The Dangerous Love of a Rogue (33 page)

She hoped meeting his family, who he claimed did not care about him, and who he said he did not care for, would help her understand him more.

Perhaps knowing his family would explain things – like why he’d felt so uncomfortable yesterday and why he was so fiercely self-reliant. She would always seek the support of her family. He sought support from no one.

“May we ride again this morning,” she asked, the day was cloudy but it was not raining.

He looked up, “Yes, I suppose.”

“Then I thought we ought to call on your parents before luncheon, I would not wish to call when they may be expecting others, if they do not like me—”

“I did not say they’d dislike you, I said they would not be interested in you.” His pitch was cold as he added sugar to his coffee.

She did not respond. He did not wish to take her to see his parents – he was doing it for her, because she’d been persistent. That was surely another sign he thought more than nothing for her.

She sighed, and then made a face at him, because he was not looking. But he looked up and caught the tail end of her expression.

His eyebrows lifted. “Mary, are you sure you wish me to take you? I’ll warn you only once more, it is a bad idea.”

That was not true.

He warned her another time as they rode to the park, trying to persuade her against it. Then after they’d given the horses their heads for a while and pulled up, he warned her again, as though it had been on his mind through the whole gallop. Then he warned her as he lifted her down from her horse in the stable yard, continuing as he walked her over the road. He even ignored the street-sweep who he always stopped and spoke to.

His warnings became adamant as he helped her change into her day-dress, and finally he warned her over and over again as they rode in a handsome carriage towards his parents’ home. But in all these warnings not once did he say why he did not wish to take her.

When they reached the town house, which was a tall, wide building in Cavendish Square, Drew took her hand to help her down the carriage’s step.

His hand trembled as it held hers.

She glanced at his face. He’d paled. He really did not wish to be here.

He looked up at the house.

Yesterday he’d been hesitant when they’d reached John’s, but here, it was more than hesitance – he looked afraid – and trapped inside himself.

She wrapped her fingers about his arm, every muscle in his body felt stiff, like iron.

He looked at her, and coughed to clear his throat as though it was dry.

She should change her mind. She should not have made him come.

The front door opened and the carriage pulled away.

Oh, it was too late…

“Come on.” He moved forward.

He’d turned so pale it looked as though he led them to their deaths.

“Andrew?”

He gave her a stiff lipped smile, then said, “Remember, I warned you. Do not blame me.”

This area of London was old money, his family, therefore, had held a place in society for generations. Of course she could have looked Andrew up in
The Peerage
at John’s house. She’d not because she thought it disloyal to research him rather than ask him.

“Is the Marquis at home, Mr Potts,” Andrew questioned as they entered. “And my Lady mother?”

“Indeed, Master Drew.”

She remembered Drew saying it was the servants who’d first shortened his name.

“Shall I ask if you may be received?”

Mary just stopped her jaw from dropping. Why on earth would the butler seek Drew’s parents’ permission? He was their son.

“That would be the point of me standing here, Potts. You may wish to explain to them that I’m here because my wife wishes to be introduced to them.”

“Your wife? Ah, forgive me.” He turned to Mary then and bowed with perfect formality. “Lady Framlington.” Then he said to Andrew, “Please wait, I will ask if it is convenient.”

Andrew stood stiffly. His chin lifted as the man walked away.

Being asked to wait in the hall was clearly not odd to him. Nor was it any surprise to him that the butler had not known he was married. It meant his parents, if they’d seen the announcement, had not spoken of it in the house. If they’d done so, the servants would have heard.

It was five minutes or more before Mr Potts returned baring the news that they “may” attend upon the Marquis, and then he showed them upstairs, striding ahead of them as though Andrew would not be able to find his way about his parents’ home.

Andrew had established the look of nonchalance he favoured, he looked as though he did not care, but she knew he cared.

Her fingers lay on his arm, and she would have reached to hold his hand except that it was held away from her, over his midriff, giving her the impression he would not welcome the gesture. He was utterly insular, just as he’d been yesterday at John’s and during their carriage ride back to London after they’d eloped.

