The Dangerous Love of a Rogue (25 page)

Her father grunted, Pembroke jeered, and her mother bit her lip and glared through glimmering moisture.

Lifting his fingers to his forelock, Drew tugged it and briefly bowed his head. “Ma’am.”

“You are not amusing, Lord Framlington,” Mary’s mother stated, her eyes flashing with the fire he’d sometimes seen in Mary’s.

“No, Ma’am, but I am your son-in-law.”

“You need to sign the register.” The vicar’s voice cut through the hostile air. “If you’ll come this way?”

Marlow moved past Drew and offered his arm to Mary, Drew instantly shifted and gripped her elbow, drawing her to his side, before turning and leaning to collect his hat and gloves.

Drew followed the vicar, with his hat and gloves in one hand and Mary in the other. She was his now, for good or ill. Marlow could go to hell.

“Must you keep stirring the pot? Why are you upsetting them?” she whispered.

He leaned to her ear and answered. “Are they not insulting me?” Why did she keep siding with them? It irked him. It hurt him. No one ever cared for
his
feelings.

They did not speak again, and her arm was stiff in his hold as he steered her into the vestry, where the large record book lay open on a chest. In silence they watched the vicar enter their names. When he asked for Drew’s father’s details, Drew looked to the ceiling and mumbled the Marquis’s name, the man who’d been forced to claim him but had never been a father to him.

They both signed against the record of their marriage.

Her name was now Lady Andrew Framlington, Mary Rose Framlington. Warmth gripped in Drew’s stomach.

Pembroke signed as a witness, along with Mary’s mother, then the deed was done.

They donned hats and gloves, and climbed back into the carriage.

The next stop was Pembroke’s business offices, where Drew discovered Mary knew Pembroke’s man. Mister Philip Spencer was Pembroke’s brother-in-law. That, had Drew’s eyebrows lifting, he did not realise Pembroke had married a commoner.

Within a quarter hour the cheques from her father and brother were signed and in Drew’s pocket. Joy had ripped through Drew as he took them. No more hardship, no more threats of debtors’ jail. For the first time in his life he could do as he pleased.

A smile held on his lips as Drew walked from the offices several thousand richer, while Pembroke and Marlow aimed bitter looks at him.

He did not care what they thought, he’d never been influenced by conscience. Life had taught him the voice of conscience was a feeble thing. No one he had known had ever adhered to it.

Yet when they descended the steps to the street, Mary gripped Drew’s arm with a gentle and uncertain hold…Devil take it.

It was her money.

He must remember that. No matter how much he hated the men in her family, he did not wish to hurt her. He needed her money, but he still needed her too. He did love her and there was a solid lump of heavy stone in his chest crying out for her to love him too.

At the foot of the steps he stopped and leaned to her ear. “Go back with your parents and pack your things. I’ll come to collect you at five. My curricle should be back at the stables by then.”

Her fingers gripped his arm tighter. “Where are you going?”

“I have things to do.” He set his expression in a smile he knew turned female bones to aspic. He was too angry to be natural, and besides he did not wish her father or her brother to see the man beneath his mask. Let them think as they wished. He did not care for them.

“Things to do?” Her pretty eyebrows lifted.

“Duns to pay, Mary.” He lifted her fingers off his arm, and tapped her under the chin. “As I said I will collect you at five.”

“At five then.” She nodded, her gaze wounded and suspicious.

Damn it.

He thought about kissing her but remembered the church and did not attempt it. He had never had to force his kiss on a woman.

He walked away then, without a word to Pembroke or Marlow.
Let them stew
. But he glanced back to smile at Mary when he’d walked a few feet. She’d clasped the iron railing at the edge of the steps and watched him with a look of doubt.

He would not just pay the duns, he would go to his boxing club and beat the hell out of someone.

Chapter 17

Mary watched his tall figure walk away, his arms swinging in time with his long strides.

She gripped the iron railing tighter to stop her knees from giving-way. Within an hour of her taking his name, he’d taken her money and left. He’d said he would come back but how could she believe him when she was unsure of anything he said anymore.

