The Dangerous Love of a Rogue (23 page)

Mary’s arms fell and she stepped away.

The pain in Drew’s side sharpened for an instant, but another, different sought of pain, bit into his chest.

If Mary loved him, she ought to trust him… She should not judge him.

She looked at her brother, her arms limp at her sides. Then she looked at Drew. “Is that true?” Her voice held her confusion… her fear.

“It is true. Yet…” What? He would not explain before her brother and her father.
“
It occurred over a year ago. It meant nothing.”

She turned away.

The devil take it
… He would not demean himself and beg for her understanding.
Mary!

Pembroke glared at Drew. “It would serve you well if I withheld her dowry. But I cannot leave her in poverty, which I presume you guessed.” Pembroke looked at Mary. “That is why he’s bedded you, to make sure we have no choice but to agree the match and pay him your dowry.”

Mary’s body was stiff, as she listened to Pembroke.

Pembroke came nearer and touched her arm. “Mary, you cannot trust him. I’m sure he’s seduced you with kisses and words of love, but they are false. I’m sorry.”

Drew’s muscles stiffened. He wished to hit Pembroke, but there was no point in that, Marlow would join in and the two of them would knock him down. Yet, Mary was listening.

Damn her, why was she listening to this? She should be loyal to him! Drew’s instinct was to reach out and grip her hand, to cling to her, but it would make him look weak before her.

“Mary, he chose you, because you were innocent, easily moulded and deceived. I warned you…”

She leant against her brother, seeking Pembroke’s comfort and Pembroke’s hold.

Mary! They are wrong. You know they are wrong!
Drew closed his mouth on the words as a bitter anger flooded him. He wished to grab her back and shake her. But he had pride.

Her rejection stung even more as she sobbed against Pembroke’s shoulder.

Drew turned away to pick up his underwear from the floor.

The pain in his side burned as he slipped them on. Already there was a dark red, almost black, bruise staining his side.

He looked at Marlow as he picked up his trousers and pulled them on. “You will want to obtain a special licence, or perhaps you’d prefer to wait for the bans and have a public wedding so that society believes this was not clandestine.” He picked up his boots without looking at Mary, his eyes still on Marlow’s expression which said, I’d like to kill you. “I’m sure you wish to protect her reputation. But remember a child may arrive early if we wait for the bans to be read.” Drew punched them with his words; as they had punched him.

Marlow glared. But he had no choice.

“A license or bans,” Drew stated in a mocking pitch as he sat to pull on his stockings and boots, “they are your choices.”
Fuck them and their lies.

“Choice?” Marlow growled. “She has no choice, you took that from her.”

Drew could say,
I love her
. He could promise he’d protect and care for her. He did not. Why should he make promises to a man who’d no respect for him? Let Marlow sweat. Let him fear for his child. Let him believe what he liked.

Drew stood and tucked in his shirt.

“What do you wish for?” Marlow looked at Mary.

Drew looked at her too, as he picked up his waistcoat. Her pale gaze struck his as if she looked at a stranger. There was doubt in her eyes not love.

A sour taste filled his mouth. He was even more convinced he loved her, because his need for her was mindless. He wanted to be everything to her. She was all to him.

Anger and jealousy twisted inside him as his soul screamed out.
None of what they said is true! You ought to know that!
But he would not vocalise it still. He had never pleaded to anyone in his life, for anything. But God her rejection kicked.

Drew looked away and buttoned his waistcoat.

“Obtain a special licence, Papa.”

“I’ll hire a carriage here. A groom can drive your rig back, Framlington. I want you where I can see you. I will send up a maid to help you dress, Mary.” Marlow left.

Drew picked up his coat. Pembroke hovered near the door his eyes on Mary. “You’re a fool. None of us can help you now.” Pembroke walked out then too, leaving them alone.

Mary sobbed her shoulders shaking as she turned to pick up her clothes.

Their love was only days old and it had been ripped in two.

Damn it, when Drew had imagined this scene, he had not only not thought about how it would hurt her, he’d never imagined how her turning away would hurt him.

