The Dangerous Love of a Rogue (40 page)

Mary shut her eyes. She could not bear looking at the lies in his anymore.

Blissful sensations danced beneath her skin.

They made her forget his deceit and betrayal.

For this moment, suspended in time, she let him love her and believed – and expressed her love for him.

Her desire reached a fever pitch and she gripped his shoulders as release washed through her errant senses and her inner muscle clenched and gripped at his invasion.

Beneath her fingers his muscle locked hard and a deep long sound of relief ripped from his throat as his body trembled between her thighs.

His forehead fell to her shoulder for a moment, and his weight settled more heavily on her hips and her stomach.

She dropped from hot sunshine into a cold icy sea.

It was over. She would never know this again.

He withdrew and tumbled on to his back, pulling her with him, holding her close.

Her head fell on his chest, in the position she had once thought heaven.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” his voice rumbled in his chest, as his hand ran over her hair. “I’m sorry, Mary. It will not happen again. I cannot lose you, sweetheart. I promise I shall be different now.”

Ah
, so that was the reason for these new lies. He fought to make her stay. A public separation and divorce would embarrass him.

She no longer cared. She’d go back to her parents’ estate to hide and lick her wounds and never come back to London.

But for now… she clung to him her fingers gripping at his bare chest, as his fingers stroked through her hair, and she pretended to her heart that he did love her back.

He whispered false promises of love, of finding a home for them and settling down somewhere quiet in the country.

She did not even think he noticed that she’d not said a word.

But when he rolled her to her back and leaned over her as though he would make love again, she knew the time had come to stop dreaming and face what was real.

“I’m hungry, Andrew. I need to eat.”

He smiled. His caring smile – not the roguish one. “I am being selfish, keeping you in bed. See, I have a lot to learn. But I shall learn, Mary. I’ll get your breakfast. Stay here.”

He got up, gloriously naked, his body so beautiful, and plumped the pillows making her sit upright, before setting them at her back. Then he disappeared and came back with a plate of buttered bread and sliced ham, as well as a cup of chocolate.

“Did you wish to ride with me today?” he asked, when he returned with a full plate for himself and sat at the end of the bed, one knee raised so he faced her.

She shook her head.

He looked so normal, so casual, as though he’d never told a lie in his life.

“No, thank you. You go. Milly will help me dress while you are gone.”
And help me leave.

“Would you rather I stayed here?”

“No.” He had to go out, because she had to leave, if she did not she might begin believing his lies again.

He set down his plate, leant forward and brushed a finger down her cheek. “I will make you happy, sweetheart. I’ll dress and go riding. I will be back all the sooner then, and then you and I will call on your family and tell them all to go to hell with their good advice. We’re not separating.”

A sharp pain pierced her breast, but she did not speak.

When he left half-an-hour later she got up as soon as the door shut, dressing herself without stays, and when the maid arrived she sent her to bring a groom from the stables at Pembroke House to bring a cart to take her trunks. There was hardly anything to pack. Everything was still in the trunks and boxes anyway.

The maid carried down Mary’s writing desk and mirror and the four grooms who had arrived lifted her trunks out to the cart. In less than an half an hour the cart had been loaded.

She looked at Andrew’s rooms, and the bed, one last time, and the note she had left balanced between the chess pieces on the broken board. She had said very little beyond goodbye.

Chapter 30

Smiling at Timmy, Drew handed the boy an iced bun he’d bought at the bakers, instead of a coin, and the young street-sweep grinned his thanks.

The sun seemed brighter today, the sky bluer and the grass greener, and Drew was hopelessly in love with his wife.

Loving her this morning had been divine.

He was a new man, a man who would love her as she deserved.

As she loved him.

She did. Still. It had been in her eyes this morning when she’d opened them and looked at him, he’d seen her breaking heart.

But she’d forgiven him. They’d made heavenly love. They’d survived this rift.

