The Dangerous Love of a Rogue (7 page)

Striding on across the empty dance floor he looked back. Her gaze followed him still. He smiled again and nodded.
This is your chance, Mary, darling…

Deliberately picking his path to keep within her view he walked to a set of open French doors and stepped into the tepid night air, looking back one last time, throwing her a calling card.

He was too far away now to be sure she still watched, but something in the turn of her head told him she did.

Come on little beauty, follow
.

Outside he walked to the end of the Wiltshires’ stone terrace, he could not go too far, she would not find him.

The terrace, like the ballroom, was deserted.

He leant his buttocks against the stone rim of the balustrade.

The dark house walls framed the empty ballroom and the view into the dining room, like a picture, with huge chandeliers illuminating the scene within.

It made the terrace darker.

He withdraw a slim cigar and a match from the pocket of his evening coat, lifted the cigar to his lips and struck the match on the stone beside his hip, then held the flame to the tip of the cigar and sucked until it caught.

At least he had an excuse to be out here if he smoked.

Taking the cigar from his lips he let the smoke slid out of his mouth.

Miss Marlow smiled at her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Pembroke, nodding at something the other woman said. Then her face turned to someone else across the table, a gentleman, one of her uncles, and she laughed. Pembroke spoke to her. Drew could see the Duke smiling at her, at something she must have said, before he laughed with her too.

Her father approached behind her, stopped and pressed a hand on Miss Marlow’s shoulder. He leaned and kissed her temple.

Drew took another long draw on the cigar he held between his fingers.

It was as unreal as watching a play at the theatre. Drew did not understand a family like that. They moved in a pack, a pride, like lions, closing to defend and protect one another whenever the need arose, all the men prowling about their lionesses.

I really ought to be daunted
. He was not, very little dented either his ennui or his ego.

But Miss Marlow dented his ennui.

That was good. He hardly wished for a wife who’d bore him.

He sucked on the cigar again, relishing the flavour of tobacco in his mouth. He knew how to enjoy things. He’d learned to make the most of every little gift life gave him when he was young. He would enjoy making Miss Marlow his.

Rising, smiling at her brother and her father, and then passing the sunshine of her beauty about the others at her table, Miss Marlow then bobbed a slight curtsy.

Drew smiled, sensations dancing a bloody jig in his chest; his little fish had taken the bait.

Strolling away from the table she weaved a path through the other guests, stopping occasionally.

Drew’s heart beat a steady elated rhythm. He felt as though he’d been dealt the most superb hand of cards, but there was still a risk that if he laid them wrong he’d waste their benefit. There was still a requirement for skill and caution. He had to be careful now.

When she reached the ballroom instead of turning towards the open French doors, though, she disappeared through a door at the side of the room near the entrance stairs.

Shutting his eyes Drew urged her with all the will power he had, to…
Come to me!

But damn it, if she did not, he was not giving up; he would simply have to find a new tack.

Drew opened his eyes lifted the cigar back to his lips and sucked in the smoke, then looking up to the stars he blew out a circle.

The night was clear, a blanket of very dark blue with thousands of sparkling pin pricks of light. He loved night, like he loved storms. His soul had always turned to the dark and wild.

As a lad he’d lain outside for hours, looking up at the endless pitch black and he’d loved swimming in the dark, clothed only in moonlight. That had always been his purest escape. It had been a whole other world.

A small dark shadow flew like a dart in the air over his head. Bats. He smiled, watching them swoop and turn. Now he’d spotted one, he saw more, they were after the moths which had been drawn to the light spilling from the windows.

“What are you doing? Where have you been?”

His own little moth came to the flame. Her wings would be burned. But, God, he could not believe how much his heart thumped, and exhilaration coursed through his blood.

Her voice had come from the foot of the steps which descended from the terrace to his right.

Lifting his weight from the balustrade, his eyes searched her out in the darkness.

He caught the movement of her pale lemon dress about two feet away from the bottom step.

