The Rogue's Reluctant Rose (28 page)

At last, a butler Araminta had not seen at Dillwood Park came to answer the door. He took Lord Harris’s name up to his master and then returned to show them into the library, telling them that his lordship would be with them before long.

Susan and Harris took a seat on a leather sofa that oozed masculinity. Araminta knew that the heady combination of spice and leather was one she would forever associate with the enigmatic marquis, for better or worse. Araminta realised as she looked around at the decorations in the library that the entire room reflected the fact that it had been the domain of nothing but men for a long time. The curtains and upholstery were dark burgundy and green, the Persian carpets were beginning to look worn, and the wood was a dark cherry.

Despite the dark furnishings, there was something comforting about the room. Something that drew her in and made her feel at home though she had never set foot there before in her life.

All thoughts of upholstery flew out of her head when the double doors of the library opened with a dramatic bang. Chestleton pushed them open with both hands and strode into the room. His face was twisted in irritation as he looked directly at Lord Harris and his fiancée. He had not noticed Araminta.

He was in dark buckskins, which were moulded to his powerful thighs, shirt sleeves and an unbuttoned gold waistcoat, whose elegant embroidery was undermined by its crumpled appearance. Even in his dishevelled, angry, state, Araminta’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. She had never seen him look more magnificent.

“What do you want, Harris? Miss Sutton, haven’t you
two
weddings to plan?” He demanded ungraciously.

Araminta rose to her feet at these words, and the marquis’s gaze fell on her. She felt his eyes boring into her, but she was determined to withstand his scrutiny. He looked like a god of thunder, and Araminta could have quailed, but she stood firm. She had come this far. She would not falter now.

Time stood still for a moment as his face froze before his customary unreadable mask descended.

“Miss Barrington. To what do I owe this
pleasure
?” His words were suddenly biting with their frostiness. “Have you come to have me congratulate you on your nuptials? It is what you have always wanted.”

She couldn’t help flinching at the venom which dripped from his words. For a moment, she battled the urge to turn and flee.

She forced her voice to be steady and betray nothing of her raging emotions as she spoke. “I came to speak to you.” She could see that there were circles under the familiar grey eyes, which betrayed the weariness that lurked just beneath his ferocity.

“Have you?” The biting mockery dripped from his voice.

“Chestleton,” Lord Harris interrupted in warning tones, alarmed to hear the man speak so to the young lady.

Chestleton looked back as if he had forgotten the other two occupants in the room.

“Harris. This does not concern you in the least and I’ll thank you to stay out of it. I will further thank you to leave Miss Barrington and myself to speak in private.”

Araminta thought Lord Harris meant to challenge the marquis then and there, and quickly interrupted.

“Thank you, Lord Harris, but it’s quite alright. Please, I must speak to his lordship in private. I promise it won’t be very long.”

About to protest, Harris looked from Araminta’s determined eyes to Susan, who nodded at him and rose to her feet.

“Come, Arthur,” she said taking his elbow and stirring him out of the room. “I am sure Araminta will be just fine. We’ll ask a servant to show us into a parlour where we can wait.”

Then they were gone, and Araminta was alone with the dark marquis. He suddenly looked taller and more virile than ever. His wonderfully broad shoulders almost seemed to fill the room. She felt her knees weaken, but she refused to sink into a chair. Her eyes blazed up at him. His, suddenly focused on hers, were not very friendly.

“Well, have you come for my silence regarding your little stay at Dillwood Park?” he sneered at her, his eyes suddenly raking her figure lasciviously, making her flush angrily. “Or have you reconsidered and decided to be my
chère amie
after all? It did not take you long to realise that Stanton could never hope to satisfy you,
my dear
.”

“How dare you!” she gasped furiously, “I would not — ” she began.

“Wouldn’t you?” he interrupted, and crossed the room before she was even aware of it. Suddenly, she found herself in his arms and his lips were burning a trail across the delicate skin of her throat. His scent of spice, leather and masculinity filled all her senses and she felt herself losing track of her thoughts.

“No!” she struggled to pull away, to keep from succumbing to his heady power, even as all her senses cried out for his touch.

