A Rogue’s Pleasure (29 page)

Forever, what a dreadfully long time that seemed. She reached inside her pocket for a handkerchief. Miraculously, she'd remembered to put a fresh one inside. She dabbed her eyes.

She was pathetic. If Anthony's scribbling could reduce her to such a state, what would happen if she were to come face-to-face with him? She knew the shameful answer all too well. Her resolve would melt like butter beneath a summer sun, which only confirmed she'd been right to refuse his visits. Like a confirmed drunkard, utter abstinence was her only hope of a cure.

She pocketed the note, reminding herself that Anthony's invitation didn't extend to marriage. Aristocrats didn't wed the daughters of obscure country squires. And Bellamys didn't become mistresses. But beyond pride, beyond morality, lay fear. Sharing Anthony with Phoebe or any woman would turn her into a jealous shrew. And Anthony would grow to despise her. Even if she managed to conceal her jealousy, he would tire of her eventually. To watch his warm regard sour into disinterest, perhaps even dislike, would be a living death, to be pensioned off the most humiliating of fates.

“Pardon me, is this seat taken?”

She started. She'd recognize the rich timbre of Anthony's voice anywhere. Her head snapped up just as he rounded the bench. Without waiting for her permission, he sat beside her.

“How did you know where to find me?” she asked, gaze trained on a large mallard gobbling the last of the bread.

“I've just come from your house.” He put an arm around her and drew her against him.

“Your brother wouldn't tell me where you'd gone, but fortunately I came across Jack.” His eyes narrowed. “He was loading your baggage into a wagon. You were going to leave without saying goodbye, weren't you?”

Sitting in the circle of his arms, it was impossible to lie. “Yes. I thought it would be easier.”

His eyes widened, accentuating the dark crescents chiseled beneath. “Easier for whom?”

“For both of us.” She hesitated, picking at one of the ornamental rosebuds sprigging her skirts. Who did she think to fool? “For me, especially.” She folded her hands in her lap to keep from touching him. “In case I forgot to mention it before, thank you for saving me and for rescuing Robert. We shall always be grateful.”

He cocked a brow. “Grateful, is he? He has a rather odd way of showing it. Unless fisticuffs is a family custom.”

She turned to him. “Oh, Anthony, he didn't…You didn't…?”

“Fight him?” He shook his head. “He's still weak as a kitten. And I'm weary of fighting,
especially with you.”

She sighed. They'd covered this ground so many times before. “It's no use, Anthony. I love you, but I won't live as your mistress.”

To her surprise, he nodded. “I suppose deep down I've known from the first that you wouldn't change your mind, but I wasn't prepared to face the truth until today. It was wrong of me to ask you in the first place, but then we rakes are notorious for allowing our desires to overcome our better judgment.” He smiled, and her heart caromed. “I suspect there may be a rule book somewhere that says so.” His smile thinned. “It was, above all, unpardonably selfish of me to expect you to abandon your principles simply to make my life easier.”

She thought of Lady Phoebe, the woman she'd wronged. Perhaps, if Chelsea hadn't interfered, Anthony might have spent more time getting to know the woman who was now his wife.

Head bowed, she murmured, “I think we've both been guilty of selfishness along the way.”

“Will you forgive me mine, then?”

“Most definitely.” His sudden vulnerability tugged at her, tingeing the moment with bittersweet regret. “It's just as well, really. I should have made a very poor mistress.” She tried to laugh, but the sound died in her throat.

He shrugged. “It no longer signifies. I've come to realize that I don't really want a mistress.”

Chelsea's heart dove. Even though she'd resolved never to see him again, hearing that he no longer wanted her was more painful than she could have imagined. Tears welled, making a blur of the lake, the waterfowl, and Anthony's face. The first tear splashed her cheek. He reached out and caught it on the edge of his thumb.

“Anthony…don't, please. I can't bear it.”

His voice trembled, but his eyes blazed. “And what makes you think I can?”

Rather than answer, she started up. “I should be getting back.” Belatedly she realized that part of her gown was caught beneath him. Tugging the errant fabric, she sent him a beseeching look. “Anthony,
please
. Robert and Jack will wonder where I've got to.”