She glanced sideways as they reached the drawing room and saw his eyes bore that devil-may-care glint which always came before some argument.

“Lord and Lady Framlington, my Lord,” the butler intoned within the room.

“Yes, yes, bring him in then,” an impatient woman’s voice called.

Looking at Mary, Andrew whispered, “You owe me for this.” Then he led her into the room.

He stopped just inside. An older woman, she presumed to be his mother, sat in a chair across the room near the hearth. She had a generous, curvaceous figure and wore an emerald taffeta morning-dress and a matching turban. A fire burned in the hearth even though it was summer.

A stately looking gentleman sat opposite. He had a large crooked nose. Andrew’s father, she assumed, although there was no resemblance, either in his face or his build.

Two young men were also lounging in chairs about the room, their legs sprawled over the arms; neither moved to stand or even sit straight. While a tall very slender gentleman, who had a nose similar to Andrew’s father, sat beside a woman, a book open on his lap. The woman was a few years older than Mary. She was working on embroidery and Mary noted the glint of a wedding ring.

Not one of them acknowledged Andrew, or her. They simply did not move, and his father did not even look up.

“Sir,” Andrew bowed. “Mother.” He bowed again. “I’ve brought my wife to meet you, at her wish. She did not want to embarrass you in a public meeting. She wished to be introduced.”

“Yes, yes, Drew, Potts told us your reason for being here, get on with it,” Andrew’s mother said, while his father’s gaze lifted.

He looked first at Andrew, as though Andrew was something abhorrent, and then at Mary, as though she was… Well, she felt like Andrew’s mistress, not his wife, the way she was being visually assessed.

She saw Andrew swallow back what she knew was an insulting retort, which he would have spoken to her father or John. Then he looked at her, his eyes cold and dark, but fathoms deep within burned ire. “Mary, allow me to introduce you to Lord Framlington, the Marquis of Philkins, and my mother Lady Framlington.”

Mary dropped a deep curtsy to them both, ignoring the pitch of his voice, which said I told you, you would not wish to meet them. Then he progressed, “My eldest brother the Earl of Alder and his wife.” Again Mary curtsied. Then Andrew introduced the two younger men. “And my brothers Lord Jack, and Lord Mark Framlington.” Mary bobbed a less eloquent curtsy in their direction as neither of them had risen for her.

The room fell into silence.

Then the Marquis cleared his throat and stared at Andrew. “I cannot see why you have brought this damned woman here. She is naught to do with me, is she?”

Mary heard Andrew take a deep breath.

She’d made an error, urging him to bring her here. They should not have come.

“No sir,” he said at length. “However as we are here, perhaps you could offer Mary tea, Mother?” Andrew had become belligerent. She heard his anger and arrogance slipping into his pitch. Mary blushed. She could never have imagined that he’d need to beg for their hospitality, how could she have foreseen this?

“She’s a prize beauty,” Andrew’s brother Jack stated, as though Mary was not in the room, while he swung one leg from the arm of the chair lounging with his elbow on the other arm. “But God be damned, how the devil did you win her, she’s Marlow’s is she not?”

They had heard of Andrew’s marriage… But they obviously had not cared.

Mary saw the muscle in Andrew’s cheek tighten even more, if that were possible, and she could not believe that his mother said nothing to reprimand the rudeness of his brother. But it appeared, here, it was not deemed insulting for a man to swear in female company. Her father and mother would have gone mad.

“I suppose she’s bloody rich as well, knowing your luck, Drew.” The other of his younger brothers stated.

Mary gripped Andrew’s arm, awkwardness rattling through her nerves. They had not even been asked to sit, and his mother had neither confirmed nor denied the offer of refreshment.

“
She,
is my wife,” Andrew answered, “and therefore Lady Framlington, and
she
is also the sister of the Duke of Pembroke, and niece to a quarter of the House of Lords so if you do not wish to offend the better half of society you’d best mind your words…” Andrew glared at the two young men.

His family merely stared back at him, the Marquis’s gaze piercing.

“Edward Marlow would not have given his permission for this.” The Marquis stated.

