Going Rogue (23 page)

Why had she turned him away if she’d been so certain she was in love with him?

The forewarning of thunder sounded in the near distance. This time it was louder, more foreboding.

“What’s next on the list?” he asked. The wind had picked up and was blowing her gown tightly against her form. It was impossible to concentrate on that ridiculous list while her physique was on display.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It must be some sort of plant. I can’t even pronounce it.”

He chuckled. “It’s obvious that Miss Marshall had a heavy hand in creating the list.”

She smiled in return. “The least they could have done is dumb it down for us non-natives.”

The skies darkened, rolling gray clouds blowing in from the east obstructed what little bit of sunlight remained.

“The storm came up faster than I expected. I don’t think we’ll get back to the house before it starts to pour.” He frowned, silently weighing their options. The skies were growing blacker by the second, indicating a fairly brutal storm was upon them.

Meredith looked up just as the first few drops of rain started to pelt them. “What do you propose?” she asked, gently worrying her lip with her teeth.

He didn’t answer straight away, consumed by the vision of her nibbling at her lip, wishing it was his. “Um, the gardener’s cottage? Didn’t Miss Marshall say it was unoccupied?”

“She also mentioned an issue with the roof.”

He glanced over at the structure. It looked like something from medieval times, its stone walls crumbling from the outside in. The thatch roof had indeed seen better days; centuries even.

The rain was coming in sheets now, the sound deafening. Meredith said something impossible to hear. Then she pointed toward the cottage.

He understood that well enough. He took her by the elbow and pulled her toward the house. The door was locked.

Derek pressed up against it, testing it. He motioned for Meredith to stand back, then took a few steps away himself. He counted to three, mouthing the words with a fair amount of exaggeration so she wouldn’t be surprised by what happened next. At the count of three, he thrust into the door. The door frame splintered as the door flung open.

He cleared the shards with his boot, then held out his hand for her to take. She hesitated at first, so he held it out further, his gaze locking with hers.

Finally, she accepted and he pulled her inside.

Chapter 29

The cottage was small. There was only one dimly lit room, the dirty windows obscuring most light from getting in. Much of the furniture and non-necessities had been removed, leaving only a bed in one corner and a wooden chair by the fireplace. There was a small pile of wood leftover in the hearth, which led Meredith to believe that the newly deserted cottage might have been used to accommodate the occasional rendezvous by the house staff.

She stood in the center of the room, hugging herself tightly. She was freezing—the storm also brought a sudden dip in the temperature, and her wet clothes weren’t helping.

Derek must have been thinking the same thing. He stooped down and started assembling the wood in the fireplace to get a fire started.

She perched on the corner of the bed, the straw mattress having seen better days. “Thank you,” she said after seeing the first promising sparks come from the fireplace. “I suppose it’s a good thing that you stayed behind and not Ophelia. I’m quite certain neither one of us would have the wherewithal to start a fire.”

He looked back and smiled. “Don’t be too impressed. It’s nothing really.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, an awkward tension between them setting her ill at ease. She knew it was up to her to speak, to say something remotely profound, given he’d said so much already. “And thank you for those kind words earlier.”

There, she’d said it.

He stopped what he was doing, hesitating a moment before walking toward her. “I’d feel better if you sat on the blanket. Who knows what’s happened on this mattress.”

She complied, standing up as he removed the picnic blanket from his satchel, then spread it across the bed. Meredith sat back on the bed, the small room making it nearly impossible not to watch every move he was making.

He removed his jacket, hanging it over the back of the wooden chair to dry. His shirt was damp and clung to his strong shoulders and arms. She watched the muscles flex, dancing under the damp fabric as he stirred the flames with a poker he’d found hiding along the wall. Heat from the fire filled the room quickly.

The thunder was coming more frequently now. Occasionally, a bolt of lightning would strike, illuminating the gray sky and the landscape surrounding them.

“We’ll just wait for the storm to dissipate before heading back to the house. Or, with any luck, the others will have sent a search party and a dry carriage will come to retrieve us shortly.”