She did not bother trying to secure her corset, but instead stepped into her gown as tears streamed down her cheeks and her fingers shook.

He was still angry with her, he wished to growl at her.
Why side with your family? Why believe them and not me?
His anger screamed for him to yell and make her understand, but he refused to heed it. He would not plead. Yet her tears moved him… But what did he say to her…He was not sorry for anything he had done. He wanted her. He had chosen Mary the night he’d danced with Pembroke’s wife. He loved Mary, and he needed her money. At least he would have that.
I am not sorry
. Everything he’d told her was true. Did she not love him now? Was love that fleeting? Only for him; because of who he was.

He sighed and went to her, then began securing the buttons at her back. She stood still, her body stiff. Last night it had been pliant.

When all the buttons were secure he turned away and moved to the washbowl to shave, tipping water from the jug into the bowl as in the mirror he watched Mary pull on her stockings. She did not look at him.

* * *

Mary’s fingers shook as she packed everything back into her travelling bag. Her tears had dried but she felt morose and empty.

Had everything he’d said been false?

He’d not denied propositioning Kate… John had never told her that.

How many women had he been intimate with as they were last night?

The room was warm but she was cold. Her fingers rubbed her temple as more tears longed to escape and nausea threatened. They’d not eaten this morning, but she could not eat now.

Had this been a plan merely to obtain her dowry?

She glanced at Drew as he finished shaving, and then wiped his face. He looked as impenetrable as stone.

Yet, last night, she’d thought herself loved. He’d said I love you, numerous times. But the words were easily said.

He turned and looked at her. He was not saying them now.

Tears blurred his contours.
John is right. I am a fool
.

Within half an hour she sat in a hired carriage opposite her father, who’d not spoken to her beyond growls as he’d directed their departure. John had not even ridden in the carriage, he’d chosen to ride a horse.

Andrew sat beside her, his shoulders against the squabs and his arms crossed over his chest while one of his booted feet rested on the cushion opposite. He’d tilted his hat forward so it covered his eyes and stared out the window without speaking.

She looked out of the window beside her at the passing fields. How much further to London? How long before this agony was over?

But what if when they arrived Mama would not speak to her either.

Her gaze spun to her father as an ache gripped in her chest. “Do you not love me anymore, Papa, is there only hate now?” It was a childish question, but she did not care, she could not bear his silence.

His gaze met hers the slate blue depths unreadable. She loved her father so much. “I do not hate you, Mary, never that. I am angry, surely you can understand why.” He leaned forward and gripped one of her hands as it rested in her lap. “I will always love you. But at this moment I am… furious.” He glanced at Andrew, then back at her. “I am in no mood to talk.” He sat back and looked from the window a muscle flickering in his cheek as if his jaw clenched.

Andrew had not turned to look at them. But she sensed irritation bristling from his body, as if he sulked, as if he had not liked her speaking to her father.

She folded her arms across her chest and looked back out the window.

She was angry too, and it seemed there was nothing to do but be silent.

Chapter 15

They’d travelled for a day and night, breaking only to change horses. She’d slept intermittently in the carriage, as had Andrew. But her father had not appeared to sleep at all.

She’d wished to speak to Andrew but not before her father.

She wished to ask if he did love her and if so why had he not told her father and she wanted to know why he had said what he’d said to Kate.

When London’s skyline came into view relief flooded her.

“I’ll take you to John’s, Mary, to your mother. You may wait for us there while Lord Framlington and I obtain a licence.”

“I’m not a child, Papa, you do not need to tell me to stay with Mama.”

A note of humour rumbled in Andrew’s chest as he sat upright and straightened his hat. Mary ignored it.

“I wish that I had done so these past weeks.” her father growled, ignoring Andrew too.

Mary looked out the window as the carriage negotiated London’s busy streets, watching the familiar scenes of town.

The carriage drew to halt outside John’s house —
it is the same street, the same house
,
but I am not the same
.
I’ve made love with a man and this will not be my home.