Andrew’s older brother stood. “I’m sure he did not. Drew has merely been up to his usual mischief.”

Mary looked at Andrew, expecting some retort, but there was none. Instead he watched his brother move to pour a drink from a decanter. He did not offer Andrew one, even as he turned and offered their father one.

Mary had a sudden desire to get Andrew out of the house.
I should not have pleaded with him to bring me here
. The atmosphere was poisonous.

“If you wish for refreshment, Drew, you must tug the bell pull,” his mother said. “There is no point standing there thinking someone will serve you.”

Mary’s cheeks burned with a blush – on his behalf – at his mother’s inconsiderate words. But in response, letting go of his arm, she turned and walked across to pull it and call for a servant herself. Her mother would never expect a visitor to do such a thing.

“She’s got a hell of a fine figure on her ain’t she?” Mary heard Jack say. “You’re a damned lucky bastard, Drew, I bet… fu—”

Mary heard the sudden movement and a strangled sound as she spun back.

Andrew leaned over his brother, one hand gripping Jack’s cravat. “You will speak to my wife with respect. Do you hear me?”

Mary saw Andrew’s hand twist, tightening the fashionable neck cloth, like a noose.

“Drew!” His mother was on her feet.

The Marquis rose too. “Out!” He pointed a finger at Andrew. “You are not welcome here. You never were, and you never will be. You are not my son and I regret the day I let you have my name. Now go!”

Andrew thrust his brother back into the chair with a hard shove, let go, and straightened.

Mary stood still, unsure what to do, as he glared about the room.

He looked at his mother with scorn and then glared in his defiant way at the Marquis.

If she could only turn back time, and have listened to him this morning. But how could she have imagined this. They had disowned him. What had he done to deserve that?

“Get out!” the Marquis roared at Andrew again, his finger thrusting like a spear.

Andrew bent a little, giving only an impression of a bow. “Sir.” The single word was cold and condemning.

He threw his mother one of his devil-may-care grins. “Forgive me for reminding you of my existence, Mother.”

Then he turned towards Mary, and began striding across the room, his movement stiff with anger. “Mary!” He gripped her arm tightly, painfully, as he reached her and turned her away from them.

She did not try to free her arm, but let him pull her along, lifting her dress a little so she could keep up.

Looking back across her shoulder she said, “Good-day.” Feeling a need to be polite, even if his family were not. No one answered as they left the room.

But as Andrew’s hard strides resonated along the hall she heard his father say, “Good riddance.”

The butler met them mid-flight. “Master Drew.” was all he said, as he turned to walk with them.

Andrew cast a look of thunder upon him. “I’m quite capable of showing myself out without thieving, Potts. I do not wish for anything from this damned house or its occupants anyway.” He was striding on along the hallway with both Mary and the butler hurrying to keep up with him.

“Andrew,” she whispered, in an attempt to slow him down. He did not slow. But when they reached the stairs he let go of her arm, and jogged down ahead of her.

If he could have sprouted wings and flown from the house, she thought he would have done.

When he reached the hall he strode to the door and opened it himself, leaving it open for her to follow.

Her heart pounded as she stepped outside and saw him waiting on the pavement below, reaching into an inside pocket of his coat. By the time she was beside him, he held a thin cigar and matches.

Squatting down he struck a match on the pavement, then rose up and lit the cigar, drawing on it. He looked upward and blew the smoke out, then looked at her. “Are you ready then?” His voice sounded emotionless. “We’ll walk home, if you don’t mind. I cannot smoke in a hansom and it will take several streets to find one anyway, we’ll be halfway home by then.”

He lifted his free arm, offering it to her.

His actions dismissed what had happened only moments ago – denying it, as if he did not care. He did care. She had seen his anger. She knew he cared. But she accepted his arm and began walking, unsure what to do.

For ten minutes he spoke of the weather, commented on passers-by and carriages without any mention of his family.

The muscle in his arm beneath her fingers had relaxed, and he spoke animatedly, occasionally sucking on his cigar, and then blowing the smoke out over his shoulder, away from her.