“Where has he gone?” Her father’s fingers touched her arm, offering consolation. When she turned she saw pity shining in his eyes.

“To fetch his curricle,” she lied, but she could hardly tell her father he’d gone to pay off his debts with the money they’d given him moments before. “He said he will collect me from John’s at five, once my things are packed.”

Her father smiled. “Come then, let us get you home.”

It is not my home anymore
,
Papa
. Desolation cut through her middle. She had no idea where her new home was, she’d never asked Andrew where he lived.

Her father led her to the carriage, as her mother smiled sympathetically.

They were not angry anymore.

Everyone sat in silence during the journey home. There was nothing to say, nothing could be changed. Time could not be turned back.

As the streets passed the window Mary promised herself, she would be happy.
I will make the best of this.
Perhaps if she continued to love Andrew, he’d learn to love her back.

When they reached John’s, her mother called for the maids to help, and then pandemonium erupted as they all began emptying wardrobes and drawers, and her mother and one of the maids hastily folded and layered ball-gowns, dresses, underwear and outerwear into trunks.

Mary gathered together her personal items and filled a bag. Opening each jewellery box as she did, remembering the moments each gift had been given to her, by her father or John.

She put her writing desk on top of one of the full trunks, tears clouding her gaze.

“Mary.”

She turned to face her mother.

“When we return to Berkshire, I shall have the maids pack your winter clothes and send them to you too. But your pianoforte… shall I write and ask for that to be sent to you now?”

The tears brimmed over and rolled onto Mary’s cheeks.

Her mother turned to the maids. “You may all go, we have nearly finished and I wish to speak with my daughter alone.”

Once they’d gone she took Mary’s hand and led her to the bed, then sat down and simply held her, offering physically comfort as she could not offer words. How could she, her mother knew nothing of Andrew, and he’d not given them any impression he cared.

Eventually, sniffing, and taking a handkerchief from her mother to blow her nose, Mary set aside her tears.

“I’m sorry. Please do not tell Papa, I cried? It will only make him worry…“ She did not want either of them to know she regretted eloping, but at that moment she did.

Her image in the mirror across the room revealed her red, puffy eyes. Her father would know anyway.

“Let me ring for tea.” Her mother rose from the bed. Once she’d pulled the cord to ring for a maid, she turned back.

“Do you wish to take one of the maids with you? I know your father would agree to it.”

“No, Mama, I should leave such decisions to Andrew.” And besides she had no idea where she was going – if there would be space for her own maid…

Her mother returned to sit on the bed, and held Mary’s hands. “I suppose I must tell you all you should know… It is too late for your wedding night but I hope he has been kind to you and if you argue, then seek to resolve it, rather than let it run into another day, even if it sometimes means saying sorry when you do not think you are in the wrong.

“There will be disagreements, at first, arguments are natural for any couple as they come to know one another, and you should not let them upset you too much. Yet if you feel hurt or angry you must simply tell him how you feel because if you do not, how is he to know. Talking to one another is the best foundation for a marriage…”

Mary let the words pass over her. Her mother spoke about Papa. He was gentle, kind and thoughtful. But Andrew was bold, brash and independent. He was not the same.

A gentle knock tapped the door. “Your tea, Ma’am.”

“Bring it in.”

As they drank it her mother talked of more things Mary should know. About running a household, and managing staff, and marriage…

But then Mary heard horses whinnying outside.

She put down her cup, her heartbeat racing, and rose to look from the window.

Her fingers touched the glass as she watched Andrew climb down from his curricle.

“He’s here.”

Her mother’s eyes welled with tears as she rose and turned to collect the bag of Mary’s personal items.

Mary rushed from the room. Despite everything she felt… in love.

When she leaned over the banister, he looked up, and for a moment there was a glimmer of the looks they’d shared before her father had found them, as there had been at the church. But it was gone in a second.

Was that look a lie? It still felt real… She still saw an intensity of feeling in his eyes.