He would apologise to her family. He needed them on his side, if he was to make this work, Mary loved them. He loved her. He could not separate her from them.

Perhaps I ought to do it publicly.
He tipped his hat to Joshua who was speaking with another resident.

Perhaps he ought to call them to silence and stand up in the bloody lions’ den – Pembroke’s sitting room – and tell them all they were wrong, that he did love Mary and it had never just been because of her money.

That would give them something to talk about behind his back.

He laughed, as he ran upstairs, and swung around the banister onto the landing. His boot heels rung on the floorboards as he strode along the hall.

The world was a good place with Mary in it. Caro would be proud of him.

He turned the door handle but the door did not give.

His fingers on the door he pushed it, but it was locked.

A shiver ran up his spine.

No.

We made love this morning.
She would not have…

He pulled the key from the pocket of his riding coat, and his hand trembling, he slotted it into the lock and turned it.

The door opened.

He forced himself to be calm.

She would not have left.

A dozen curses ran through his head. Her writing desk had gone.

Hell
.

He turned to the bedchamber, one hand gripping the doorframe, everything of hers had gone, as if she’d never been here – but a dent still hollowed the pillow where she’d slept – where he’d made love to her scant hours ago.

Why did she let me do it?

He walked to the bed, and picked up her pillow to smell the scent of her hair. She’d gone.

He cast the thing aside, his hands shaking, and walked back in to the sitting room. He stopped. There was nothing he could do. It was over.

She has left me.

He went to the decanters and poured a drink, numb. The neck of the decanter rattled against the rim of the glass.

He drank the first glass and poured a second as nausea twisted in his gut.

What had this morning been about? Goodbye?

He cursed, out loud, and drank the second glass. Then poured a third and turned to face the room.

A folded sheet of paper, stood amongst the chess pieces.

His heart dropped like a stone as he crossed the room to pick it up.

Pembroke’s men must have come to help her move everything out so quickly. It must have all been arranged.

Then why the hell had she let him touch her this morning?

He was only worth two lines of hurried script.

I cannot stay. I have lied to my parents for you since I met you. I cannot carry on living with any more lies.

Had this morning been a lie? She’d clung to him and come for him… Had that been a lie? Had he forced her? Had she not wanted him?

Hell!
He was an ass. His soul writhed in pain.

But a broken heart did not kill you. It only made you bitter.

And hurt…

He crumpled the paper in his fist and tossed it into the empty hearth. Then dropped into a chair with a sigh.

He swore, falling back and lifting a knee up on to the arm.

There would be no happy ending.

“It is your own fault, you bastard.” He saluted himself with the brandy and drank his third glass. “You should have left her alone. You should not have taken her from happiness. You are poisonous! Let her be now, for God sake.”

He’d done enough harm.

Tears flooded his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks. He’d never cried in his life. His head tipped back against the chair and he looked up, trying to control the pain writhing in his chest.

Now he knew how she had felt for the last weeks. No wonder she had gone.

He lifted his knee from the arm of the chair and leaned forward, leaving his glass on the floor, then stood up and wiped the tears away on his sleeve.

Devil take it
, crying for her would change nothing.

But he knew what he would do. He’d sell the carriage and the blacks he’d bought for her, then he’d go to the bank.

Chapter 31

Kate, John’s wife, sat on the edge of the bed beside Mary. “I’ve brought you some lemonade and biscuits. Would you like me to stay with you for a while?”

Mary was sitting with her knees bent up and her body curled over them; too agitated to lay down. “Thank you, Kate. But I would rather be alone.”

“You’ve been closeted away all day, Mary. Your mother is worried. Why don’t you come down to dinner?”

Mary wiped her nose on the handkerchief she gripped, then clasped her bent knees. Her hands still shook.

Her mother, aunts and cousins, Eleanor and Margaret, had spoken to her too; all offering comfort and setting aside the marriage they’d predicted would fail.