With any luck
.

She found herself not wanting to be rescued quite yet. The way he’d spoken about her stirred emotions she hadn’t felt for quite a while, that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel. She’d believed he hated her all this time, but the words he’d chosen indicated otherwise.

Those weren’t the words one used to describe an enemy.

“I meant them,” he said as if he’d somehow heard her thoughts. “Every one.”

She said nothing in return—there really wasn’t anything she could say. And even if there was, how could she? Although she knew Derek, so much had changed between them. She looked down and retied the ribbon on her left wrist that had come undone during the ensuing chaos between Alex’s injury and the sudden downpour.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing to her wrist. “I believe I saw Lady Alexandra wearing something similar, but not Miss Marshall. Is it some sort of fashion statement? I’ve seen several women with them on.”

“Not really.”

“Are they significant then?”

Meredith touched the ribbon. While there were no specific rules condemning one for speaking about the Ribbons, it
was
an unspoken rule that you only revealed what was absolutely necessary. “It signifies membership.”

“A club? Like a ladies’ auxiliary?”

“In a way . . . only not as helpful.”

He grinned lopsidedly, a disarming boyish grin. “Then what do you do? Doesn’t every club have a purpose?”

“Ladies’ clubs maybe, but not men’s. Look at White’s. Members don’t actually
do
anything.”

He nodded. “Point taken. So, what’s the advantage? Why would I ever want to wear your yellow ribbon?”

“There are certain benefits to wearing the
primrose
ribbon. Those with ribbons are often regarded quite highly by others and it sets us apart. And I’m afraid you can’t wear the ribbon since you’re not an eligible female.”

“Which I thank God for every day of my life, just so I don’t have to know the difference between
yellow
and
primrose
.” He laughed. “Why doesn’t Miss Marshall have one then? Isn’t she both eligible and female?”

Meredith leaned back on her hands. “I hope she will. She’ll be nominated and then she’ll have to go through the rigorous process of pledging her membership, but I have all the faith in the world that she’ll succeed at earning her ribbon.”

“And what makes you so certain?”

“Because I like her—quite a bit, actually. She needs a group like them, and they need her. They’d benefit from what she can bring.”

“And what is that?”

“A breath of fresh air. Priorities. Purpose. They won’t want her to be, but I’ll do everything I can to make sure she gets in.”

He cocked his brow. “And how did you become a
Ribbon
yourself?”

“You’re not interested in all this,” she said sheepishly, aware of how silly it must sound to him. He was a man of the world, and here she was, trying to explain to him the ins and outs of membership with her inconsequential band of spoiled women.

He leaned back in his chair. “I’m actually quite fascinated.”

She cast him a sideways glance before proceeding. “Aunt Cynthia first introduced me to the group. She thought I would be an asset. They’d been experiencing some internal issues and weren’t nearly as popular as they once were. Membership wasn’t as exclusive, and there just wasn’t anything special to set it apart from other clubs of its nature. I introduced some new ideas, and of course, Aunt Cynthia had a few as well.”

“Is your aunt a member?”

“Was. She founded the group originally. But she also created the rule that one couldn’t maintain their membership after marriage, so she had to bow out. There were things she wanted done, actions that needed to be taken . . . but she could no longer help.
But I could
.”

“So, you were like the princess regent?”

She chuckled lightly. “I suppose you can say that.”

Meredith could feel his warm gaze on her. She looked up and saw him staring—light from the flames throwing shadows over him, emphasizing the angles of his form. The sharp lines of his square jaw were covered with a faint hint of stubble and his coppery waves were mussed and slick from the rain. Just the sight of him caused her pulse to jump erratically.

“So your aunt got you the membership?”

She shook her head. “I still had to go through the usual activities, like everyone else. Just because you’re related to a former Ribbon, doesn’t guarantee you entry.”

“What sorts of activities?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss such things. It wouldn’t be right for me to disclose all our secrets to you, Lord Sutherland.”

