Read The Misbehaving Marquess Online
Authors: Leigh Lavalle
Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages), #Historical Romance
The Misbehaving Marquess (10 page)
It seemed forever before the wagon arrived from the Abbey with refreshment. A farmer’s wife passed food to the women and children while Cat brought ale and bread to the men fighting the fire. They came to her blackened and sweating and exhausted, with minor burns on their hands and arms.
She watched the crowd for Jamie, listened for the sound of his voice. There was no sign of him. With each breath, she fought down her panic. Inhaled through the lump of fear that wanted to close her throat.
“The marquess?” she asked the men who stopped for a drink.
They shrugged, or pointed vaguely, or told her what she did not want to hear. “In the back. Where the flames are worse.”
Cat would not think on it. He had to be safe.
She loved him. With every part of her being, she loved him.
She could not lose him again.
Still the men came to her. They needed water. Bread. Bandages. She held herself together by sheer will and helped them.
By now, the fire had caught up to the Warners’ cottage, which lay in shambles on the ground. Flames licked across the ruins. Men scurried by with hoses and shovels, trying to protect the firebreak.
Somewhere, her husband was in the midst of it all.
A rumbling rolled through the crowd toward her, then an actual cheer. Cat stopped on shaky legs and peered down the street. At the far end of Abbey Lane, where her cottages lay in smoke and ash, appeared a horse and carriage. No, not a carriage, another hose cart. Jamie must have sent word to the baronet, their closest neighbor. The horses protested at being led toward the fire. Their harnesses jangled as they threw their heads and drew back from the smoke.
Five men rushed forward and freed the hose cart from the horses, then ran the cart down the street to the smoldering ruins of the Warners’ cottage.
Water. Glorious water poured over the flames, sputtering them out.
The village was saved. But everything Cat had worked for—the cottages, the lace factory, the barns—it was all destroyed. Burnt to a pile of ash and charred ground.
Fire is an equitable force
. It clears away everything in its path, regardless of use or beauty.
Jamie’s shoulders sank with relief when the blaze was contained at last. God’s teeth, he’d seen the plumes of smoke from miles away. He thanked the men who had fought the fire, grateful there were no serious injuries, and went to find his wife.
By now, the unburnt half of the village was swarming with dazed, sooty faces. Everyone wanted to talk to him. He shook hands, murmured assurances, and answered what questions he could. Finally he spotted Cat by the village square. She stood beside a wagon, a line of villagers spread before her. Two men wandered away with slices of cheese and apples in hand.
She was feeding them.
She was safe.
Breath he did not know he was holding whooshed out of him. Her face was pale beneath the smudges of soot and ash. At some point, she’d removed her bonnet and her hair fell in tangles around her shoulders. The sleeve of her gown was ripped, her skirts in ruins. She looked exhausted. She looked beautiful.
She looked sad.
He headed straight for her, not stopping until his arms were around her. He did not care who witnessed their embrace. God, what if something had happened to her? He loved this woman. Was fair to bursting with it. “I am so damn proud of you, Cat. And so sorry about your cottages.” His voice was raw from emotion as much as smoke.
“Jamie.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clung to him tightly. “Don’t you ever disappear again.”
“I won’t, love.” He buried his face in her hair. She smelled like smoke.
“You’re squeezing me,” she coughed.
“I want you close.”
“I waited all night for you.”
He might have thought she was angry, were she not pressing her face into his neck. “I apologize, darling. I had to go around the bridge in Polesworth and lost nearly twenty miles. It was an incredibly difficult journey.”
“Polesworth? Where did you go?” His shoulder muffled her voice.
“To get you a gift.”
At this, she pulled back and looked up at him. Her eyes were soft, surprised, but the corners of her lips dipped down.
He ran a finger down her cheek. “Why are you angry with me?”
“I don’t know,” she huffed.
Jamie didn’t want to stop touching her. “I’m sorry I was detained, Cat. I meant what I said.”
“You said you needed an heir.”
“No.” He pulled her back into his arms so she wouldn’t see his smile. “I mean, I said a lot more than that.”
“You said you liked my taste in bedclothes.”
He let out an exasperated laugh. What a saucy wife he had. He loved that about her.
He dropped his chin and glanced down at her. She kept her face buried in his neck.
“Look at me.” She must have heard the tenderness in his voice, for when she glanced up, no lines of anger marked her features. “Let me be clear. I love you, Cat. I always have. I want you as my wife. And I never want to be away from you again.”
***
Cat stared up into
her husband’s blue eyes.
He’d said he loved her.
Or maybe the fire and smoke and shouting had damaged her ears. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Cat.”
Her heart leapt, and she began to tremble everywhere.