“You did not mind my embrace so much when I was carrying you out of the rain,” Chestelton murmured against her hair.

Araminta yanked herself out of his arms, her breathing hard and her pulse racing with the volatile concoction of anger and desire.

She stared breathlessly at Chestleton. There was an air of menace about him, which added allure to his strikingly handsome features. His dark eyes held a hint of forbidden promise which left her struggling to breathe. He was so very tall. His back was held strong and erect, and the exquisite silk of his shirt did not hide his muscular arms or his broad chest and shoulders. There was something so virile in him that it spoke to the most secret, feminine part of her. It brought to mind savage thoughts and desires. She felt herself flush further and by the slight curl of his thin lips she knew that he was aware of the direction her thoughts had taken.

“No, that is not why I came,” she rushed to speak. She had to say her piece before she was wholly under his spell, or she knew she would be lost.

His eyes remained fixed on her face. “Oh?”

“I need to know… that is, I know some of it already, but I would like you to explain…” she babbled. “I need to know why you paid my father’s debts.” There, she thought with some satisfaction, that ought to wipe that supercilious smirk off his face.

He stared at her. “I see. Damn that solicitor of yours. You were not to know.”

“Oh, he did not mean to tell me. I’d guessed on my own, and it was not easy to persuade him to confirm what I already suspected.”

“And what is it that you think you know?” he asked dangerously.

Araminta looked steadily at him. “I know that you paid off my father’s debts. I know that you meant to do so in secret. I know therefore that you never meant it as any sort of payment for my becoming your mistress. I know that I misjudged you.” Her voice softened. “And I wonder what else I have misunderstood.”

It was a while before he replied. When he did, it was with a bitter little smile. “Ah, and you have decided to paint me as some sort of guardian angel, have you?”

“Not at all. You lied to me.”

“Did I? And now you have come into the dragon’s own cave to seek the truth? Very well, though I should warn you that you will not be getting out in one piece.” The full meaning of his words hung in the air between them.

“You lied about Charlotte.”

“Yes. But tell me, Miss Barrington, would it have made a difference for you to know that the dread marquis had an illegitimate child? I doubt it would have surprised you. You would have worked yourself into a fine snit over it, no doubt. But it might have surprised you that he kept her hidden to protect her from the cruelties of the outside world — the cruelties he himself knows too well. And would you have lowered yourself to play on the lawns with the bastard child of a poor parson’s daughter and a rake?”

Araminta’s horrified eyes flew to his. “You… you cannot imagine that I would blame a child,
any
child…” she breathed. She could feel the frisson of danger crackling in the air between them.

“You would blame the parents, then? I suppose you’re imagining a very pretty drama for Charlotte. She is certainly a very gloomy child. Well, it is all very mundane. Her mother, Eleanor Curtis, was a sweet thing, but a poor parson’s daughter nonetheless. I would have made her my wife, but she ended our relations and I left on the Tour with your brother, none the wiser that she was in the family way. I received no letter, and she died in childbed while Charles and I enjoyed ourselves in Italy.” His voice shook with emotion and he had to take a deep breath before he could continue. Araminta had to check herself from reaching out to him, so deep was the pain in his voice. “It was not until my return that I learned the truth. The woman I loved was gone and nothing but a babe remained. A babe without father or name, with nothing before her but a life of poverty.”

“And you took her in?”

His eyes flashed to hers and she could read both fury and unimaginable pain within their grey depths.

“You imagine me such a monster that I would abandon my own child?”

Araminta’s own eyes swam with unshed tears at the obvious pain that still tormented him at the memory of Charlotte’s mother. Only one thing did not fit. The words were out before she could stop them.

“But, Violet Grey,” she said in a whisper.

He startled her by laughing bitterly, “Violet Grey’s virtue was long gone before I ever set eyes on the woman. She imagined that she could snare me and become a marchioness by spreading the fiction of a child when I informed her that our relations were at an end.”

There was nothing but a harsh, bitter honesty in his voice. His gaze, as his eyes met Araminta’s, was filled with a sincerity Araminta would never once have believed possible. She felt relief wash over her.