A footman opened the door and dropped the step. Mary did not wait on the men to help her but stood and took the footman’s hand. Her father descended in her wake and Andrew followed. Mary’s gaze caught his. A half smile stirred his lips but it was condescending.

Why was he being horrible?

She turned and climbed the stairs to John’s front door but before she reached it Andrew’s fingers gripped her waist, in a loose embrace. The sensation made her jump.

“At least pretend you are happy to have me,” he growled in her ear. “You wished me to touch you a day ago, as I recall.”

Her father looked at them, but she did not think he’d heard, certainly Andrew had not intended him to.

“And I agree you are not a child. I know you are a woman. Besides, do not worry, within hours you’ll have no need to listen to him barking orders.”

Mary stiffened her spine against the warm sensation engendered by his gentle touch and ignored his churlish stabs.

John stood in the hall. He must have ridden ahead to have arrived before them. Her mother stood with him in the formation of a receiving line – cold and formal. John didn’t even smile at her and her mother’s face was set with pain, her eyes red rimmed from hours of tears. Mary wanted to hug her but she hesitated.

“I am sorry, Mama… I did not mean to—”

“Fall in love?” Andrew interjected.

When Mary looked back at him, he threw her a belligerent grin before looking at her mother.

“I am Lord Framlington, Lady Marlow.” Andrew offered her mother a hand in a forceful gesture without waiting for an introduction from someone else. He had that look of deviltry in his eyes, and when her mother took his hand he lifted it and kissed the back of her fingers. Then he let her hand fall, glancing at Mary’s father.

Mary saw her mother stiffen, she had a way of dressing herself in solid steel when she was angry.

A moment ago Mary had wished to hug her mother; she would not receive any comfort now Andrew had played rogue.

His arm reached about Mary’s shoulders. The gesture was possessive not supportive.

Her father coughed, clearing his throat in disapproval.

Mary looked her apology, but her father no longer looked at her. He went to her mother and lifted her bare hand in his gloved one, then pressed it against his cheek. They often shared such gestures of affection and support.

Mary had always assumed she’d have the same with her husband…

“Has John told you,” her father said to her mother, “we’ve agreed to obtain a special licence? I will take Lord Framlington now—”

“I’ve spoken to a minister,” John interrupted. “He’s agreed to undertake the ceremony. His church is in Whitechapel. Do you wish me to come with you?”

“Not unless you wish to, he’s hardly likely to run.” Her father spoke of Andrew as though he was not there. “He would not have her dowry, and we both know that is all he wants.”

“Not all…” Andrew stated, throwing her father his rogue’s grin and squeezing her shoulder. Mary blushed.

“We’re leaving,” her father barked, looking back at her mother with a conciliatory smile. “We will be back as soon as we can.” Then he looked at John. “Have a coach prepared, one with no insignia.”

John’s answer was a growl of agreement.

Andrew’s hand left her shoulder. Even though she knew he’d only held her to annoy her father she still regretted the loss of the assurance his touch gave.
But if he does not love me, I cannot trust in his surity.

Andrew turned away.

Her father nodded. “We will not be long.” Then they walked from the hall, out into the street.

“Why?” John said the moment the door shut. “Have you run mad?”

“I…” she began, but no explanation came. The hall of his town house always seemed cold, but today it was freezing.

“I suppose he lured you with a kiss or two. What else?”

“John.” Her mother stopped him. “Mary has already learned her mistake, it will do no good rubbing salt into the wound. But, Oh, Mary, why did you not speak to me? I would not have judged. I would have helped you think this through.”

Tears blurred Mary’s vision as her mother touched her arm… Mary turned to her. “You would have told me not to speak to him again.” Mary sobbed as her mother’s arms came about her.

“For good reason!” John shouted.

Anger screamed inside her as she spun away from her mother’s hold. “Except that you never told me the reason! You never said he’d asked Kate—”

“I didn’t think I needed to spell it out to you! I thought you’d trust my word!”

“He was nice to me…” Mary’s anger became pain.