“I am waiting for you,” Drew answered her first question as he descended the steps, feeling the tug of her presence pull at him.

She was young, six years his junior, but he’d never seen her behave as a girl. She did not fluster or giggle. No, Mary Marlow had a serene womanly grace, she was kind, sensible, confident and extremely beautiful.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“Tell me where you have been. I have not seen you for days.”

A few teasing curls of her ebony hair had fallen to lick her jaw and throat where he’d like to place his lips; and her eyes sparkled diamond bright as they caught a shaft of moonlight and challenged him.

His game of patience had been a brilliant hand.

“I have been giving you time to make your choice. Does this mean you have made it?”

“This…”

He’d confused her. Hell he was confused himself.

The movement of her fingers clasping together before her waist pulled his gaze lower.

She was anxious. She should be. But he was too. The emotions inside him were eclectic. Hope. Desire. Need. Desperation. But there was respect and pride too… When had he ever felt respect for a woman? Never before.

“You being here – is this your answer? If it is you took your time.” He stepped from the bottom step to stand in front of her, aware of the hardness in his voice and a stiffness in his body, but both were due to the bewildering mix of emotions causing turmoil inside him. He did not know this ground; did not know how to speak with a young innocent woman.

“I could hardly get up the minute you walked out. I do not even know why I am here.”

Ah damn it, he needed to forget his anxiety, forget his own fears. He did know how to woo women. She was a woman.

“Because you want to be here.” He moved closer. “With me.” He dropped his cigar on the dew damp grass.

“Do I? I barely know. All I know is that I missed you watching me.”

When he lifted a hand, she stepped back.

He smiled, his fingertips brushing her cheek. “You want more kisses, Mary. You can hardly have them if you do not let me near.” Damn it, he needed to persuade her to stay and not run again, to persuade her to be his wife – and the only way he knew how to do that was through sex. He needed her to let him close.

* * *

Is that why I am here, to let him kiss me again?
She had not been able to define the pull which led her here.

She had seen him enter earlier, and her heart had leapt at the sight of his splendid figure as he stood at the top of the stairs. But she’d wanted to know where he’d been. Why he’d stopped following her?

To give her choice…

But choice had left her with a desperate, quivery feeling inside. Choice, separation from him, had been painful – and yes, she longed to be kissed.

He had a magnetic quality. When he’d walked out his gaze had called follow, and an invisible thread had pulled her here.

Lord Framlington pulled that invisible thread again and it drew her nearer still.

His fingers trailed across her jaw, then his thumb brushed over her lips.

She met his gaze, though she could barely see him in the darkness beyond a silhouette. The smell of tobacco carried on his breath.

This is madness. Why did I come to him
?
Why am I doing this?

“Not here,” she breathed as his lips neared hers. “Anyone may see us.”

She could not see his lips curve and yet she sensed they did. His fingers opened, spreading to cradle the line of her jaw while his other hand gripped her waist. He pressed her backward.

In a trance she let him back her into the darkness, into the corner where the wall of the house turned at the side of the steps, and met the high yew hedge bordering the garden beyond the terrace.

They were deep in the shadows, she could not see him at all, but she could feel his tall frame against her and his strong hand half holding, half caressing at her waist, while the hand cradling her jaw slid to her nape and pulled her mouth to his.

Oh heavens.

His lips were firm then soft against hers, coaxing her to kiss him back.

A sensual ache spiralled through her stomach, sliding down between her legs. Her arms lifted and her fingers settled on his broad shoulders as she leaned into him, clung to him, and gave herself up to kissing him back.

It was delicious and wicked, and utterly stupid. But she didn’t care, she didn’t want to think, she just wanted to feel. Her body fitted to his perfectly, her back curving, her hip bone pressing to his, her breasts crushed against his chest.

A groan rumbled deep in his chest. She felt it in her mouth and her breasts.