John and her father were already in the hall. Mary hurried downstairs. She supposed they’d planned this welcome reception. Her father bristled as John stood like a stone statue observing, and behind her, her mother sniffed, wiping away tears with a handkerchief.

When Mary reached Andrew, she longed to kiss him, to be reminded of the man who’d said he loved her, but she did not.

“Your things?”

“Papa will have them sent in a cart.” She touched the bruise on his jaw. There was another about his eye. He leaned back, pulling away, giving her a look that said, do not.

Mary turned and took the bag from her mother, but then Andrew took it from her, before looking at her father. “I will leave my address with Pembroke’s groom.”

“Mary still has things at our estate to be sent…” her mother said. Andrew looked at her. “Perhaps you would come to dinner soon?”

“I am not sure we shall be free.” Andrew gripped Mary’s elbow to turn her away.

“But you will visit us in the country and stay for a while once the season is over. Mary, I doubt we will stay in town much longer now.”

Mary looked back, hearing the unspoken words,
after this
. They had come here for her to find a husband…

Her mother took a breath, moisture glimmering in her eyes. “The children are much happier at home.”

Marry nodded. “Let me know when you will leave?”

Andrew pulled her into motion. Tears threatened. She held them at bay ignoring the sharp pain in her throat.

Her mother moved forward, lifting her arms.

Mary pulled loose from Andrew’s grip and turned to hug her.

“Of course we shall,” her mother whispered to her ear.

She and her mother cried as they hugged.

Mary’s father came close, she let go of her mother and turned to hug him.

His arms came about her. “I will miss you,” he whispered to her ear, “I wish I was losing you in better circumstances. But if he treats you ill and you need us, we are here.”

She nodded as he pressed his handkerchief into her hand, just as he’d done the day she’d eloped.

When she looked up into his eyes tears glistened there. She hugged him hard.

“We need to go,” Andrew stated, his voice cold.

Her father kissed her cheek before he let her go. Then he threw an angry look at Andrew.

There was no need to hurry. Andrew was merely prodding her father’s ire again.

She sighed.

“You will always be my daughter, and you will always be welcome at home.”

Mary lifted to her toes and kissed his cheek. “I know Papa, I love you.” She looked at her mother. “I love you too, Mama.” Mary hugged her mother once more, ignoring Andrew’s impatience. Then she turned to John.

He’d stayed back watching with a look of disengagement. He came forward as Mary moved towards him. When she hugged him, his hand laid on her back and he whispered to her ear. “Kate and I will always be here for you too, we’ll be in town, the House of Lords is sitting for another few weeks. I’ll send for Kate and Paul tomorrow. If you need to come back, just come, you do not need to give us notice.”

Mary thanked him, and kissed his cheek. John could be misunderstood, because he appeared so stone like, but she knew the man beneath his façade, her brother. His fingers touched her cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping away a tear.

Andrew coughed.

Mary swallowed back more tears and turned to Andrew. He gripped her arm.

“Marlow, Pembroke.” Andrew looked from one to the other, then at her mother. “Lady Marlow.” Then he drew Mary away.

She held her father’s handkerchief tighter and looked back. “Mama. Papa. John. We will call on you soon.” She hoped.

As she looked away Andrew’s fingers slid down and gripped her hand, and his ring pressed into her finger beneath her glove. The ring was loose, it would probably fall off if she took off her glove.

She’d looked at it upstairs, it had the initials T R inscribed on it, not Andrew’s. Perhaps he’d won it in a card game. That felt a little sordid – to have a wedding ring which meant so little. Like a marriage which meant little.

When they descended to the pavement, Mary looked back.

Her parents had come to the door. She kept looking back as Andrew let her hand go and lifted her bag to place it under the seat. Her mother smiled. Mary did too. Then Andrew was back at her side, and he took her hand to help her climb the awkward steps.

When he walked about the carriage to climb up into the driver’s seat, she lifted her hand and waved goodbye, tears running down her cheeks.

John’s groom stepped away from the horses’ heads. Andrew lifted the reins and flicked them, setting the horses into motion.

Mary waved harder as her parents waved, and tears ran down her mother’s cheeks.