riverbank. Her anger, her resentment. Her amazed disappointment in so many of the people she had met. Her fruitless struggle to understand the opaque world he lived in, until she hardly knew who she was anymore.

She paced back and forth across the study, holding nothing back, telling him everything she had thought and felt these last few months. How she hated the ton, how much the whispers, the cutting glances, the cruel laughs wounded her spirit. How she felt as if she were always being measured to some invisible standard. How her failure to meet that standard created anxieties she hadn't even known existed until coming to London.