“Robert and Jack can bloody well wait.” Jaw clenched, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down beside him. “This can't.”

His mouth, hot and demanding, came down hard on hers. She matched his intensity, kissing him back with all the passion she'd shored up over the past week of loneliness and self-denial. When they pulled apart, they were both panting.

He rested his damp forehead against hers and cupped the side of her face. “What I want is a wife, but only if she can be you.”

I must be dreaming. Or hallucinating
. “Anthony, I don't understand. You're…you're already married.”

He released her. “No, no, I'm not.” His eyes flashed with a fierce tenderness.

She stared at him, dumb. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake.

He took her hand. His thumb swept her palm with reassuring strokes. “I may be a rake, but I'm not a coward. I wasn't about to leave Phoebe at the altar. I went to her house early this morning and called off the wedding.”

Chelsea found her voice at last. “How did she take it?”

A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “She thanked me.”

“Thanked you!”

“Indeed, she said that she'd met someone else, someone
younger
than I, but that she hadn't mustered the nerve to cry off and was grateful I had.” He grinned. “I don't mind admitting it was a damnable blow to my pride.”

“Oh, Anthony. It must have been awful.” She tried to sound sympathetic but ended up laughing. Giddy with happiness, all she wanted to do was laugh and dance and kiss. Mostly kiss.

“We called in her family and made the announcement together. Afterward, Lord Tremont threatened to run me through. Lady Tremont fainted, of course, which diverted most of the attention away from Phoebe and me.”

“Does Robert know?” She hesitated from saying more. How to put it delicately?

“That Phoebe's a free woman? He does now.” He winked. “I shouldn't be surprised if he isn't making haste to Muttonsford with a bouquet and words of undying devotion even as we speak.”

She gripped his sleeve. “Oh, Anthony, do you think the Tremonts will accept him? He's poor as a church mouse. We'll be lucky if Oatlands isn't falling on our heads when we return.”

He shrugged. “Oh, they'd prefer someone with a title, to be sure, but after word gets out that their daughter was a happily jilted bride, they'll be willing to settle for respectability and quickly. Phoebe's a considerable heiress, so there's no need for her to marry money. If anything, hers will go a long way in setting Oatlands to rights.”

“You seem to have everything arranged.”

His smile dimmed. Stiffly, he dropped down onto one knee on the bridle path. “Not everything. Not…us.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small velvet-covered box, and flipped back the lid. A brilliant emerald, surrounded by diamonds, winked at her.

“Marry me, Chelsea. Be my wife.” Looking into her eyes, he slipped the emerald onto her ring finger. “I'd say I loved you, but
love
is a paltry word for what I feel.” His voice, usually so steady and sure, shook.

Wetness slid down her cheeks. She realized she was crying again. For a woman who prided herself on never crying in public, she'd done a great deal of it these past weeks.

“I love you too, Anthony, so very dearly.”

Wincing, Anthony shifted to his other knee. “Then say yes and quickly unless you have a strong desire to see me permanently ensconced in a bath chair.”

She grinned. “Sure of yourself, aren't you?”

He sobered. “Never less so than at this moment.”

With nothing and no one to keep them apart, Chelsea scooted off the bench and into Anthony's arms. He fell back, and she landed atop him.

“Yes, yes,
yes!
” She kissed his closed eyes, the tip of his arrogant nose, the corners of his mouth, his neck.

Sprawled on the damp ground, they drew scandalized stares from several passersby as well as squawks from a number of displaced ducks.

She might have stayed like that the rest of the day, but Anthony gained his feet and brought her with him. He lifted her high in his arms and twirled until the sky and ground changed places. When he finally set her on her feet—seconds or was it hours later?—Chelsea clutched his waist to keep from falling.

He didn't seem to mind. “I love you, Lady Montrose.”

She tilted her head upward and brushed a feather from his silky hair. “That's a bit premature, don't you think? We won't be man and wife for months yet.”

He flashed the rogue's smile she'd come to love. “I've the special license in my pocket. We can be married in two days.”

She sighed. He was completely incorrigible. Completely…perfect. She hoped he never changed. “You were that sure of me!”

He winked. “Frankly, no, but then the first rule of rakehood is to always come prepared.”

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