“I—” She stopped to catch her breath. Why was she so nervous? She placed her hand on his heart. Willed herself to be brave. She wanted to say this,
needed
to. “I never stopped loving you, Jamie.”
She did not know he could look like this, so soft and tender. She kissed him on his chest, where his shirt was open. “I suppose if something is worth doing once, husband, it is worth doing twice.”
“Yes.” He stroked her hair.
Cat looked up at him, this man she had loved for as long as she could remember. “We can rebuild.”
He tilted his head to the side. “The cottages?”
“Yes, the cottages.” Down the lane, smoke rose from the ruins of her homes. She’d put so much time and work and
hope
into those cottages. A part of her felt very nearly burnt to the ground with them. But another part of her, a stronger part, refused to give up. She
would
rebuild. The families could stay in the empty cabins on the western edge of the estate, closer to the fields. Jamie wouldn’t hire more laborers until spring, and by then her families would be settled in the village. In fact, the women and children could help with the restoration.
One setback, even a large one, was not cause for defeat.
When she glanced back at her husband, he was still watching, waiting. She took a deep breath. “And our marriage. We can rebuild our marriage.”
Relief softened his eyes. He lowered his head to kiss her, and she pressed up on her toes to meet him halfway. It was not an elegant embrace. Neither was it polite. But it was real. And raw. And full of love.
“I would like that,” he murmured against her lips.
“I am not saying it will be easy. And I am still frightened that you could hurt me again. But you are worth it.”
Jamie pressed his forehead to hers. “I regret my actions, Cat. I cannot change them. I cannot undo the hurt I caused you. But I promise I will learn from them. I want to be a better man, a better husband.”
“And I a better wife. We were both at fault. I should have put you first, that horrible night in London. I should have thought of you before my friend.”
“And I should have stayed and made amends.” This time, when he hugged her, he lifted her off her feet. “I never want to leave you again.”
“Especially not in a cold bed,” she grumbled.
He put her down and stepped away. “Wait here.”
Playfully, she planted her hands on her hips. “You just said you were never going to leave me.”
He threw her a smile over his shoulder. “I promise you will like it.”
Jamie disappeared into the crowd and returned wearing his riding coat. It was ridiculously clean where everything else about him was blackened and dusty.
He stopped before her and, to her surprise, dropped onto one knee.
“This is what my important business was.” He opened a small box and held it up. The most beautiful sapphire ring she’d ever seen lay nestled inside.
“Marry me again, Catherine Meredith Carthwick Raybourne. I want to renew my vows to you. I made promises to you that I broke. I promised to love and cherish you, and I fear I did not do very well.”
Cat blinked through the tears in her eyes. She hugged her arms around her chest as if she could contain the joy bursting through her. Everything within was singing, soaring, spinning with hope. “Well, I promised to obey you. And I admit I didn’t
really
mean it.”
He laughed, his teeth a flash of white against his soot-covered skin. “So you will marry me, again? You will be the wife of my heart?”
“Yes, Jamie.” Yes, yes. Of course yes! “Always.”
She twisted her hands together as he came to standing, resisting the urge to throw her arms around him. He had more to say and she wanted to hear what it was.
“I found the sapphire in Kashmir. Let me see how I did.” He took the ring from the box and held it next to her eyes. “Yes. I remembered your eyes exactly.”
Cat held out her hand, and he slid the ring onto her finger. The band was designed with elaborate scrolls and perfectly matched her previous engagement ring. “Where did you have it made?”
“The Jewelry Quarter in Birmingham.”
“It’s perfect, Jamie.”
“No, it’s not.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “But it doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be true.”
Leaves rustled overhead
as Jamie took her hand beneath the old oak tree. They stood before the heart he had carved into its trunk nine years prior.
“I promise to love you, Catherine, for all my days. To write you notes whenever I must leave, to tell you about my worries as much as my celebrations.” No humor showed on his face, no amusement. Only deep intention. Integrity. And love. “And to trust you, even if I do not understand or agree with your actions. I pledge my heart to you until death shall us part.”
Cat squeezed his hands. They were shaking in hers. “I pledge to love and honor you, Jamie, as my husband, my lover, and my friend. I promise to hold you foremost in my heart, even when we do not agree. I will share my life with you, my laughter and my tears, and cherish you always. I pledge my heart to you until death shall us part.”
He lifted her hand and slid the sapphire ring onto her finger. “With this ring, I thee wed. Again.”
Cat looked up and smiled into his eyes. Her husband tilted his lips into that lopsided half smile that never failed to melt her heart.
“Now kiss your bride,” she teased.
Never did he have to be asked twice. He leaned down and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss.
Wind sang through the trees. The crisp scent of autumn lingered in the sunlight. Winter was coming and the world was alive with joy.
