The Dangerous Love of a Rogue (22 page)

She was as clean and white as snow within.

But she was not innocent now. He had cut the first footprint, and he would keep walking with her, and cut the last too.

If the sensations within him were love, then love was possessive, and all consuming.

Her dark eyelashes flickered against her pale skin as her eyes moved beneath her eyelids, as if she was dreaming.

She had cried when they came upstairs after dinner. She missed her family. He’d feared she’d changed her mind when it was too late for that, but she had kissed him with all of herself still, and made love to him with every part of her being.

He had never known anyone do that before.

He did not wish to lose her. But the storm was coming. Soon.

Her father and brother would come. He knew they would. Then would come Mary’s trial. He felt as though she still loved her family more. He wished for all of her to be his. Jealousy roared inside him.

He had sought to charm her with his body – to win her back, to hold on to her. The candle flickered one last time, then went out. The room was entirely dark, but he could still feel her breath on his skin, and imagine her face.

He was afraid that her father and Pembroke would turn her against him.

Now that he had this, her, he could not bear to lose her.

She would have to marry him, there was no doubt of that, but he did not want a hollow heartless marriage. He wished for a love match. A true love match. She could give him that, teach him how to live like that. Life would become the two of them together against the world, he would be her defender and she his…and this evening… when she had her second night with him to look forward to… she had cried for want of her family. He had been unable to dwell on what it meant. Yet he feared it had meant that despite leaving with him she still thought more of them.

He wanted her now.

He needed her now.

He only had hours to win her soul and keep it.
Please, Lord let her lean towards me for comfort and protection. Let me be who she cries her tears for…

His hand reached out and touched her hip, then slid up her side and down again. Her skin was like silk.

He wished to be inside her, to claim her; to calm the fear in his head, and appease the possessiveness in his soul… He did not know how to be what she needed. He was terrified of failing her – of her rejection. Of failing himself. How could he win against the affection of her family, if she still cried for them, now?

She moved beneath his hand, rolling to her back. He gripped her breast, rose up and leant to kiss her shoulder.

This was all he knew, he knew how to please her in a bed, let that be enough… Let his physical love wrap around her heart and form a wall that would hold against her father and her brother when they came.

Chapter 14

Andrew had made love to her three more times through the night. The second time, like the first, had been rough and vigorous. She’d woken up as he’d touched her, arousing her, then he’d moved over her as she’d lain on her stomach, her fingers and toes gripping the sheet.

The third time, he’d pulled her over him, and moved her legs up so she’d knelt then bid her to rise up and lower over him. She’d felt uncomfortable and exposed, but then she’d fallen into ecstasy and forgotten her pride, her body hot and fluid like lava.

The fourth time she’d felt like an earthly Goddess half awake and half asleep as the first light of dawn had flooded the room. He’d made love to her with his lips, tongue and teeth, until she was panting and fighting to catch a breath, begging him to come into her. Then he’d settled between her thighs and ridden her deeply and slowly rocking into her with an adoration that made her mindless.

It was as if he wished to teach her everything about physical pleasure in one night.

She smiled when she woke again, blissfully happy, her muscles trembling from a night of adoration, ashes glowing warm beneath her skin.

His thigh lay over her legs, weighting her down and his broad palm rested on her stomach as she lay amidst tangled sheets.

The air was heavy with the scents of their bodies.

Shouts ran from the courtyard outside, urgent, angry masculine voices, along with a clatter of horseshoes.

Mary slid from Andrew’s embrace and began sleepily gathering up her underwear and dressing as the commotion outside grew in intensity. People shouted.

Clothed in her drawers and chemise Mary turned to the window, but now the sound of the commotion came from within the inn, as heavy strides struck the stair-boards, reverberating through the internal walls.

Andrew woke stretching as the aggressive, hurrying, strides drew nearer. Then he sat up, no longer languid, and looked to the door then at her. He smiled but it was not his normal smile, it looked odd. It was like the smile tried to speak to her, it looked uncertain, and his eyes said something she could not read. Something she had never seen there before.