“You know, I think that there is nothing wrong with Charlotte besides a spot of loneliness — nothing a friend or two won’t cure.”

He looked at her in disbelief, competing emotions wrestling for dominance upon his usually inscrutable countenance.

“I paid your father’s debt because I could not bear to see you sacrifice yourself for your family, however honourably. I could not have you marry that twaddle Stanton. When I heard that you meant to marry him all the same… I am not a good man, my rose — I cannot pretend to be happy at your choice.”

She could not bear it a moment longer. Tears spilled down her cheeks even as her pink mouth curled into a hopeful little smile that took Chestleton’s breath away.

“Then perhaps you can pretend to be happy that I have broken the engagement,” she ventured in a voice barely above a whisper.

Chestleton acknowledged her words with a fierce look which contained all the emotions that he had suppressed for so long. “What in the blazes were you thinking, fleeing into the night like that?” he demanded, grabbing a hold of her delicate shoulders and shaking her, before seemingly coming to his senses and taking a step back.

Araminta’s face broke into a smile of pure joy and she flung herself into his strong arms, which went instinctively around her waist, drawing her soft form firmly against his hard chest. Araminta trembled in his arms, feeling sure that she had to be dreaming to feel so much joy.

Her eyes locked on his smouldering gaze and all other thoughts vanished from her mind.

“I love you,” he told her fiercely, his mouth a breath away from her impatient lips. “I thought that I could never feel love again. I had no
wish
to ever feel it again. But you, my dearest, have thawed my heart. Now that you are mine I shall never let you go.”

“And I love you, though I have tried to deny it. When I thought that you would never be mine, I was sure my heart would not recover. I could not marry Sir Timothy, because I knew that though you would not have me, I belong to none but you, body and soul.”

“Ah,” he growled, his hot breath washed over her face, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. “But I intend to have you in every way.”

His mouth descended on hers, a fierce, powerful gesture, marking her as his forever. She knew that no other’s man’s kiss could ever compare to his so long as she lived. Araminta felt herself melt against his steady strength. His kiss was hot and honeyed, and her hands tangled in his hair as his supported her firmly about the waist. His tongue twined with hers, exploring her mouth, plundering every corner and crevice with the most delicious ardour.

Awash in joy and pleasure, Araminta felt her heart soar. At last, all was as it should be and she could rest in his warm embrace.

They were married by special licence within a month.

To say that all of polite society was astonished by the marriage of the Marquis of Chestleton to Miss Araminta Barrington did not begin to describe the uproar. For weeks after the announcement of the betrothal, drawing room conversation consisted of nothing but guesses and suppositions about the match, admiration of Miss Barrington’s good fortune, and suspicions of a scandal hastily covered up.

Lady Worthing, once she had recovered from the shock of her niece’s intention to marry the most reprehensible rogue in all London, had congratulated Araminta and wished her every happiness. She could read the warm affection in Araminta’s eyes when she looked at Chesteton, and, more surprisingly, in
his
eyes when he looked at Araminta.

It appeared that Jasper Devereaux had been snared at last.

Harriet had not hesitated to give her blessing, crying tears of joy that Araminta had found all the happiness she so richly deserved. She confessed later that she had known the depths of Chestleton’s feelings ever since he had come to interrogate her at Fanshawe Hall.

Despite all the predictions of scandal and disaster circulating in the days before their nuptials, the wedding had been a success. Araminta had never been happier. The bride was resplendent in a gown of pale blue. The delicate silk was studded with beautiful pearls, and the colour of the fabric drew out the colour of her midnight-blue eyes, which could not help but sparkle with joy. The groom was dashing and, it was clear to all present, very much in love.

A supper to celebrate the wedding was held at the Chestleton residence in London, but the new marchioness found that she could hardly eat a bite. Her mind kept turning, unbidden, to the mysterious pleasures that she knew awaited her. A delicious combination of nerves and excitement coursed through her. She caught her husband’s eye, and his smouldering gaze told her that his thoughts were no different from her own.