Cat slipped her hands down around Jamie’s hips.
“Hmm,” he murmured against her mouth. “I like this.”
“We’ve work to do, husband.”
“Work?” He pulled back and studied her face.
“Yes,” she tilted her head to the side. “Didn’t you say something about needing an heir?”
“So I did.” She laughed as he picked her up and laid her down in the grass.
The fu
ture looked very bright indeed.
Available Now: The Runaway Countess
Her heart longs for justice, but her body clamors for sin.
Once the darling of high society, Mazie Chetwyn knows firsthand how quickly the rich and powerful turn their backs on the less fortunate. Orphaned, penniless and determined to defy their ruthless whims, she joins forces with a local highwayman who steals from the rich to give to the poor.
Then the pawn broker snitches, and Mazie is captured by the Lord Lieutenant of Nottinghamshire. A man who is far too handsome, far too observant…and surely as corrupt as his father once was.
Sensible, rule-driven Trent Carthwick, twelfth Earl of Radford, is certain the threat of the gallows will prompt the villagers’ beloved Angel of Kindness to reveal the highwayman’s identity. But his bewitching captive volunteers nothing—except a sultry, bewildering kiss.
And so the games begin. Trent feints, Mazie parries. He threatens, she pretends nonchalance. He cajoles, she rebuffs. Thwarted at every turn, Trent probes deep into her one vulnerability—her past. There he finds the leverage he needs and a searing truth that challenges all he believes about right and wrong.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Runaway Countess:
Meek. She would play meek.
She would absorb all his barbed anger and give him nothing to fight against. She would be honey and molasses, everything sweet and slow.
A lock scraped open and Radford filled the doorway, all broad shoulders and dark mood. He brought the mud and rain with him on his clothes.
From the corner of her vision, Mazie watched him step into her room and close the door. He studied her for a long moment. “Miss Mazie, I presume.”
She let her feet shift nervously on the floor but did not move her eyes. “Yes, my lord.”
He walked closer. His muddied boots reached up to his knees and gave way to powerful thighs. He was strong, of a physical nature. “I’ve been dragged all the way from London for this unfortunate bit of business.” Low and firm, his voice played across her nerves like drums before a battle. “My magistrate Harrington tells me you have refused to assist our investigation into the Midnight Rider.”
She lifted her chin and looked up at him, let her expression be round and guileless. She was everything worried and intimidated.
His frown cut deep groves into his otherwise handsome face. The years had changed him, enough that she wouldn’t have recognized him passing by on the street. Gone was the distracted young man she remembered, replaced by sharp angles, dark hollows and glittering grey eyes entirely too piercing for her comfort. His damp hair—almost black in the wan light—let go of a drop of rain. He swiped it away with a rough hand. “It is unfortunate that your reticence is my inconvenience, Miss Mazie.”
He had come to drag the information from her. Of course he had. She had to wonder at the tactics he would use, how far he would push. She slumped in her chair, giving the impression that he need not try hard at all. “I do not wish to be difficult, my lord.”
He circled her chair and his muddy boots brushed her skirts. It did not matter. Her dress had been ruined days ago.
“The highwayman will be hanged for acts of treason.” He stopped behind her, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She should have known better than to leave the chair in the middle of the room. “You do understand the danger you are in?”
“Yes.” She whispered the word. It was not hard to fake her fear.
Radford did not say anything more. He would wait to see what she did next, give her space to expose something about herself.
She played into his hands. Stood, as if uncomfortable with him behind her—which she was—and smoothed her sweating palms over her coarse black skirts.
He reached across the chair. “What’s this?”
Touch. He was touching her face. Rage jolted to her fingertips. She almost betrayed herself by lashing out.
Not now, Mazie. Wait.
Digging her fingernails into her palms, she let him turn her face to the window and examine the bruise on her cheek and cut on her lip.
“Who hit you?” he demanded.
She did not reply. She wouldn’t be able to say anything without revealing the depth of her fury. Harrington would pay for his cruelty, not only to her but to others in the village. For now, she concentrated on being fluid like melting snow, and not
the blaze of fire she wanted to be.
Radford’s grey eyes scrutinized her. The hot stroke of his attention was everywhere on her skin, from her face down to her bare feet. She would not let herself worry. He would not recognize her. Placing her in that very different context—the context of her past life—would make matters even worse. She would push the thought aside.
She shifted her gaze to the slide of raindrops down the windowpane. Radford smelled of the rain, she noticed. The out-of-doors clung to his skin, as did the sweet scent of wet horse and wet wool. And something else, the musk only a man has after a day of physical exertion.
“You have the look of a Frenchwoman.” Still, he touched her. Held her face in his hand. “Where are you from?”