He frowned. “Please call me Derek.”

Her heart was pounding now, so much so she thought it could very well hammer its way right out of her chest.

“Derek,” she repeated his name, savoring the way it sounded coming from her lips.

“You seem to be rather well-liked.”

“I suppose you can say that.”

“I always knew you’d do well here. Do you remember how scared you were when you first learned you were leaving Middlebury?”

She remembered all too well. For months after her arrival, she’d hardly eaten anything and spent most of her time shut up in her room. Eventually, she’d found her way and learned that it was much easier to divert herself with frivolity than sit about and mope around all day.

“It was quite different at first, but then I learned to enjoy it. There’re so many more ways one can pass the time in London.”

“Plenty of distraction?” he asked.

She nodded. “Too much. It’s far too easy to become wrapped up in it all.”

“And did you become too
wrapped up
?”

She noticed that his shirt and waistcoat were partially open, exposing a smattering of dark hair across his chest.

She tried to speak past the sudden dryness in her mouth. “I did. It’s never been about being the center of attention for me like it is for the other Ribbons. I just enjoy having a good time and the distraction it provides. I enjoyed it so much that I may have neglected some of my more important obligations. But it’s easier that way, being distracted. You see, I don’t like to worry and I’d rather dance through the night than have to deal with anything of a more serious nature. Unfortunately, people expect you to settle down at some point. I just never have.”

“Some men drown their worries in alcohol.”

“I drown mine in parties.” She shrugged.

“So, you spend much of your time doing . . .”

“Nothing of any importance,” she answered ruefully.

“Is that why you no longer ride or play music? You seem to have given up most of what you loved when you were younger.”

She’d given up
him
. “Was I too busy, you mean?”

He nodded.

Suddenly, she felt much like an open book. He’d succeeded in finding the chapters of her life she’d closed off to the world in an effort to censor the public’s view of her. “It’s complicated.”

“Most things are,” he replied smartly.

She swallowed. “When I arrived in London, it was made very clear what I needed to do. In order to accomplish all that was expected of me, I had to adapt rather quickly. There was so much change, in such a short amount of time—I suppose I wanted to somehow preserve those parts of me.”

“Your past?”

“Believe me when I say it was absolutely necessary.” It wasn’t just an excuse, it was an apology.

She felt her throat constrict. She couldn’t do this now, maybe never. Rehashing the past would only remind her why she chose her family’s happiness over her own.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“I’m cold.”

He stood, then joined her on the bed. The bed shifted under his weight, causing her to lean toward him. He put his arms around her, enveloping her to his chest.

“Oh, Mere,” he whispered into her hair.

One breathy whisper was all it took to destroy the walls she’d built around her. She didn’t know what had changed in him, nor did she care. All she knew was that the person holding her was Derek, the boy she loved and the man she desired. He removed the pins from her hair, loosening the bun at her nape until the strands tumbled down her back.

“I hate when you wear your hair up,” he said, stroking her back.

She didn’t answer, she just sat with her face buried in his chest, inhaling his scent—rain fresh on his skin. Her heart swelled; the feeling so intense it felt as if her chest would burst from the emotion at any moment.

She knew it was love. There was no mistaking it now, and she was certain that he felt it, too. The emotion was palpable, igniting a fire between them that couldn’t be satisfied by a simple embrace.

He kissed her then. His lips plummeted hers, seizing her mouth. She pulled at his shirt, trying to free it from his breeches as he started unbuttoning her gown. His hands were all over her now, unfastening her gown with frantic urgency. She felt him peel away the wet layers of clothing from her skin, until she was left wearing only her chemise.

He pulled himself away and looked at her. She felt self-conscious, the wet muslin hugging against her body, knowing how exposed the transparent garment left her. But she didn’t make any effort to cover herself, the heat in his gaze rendering her immobile. She watched as he stood and removed his waistcoat, so slowly that she thought she’d die from anticipation. He tossed it back on the chair, then pulled his shirt over his head.