The footsteps stopped outside their door and someone banged a fist against it, making the wood jolt against the lock. “Mary!”

“Papa,” she whispered towards Andrew, rushing to grab her clothes. Andrew’s expression immediately changed, it became the expression of the man she had first met in London, the man of the ballrooms. The defiant rogue. “Andrew.” She wished for him to get up.

The door jolted at another strike. “Framlington! I know you are here! Open this door!”

Mary feared the door would break as she clutched her clothes to her chest, her fingers shaking and her stomach nauseous with fear.

“A moment, Papa!” Mary shouted, as Andrew rose.

He was in his stupid arrogant mood; his movement was languid, again, and his lips twisted in a roguish smile, as if he did not care that they had been caught like this. But he did care; she had glimpsed the defiance in his eyes as he’d risen. It denied that he cared, and the fact he needed to deny it proved he did. What could be seen of Andrew never seemed to be what lay beneath. Yet this was not the moment for his roguery, or his devil to rebel.

“Let me in!” Her father roared.

Mary had never heard him sound so angry.

Her heart pounded as Andrew crossed the room and collected his shirt, then slid it over his head as her father hit the door again.

“Open up!”

Andrew walked to the door, wearing only his shirt, which hung open across his chest, without even looking back at her.

He would not open the door until he’d dressed… He—

He turned the key in the lock…

The door flew open and bounced back against the wall as Andrew stepped out of the way.

The air left her lungs as she stood motionless holding her clothes against her.

Her father’s fist was already raised and he struck Andrew’s jaw with a swift hard punch. Andrew stumbled back against the wall but he did not fall.

“Papa!” Dropping her clothes Mary ran across the room, to stop them fighting.

Her father’s gaze did not even acknowledge her. “I will kill you!” he growled at Andrew. She moved between them.

She had never seen her father like this. “Please, Papa…”

He looked at her…His eyes accusing… “Why would you do this? You have hurt your mother! Do you know how terrified we were to find you gone?”

“Sorry.” The word leaked from her throat on a torrent of pain.

“Mary?” John stood at the open door. His fingers curled to fists.

“Don’t hurt him,” Mary begged looking back at her father. “I love him, Papa.”

“You love him?” Mary’s father growled. “You fool, Mary!” Contempt and condemnation burned in his voice. “He’s charmed you.”

Drew looked at Mary without lifting his weight off the wall.
Hold by me.
He said it with his eyes, but she did not see, she was glaring at her father. Relief gripped in Drew’s chest regardless, she was taking his side.

Marlow looked at Mary.

Drew had not expected her father to catch them for another day, but his timing was perfect; to arrive when they’d been in bed made the situation absolutely clear.

Mary caught hold of Drew’s arm and pulled him away from the wall, then wrapped her arms about him as she stood at his side, in only her underwear, defending him.

Her hair brushed his chest, catching on his open shirt, as her chin tilted upward. “He loves me, too, Papa.”

It was surely true, he’d lived under her spell for two days; he did not wish it broken.

Her father’s sharp slate coloured eyes looked his accusation and judged Drew wicked.

Marlow had a hard edge when he wished to reveal it. But Drew was not cowed. He smiled in condemnation, pride burning like fire in his chest.

Mary had stood with him. Against them.

Her family could go to hell.

Marlow’s fist lifted as though he would strike again.

“Papa, it is not his fault.” Mary moved in front of Drew, acting like a shield.

“Whose fault is this then? Yours?” Marlow growled at her. “Who approached who? Was this elopement your idea? You love him because he wants you to love him! He’s been playing with you! You’ve been seduced! You’re innocent and he’s manipulated your lack of understanding!” Marlow gripped Mary’s wrist, to pull her away.

She pulled it free and turned to cling to Drew.

Marlow’s palm hit Drew’s shoulder with a hard shove.

The force knocked Drew back against the wall and Mary fell with him. Drew’s arms surrounded her and held steady. “How can you know? Have you ever spoken to me? You cannot know!” Drew spat the words at Marlow. He spoke lies. Marlow was wrong.