Aunt Jane had told everyone he’d been seen with a woman.

Her father had hugged her tightly when she’d come home, and told her he’d protect her. Tomorrow he said he would publish a notice in the paper, announcing the separation, so the gossip would be fact and not fiction and she would no longer be tied to Andrew’s reputation.

She did not care.

She’d no intention of ever stepping out in public again, she’d told her father so, but he’d just held her hand and said, “You will in time. Time will heal.”

She did not think she’d ever heal. Andrew had loved her this morning, and his scent was still on her skin. Time would take that away, and her memories would fade, but her love would never ebb…

Her forehead dropped on to her knees as silent tears spilled from her eyes.

All she’d done since she’d reached here was cry.

Her mother had sat beside her for the first hour, until Mary had asked to be left alone. But her family had been unable to stay away, every half hour someone came up to see how she fared, each of them bringing fresh words of reassurance.

But their words could not sooth the pain. She missed Andrew – and he’d betrayed her so badly. Why had he made love to her today? Why had his eyes glowed with affection? How could he lie so easily, so physically?

The words he’d whispered as she’d lain on his chest listening to the rumble of his voice, held more weight in her heart than any her family said.

He’d promised to be different, to love her, to make a home with her, away from London as she wished… and yet the night before she’d heard him say, “I’ve bought a house for her. I’m moving her in there next week… Whether Mary stays or not I’ll have Caro…”

Kate’s fingers touched Mary’s shoulder. “Drink a little lemonade and eat, Mary, we can all see you’ve lost weight these last weeks.”

Like a clockwork toy, Mary lifted her head, accepted the glass and sipped, she was too numb to argue.

Kate’s fingers brushed Mary’s hair back from her brow again as Mary drank. “What will you do?”

“I asked Papa to take me home, but he said he cannot for a little while as he has business he needs to settle in town.”

“Are you sure what Jane said is correct?”

Mary smiled weakly. Trust Kate not to jump to conclusions, her sister-in-law had a tender heart. She did not judge people without giving them a chance. She’d saved John from himself, with her refusal to accept him at face value.

“I know it’s true. I heard him talking of his mistress last night. He’s bought a house for her. She is moving in to it next week.” Mary met Kate’s gaze.

“He made love to me this morning, as though there was nothing wrong… He has not touched me since he hit Lord Brooke. He’s slept in the sitting room. He said he loved me this morning. But yesterday he heard Aunt Jane telling me to leave. I suppose he wished to avoid the embarrassment and make me stay… He is not here, begging me to come back, is he? He has not even written. He lied. He does not love me. He can go to his mistress and not have to bother pretending he does love me now.”

“Have you told your mother this?” Concern and affection weighted Kate’s voice, and softened her gaze.

“No, and do not, Papa or John would attack him. It’s bad enough as it is.”

Kate’s fingers covered Mary’s hand for a moment before slipping away.

“He is so believable,” Mary whispered. “Even his eyes look as though he loves me, and when he touches me it feels real, it feels as though he treasures me. I thought he loved me when I ran away with him. He said he did, like he did this morning. But he is angry and bitter, Kate. He hates Papa and John, but then they hate him, and yet he said that he’d have been as angry as them if I’d been his daughter, so they had a right to hate him.

“Did you see how he was when he came here that afternoon? He looked lost among the children and the family. That day I asked to meet his family and even though he did not wish to, he took me there. They were horrible to him. They asked why he thought they’d wish to meet me, then threw us out as though he was nothing to them. That was the day he hit Lord Brooke. He hated me after that, and he stopped pretending to love me and stopped touching me. But then this morning he changed again.

“I do not understand him. I thought he was just bruised by his life. But I love him. I’d have helped him. But he does not want my help, does he, just my money? Do you think there was always someone else, do you think he loves this other woman?”

Kate’s fingers pressed on Mary’s knee, offering comfort, “How can we know, Mary?”