His tongue slid between her parted lips, tentatively at first, then deep, then tentative again, tempting her, encouraging her to seek more.

She wanted more with a bone-deep longing; his kiss dissolved her senses.

Her fingers clasped his hair as he pressed her further back, the wall grazing one shoulder while the sharp clipped bows of the yew hedge pierced her other.

The sound of the orchestra spun into the night air. The supper hour was over.

He did not stop, his tongue danced about hers as his fingers cupped her bottom and pulled her hips more snugly to his.

A ridge of hard flesh in his trousers pressed against her abdomen, it ought to have scared her. It did not.

His grip stayed tender and gentle while the play of his tongue enchanted.

“God, Mary, you’re beautiful,” he whispered into her mouth. “Better than I imagined.”

His fingers slid up over her hips and her waist, then settled at her ribs and his thumbs brushed the first curve of her bosom.

“Mary,” he said her name again with a dizzying awe. Then he kissed her jaw and her neck, while his palms settled over her breasts, kneading her flesh through her gown.

Voices spilled from the open French doors onto the terrace. People would be dancing again soon, crowding into the ballroom and walking out on to the terrace. Her heart pounded hard, fear, excitement and bewilderment mingling.

He didn’t stop, his teeth nipped her neck while one hand left her breast and slid downwards.

Oh.

He touched between her legs, stroking inward over the material of her gown pressing it to the warm wet flesh at the juncture of her thighs.

She knew men and women joined there. That was where she craved him.

His strokes were tender, careful, like his teeth and lips on her skin, and the grasp of his hand on her breast.

Anticipation and desire climbed, as if her body sought a peek.

Her breath quickened and a sob broke from her lips as delicious sensations wove a spell in her blood.

The hum of conversation seeped from the ballroom along with a melody the orchestra played.

She should tell him to stop, but wrapped in the darkness, hidden from view, the danger had become exhilarating.

His hand clutched her breast harder and his thumb swept back and forth across her hardened nipple, while his fingers stroked forward and back in the cleft between her legs caressing her aching flesh.

Her hands clawed on his shoulder and his neck, clinging, as a whimpering sound left her lips.

He silenced her with a kiss.

She could not kiss him back, she could not think as whatever peak she raced towards approached as if she flew on a firecracker.

Goodness. Oh heavens.

She exploded, and fell from the sky, then the sensation inside her was carried on a flood of water swirling beneath her skin, reaching out to her toes and fingertips as she gripped hard at his neck and shoulder, afraid she would truly fall.

A sound of amusement, half laugh, came from his lungs, slipping into her mouth as he drew away.

He looked down at her, but she could not see his face, or his eyes. His fingers touched her face and his thumb ran back and forth across her cheekbone.

“I could make a sound and have someone find us like this.” he whispered.

“Is that what you want?” His thumb touched her lips as she breathed heavily, still a little disorientated. He was breathing heavily too and through her grip on the back of his neck, even through his neckcloth, she could feel his heart racing hard.

She was not afraid, nothing about him spoke of danger,
but I do not know him at all
.

“I want you,” he answered, in a hushed voice. “I want you as my wife.”

“You want my dowry.”

“I want you, and your dowry. I know your brother hates the idea of a man in need of a fortune, but he has one. It’s hardly a crime to need to marry wealth, just circumstance. But any of three dozen heiresses could bring me money. I want you, Mary.”

She smiled, knowing the darkness hid it. “You could choose a military career and work for your living.”

His thumb swept across her cheek. “I have not even enough to buy a commission. Besides would you wish to follow the drum?”

“The clergy then…”

“Me, a vicar? Are you mad? That would never work.” A scoffing rumble of amusement growled in his throat.

“I must be, I am here with you.”

His thumb and forefinger gripped her chin, then tilted it up. “Do I have your interest?”

“To be your wife?” Mary fought a desire to kiss the lips lingering over hers. “I barely know you. All I know is you are a rogue.”