“I know you,” Pembroke stated from behind his father, his silver eyes so like Mary’s but without the softness, flashing blue fire. “I’ve seen you manipulate women. You are selfish and greedy! You bastard!”

The insult hit. It was the one insult that always hit, because it was true. Drew’s hands fisted, but he did not strike out.

Pembroke did.

Drew pushed Mary out of the way. Pembroke’s fist hit Drew’s jaw.

His mouth filled with bitter blood.

Mary screamed and her father shouted.

Then Drew was slammed against the wall and Marlow’s hand was at his neck. Marlow thrust a sharp punch to the side of his lower back. The air rushed from Drew’s lungs. Her father threw another vicious punch.

Something snapped in Drew’s side and a sudden lancing, excruciating pain had him bending forward and fighting to breathe.

“Stop!” Mary yelled.

Marlow let Drew go and stepped back, breathing hard.

Drew doubled over, falling on to his hands and knees. He spat the blood out of his mouth.

They would not have killed him. That would have left Mary in an impossible position; unmarried and possibly with child. He’d planned their flight as it was for a reason.

Getting control of his breathing and ignoring the pain which roared like a demon, Drew stood, one hand clutching his side, the other wiping the blood from his mouth onto the sleeve of his loose open shirt.

He glared at Marlow.

They had an audience in the hall now too, he saw faces looking in to watch and as Drew only wore a shirt the reason for this argument shouted itself from the room.

Pembroke slammed the door shut as Mary wrapped her arms around Drew. “We are to be married.”

“But I see he could not wait until then.” Her father accused glaring at Drew’s nudity.

Drew smiled, disparaging her father’s ill-judgement.

But then he felt Mary’s tears against his chest. He had known there would be a fight for her ownership, yet he had not wished her upset by it. He was a naïve fool when it came to love – more naive than she was in other things, he had not considered what this scene would mean to her.

“Do you really think he intends taking you to Gretna?” Marlow snarled at Mary his gaze challenging her.

“He is.” Her chin lifted, tears still streaking her cheeks as her hair brushed against his chest.

“He is not taking you to Gretna Green.” Her brother responded in a bitter pitch. “He does not even have the money to get you there. The duns were at his apartment when we called there, they’d heard he’d disappeared.”

“He is!”

Bless her, Mary still believed.

“He is not,” her father said, his pitch falling, deflated. “Mary, listen to us, if he wished to reach Gretna and not be found, why are you still here at nearly eleven?” He withdrew Drew’s card from his pocket and threw it so it spiralled to the floor at Mary’s bare feet. “And why would he leave his calling card at the last inn and ensure you were noticed at every toll gate. He asked the last gatekeeper to recommend this inn so we would know where you were. He’s been leaving a trail, he wanted us to follow. He cannot afford to keep you. He does not even have enough money to elope with you, he cannot have the funds to reach the border. He wants me to pay for your wedding, and simply wishes to obtain the funds he seeks.” He said the last on a sigh.

Drew straightened denying the sharp pain in his side, preventing him from breathing deeply. “Being without funds is no crime.”

Marlow and Pembroke ignored him.

“Mary, he does not love you. He loves the wealth you will bring him.” Her brother said. “He’s used you.”

Her hair swayed against Drew’s chest catching on his open shirt, again, as she shook her head, but her confidence was failing, Drew felt it slipping away as she clung to him less aggressively.

She was like the hemp rope in a tug of war, they were pulling but Drew had a hold and he was not letting go. They could not pull her free anyway now, not fully, she had to become his wife.

“But it is pointless us arguing now. It is too late.” Marlow looked at the tangled covers on the bed. “You have made your choice.”

“He does love me,” Mary stated in trembling defiance.

Her brother laughed, and the sound caught like a fist in Drew’s gut. He hated Pembroke.

“I doubt he knows how to love,” Pembroke mocked. “But he knows how to lie. I know how men like him work. He’s no good, he asked Kate to bed him, the same night he danced with you last season…”

Damn Pembroke…
Drew could not deny that. But Pembroke had cuckolded husbands too, he could hardly talk.