“I was born in England.” She modulated her words to be perfect, sloppy English. Nothing of her maman and her delicious French accent remained.
Finally, he let go of her chin. He paced to the door and she thought he might leave, but he simply opened it and instructed the footman to go to the kitchens and fetch a salve for her cut.
That, she had not expected.
Whether it was a kindness or a strategy on his part, she did not care. His misjudgment would be her gain. In three days, never had her door been without an armed guard. Radford exposed himself in a dangerous way—one she would take advantage of.
He turned back to her, his face set in hard edges—square jaw, sharp cheekbones and slash of brow. Yes, he looked different than she remembered. His handsomeness had power behind it now. “My dear woman, you will fare much worse in prison. Tell me what I want to know and perhaps I could be persuaded to view your crimes with leniency.”
“I-I,”
Meek, Mazie. Softer
. She lowered her voice. “I would like to assist your investigation, my lord.”
“A wise choice. I am glad we shall play this out the easy way.” He leaned back against the wall, his eyes narrowed on her. She knew what he was thinking, his wariness spoke volumes. Harrington would have told him she was a hellion, “all spit and fire” he’d called her. And she was. That Radford watched her with such consideration heartened her. She must be playing her role well.
“The hard way is much more unpleasant,” he warned.
“I regret my earlier defiance against Mr. Harrington, and I…I thank you for offering me protection. He explained it was your choice to hold me here rather than at Radford gaol.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and hunched her shoulders. Inside, she was fair to bursting with anticipation.
She had but one chance. She must play it out to perfection.
A knock sounded and Radford opened the door, took the salve.
“I am desperately hungry.” Her voice shook with nerves. He would assume it was fear. “And some tea.”
Radford paused for a moment, and she feared he would refuse.
“Something to eat for the woman.” He closed the door, walked across the small room and offered her the jar of salve. “For your lip.”
He motioned for her to take it, and she flinched as if frightened.
“I won’t bite,” he said on a long breath.
Mazie stepped forward and took the jar from his hand. Her fingers brushed his palm, such a large and warm hand. It would make a heavy fist.
Don’t think on it.
The salve smelled of calendula and comfrey, and she smoothed some on her lip. Radford watched her as she gently dabbed the bruise and cut at the corner of her mouth.
She was close enough now. She would hit him once, as Roane had taught her. A strong, flat hand to the underside of his jaw, hard enough to stun him, incapacitate him.
His head would snap back. Maybe it would hit the wall. Maybe it would make a sound. She should be prepared for such unpleasantness.
Her heartbeat thundered. She needed to stop thinking and just do it already. She lowered her hand and his eyes jerked to hers, gauging her.
He was too alert, and she was too nervous. She must stop trembling. She must distract him. She must remember he would hang her. He would hang Roane.
Mazie slid her finger over her lower lip as she had seen the barmaids do. She had no idea if her gaoler would be so easily diverted. But, well, he was a
man
.
She watched Lord Radford watch her. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead and made him appear much more innocent than he was.
His dipped his gaze to her lips again. Now. It was time to act now, before the footman returned. She stepped back and half-turned away. Her chin dropped down, shy. She hoped she looked coy. She was not much of a flirt, had never had cause to be one. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been kissed.
The best liars were not actors. One had to believe in their story. Mazie peeked up at her captor, pushed aside her fear and studied him as a man. A very fine man. Dark hair, grey eyes and a face worthy of marble. He was a head taller than she, his shoulders broad and thick with muscle. If it came to a battle of might… She ignored the thought and slid her eyes over him, sought something innocuous to admire. A broad chest and flat belly. Long fingers and an uncanny ability to remain still.
It wasn’t hard to feign attraction to him.
He must have noticed for he took a small step forward, tested her as she hoped he would. She snapped her head up and met his gaze, let there be fear in her eyes and something else as well.
His lips pressed together in a thin line. He would not make this easy, this attack.
“Thank you for the salve.” She wondered if he noticed that her voice shook. Truly, she shook everywhere with nerves. Her breaths came in little puffs as fear bound her lungs. “The ointment tastes like honey and calendula.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip.
He glanced away, but not before she saw the slight tightening of his posture. The hollows of his cheeks deepened, the jut of his jaw became more pronounced.
She stood up tall, drew in a full breath and pressed her breasts against the worn fabric of her gown. His gaze flashed down.
“Ah, I see how it is.” Radford crossed his arms. “You are playing your last card, and not a very original one at that.”
He called her bluff, but it did not matter. One way or another she would escape. She would be free or she would be killed.
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A provocative outlaw and a London-bred lady flee on horseback through the hills of England. Adventure awaits and passion ignites…but can they outrun their past and find true love?
