A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement) (8 page)

"Yes, Nick," she replied. "I fear I may burst, but I will say nothing." 

He gave her a warm smile. "If we are agreed, let us seal this bargain with a kiss."

Not trusting himself again with her mouth, he instead raised her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers. He then upturned her palm and placed another far more intimate kiss that she received with a quiver. She was so wonderfully warm and responsive. How fortunate he was to have found her. He couldn't wait for the time that he could make her his in every sense. Even now, his mind conjured erotic visions of her lying sprawled beneath him with a sated smile on her sweet lips.

The moment he released her hand, the glow of lanterns cut through the night. The whinny of horses and ring of iron-shod hooves striking gravel followed, announcing the arrival of Marcus's post chaise.

***

Nick escorted Mariah to the servant's entrance, where she sneaked inside and miraculously found her way back to her room unseen. Closing the door quietly behind her, she flew to her dressing table and gasped at the shocking vision she presented in the looking glass. She was a truly shameful sight! Her eyes shone overbright, her hair was mussed beyond repair, and her gown was in total disarray. Yet, pressing her fingers to lips that were tender and swollen from Nick's passionate kisses, she smiled. She could feel no remorse. On the contrary, she wanted to laugh aloud with giddiness.

Although he'd stopped short of speaking the actual words, the implication was clear. He'd asked her to wait for him, to give him time to establish himself because he cared enough for her to wish to wed her. One year. She sighed. It already felt like forever.

Yet Nicolas Needham was a man of many talents. Surely his worth would soon be recognized and he'd be rewarded with an appropriate post. She hoped it would be soon.

Mariah snatched up a handful of pins in hope of making repairs to her hair only to throw them back down in dismay. She chose to don a lace cap instead. It was well after midnight. Most of the guests were already abed. Surely anyone who saw her would assume the same of her, that she'd been roused from her bed.

She was thankful the gown was a front-opening mantua that she could get out of without assistance. She kicked off her slippers and then removed the silk gown in favor of one in simple calico and departed her room, lamp in hand, to greet the new arrivals.

***

The footman had barely divested Marcus and Lydia of hats and cloaks when Nick met Mariah at the top of the stairs. Although she had changed her clothing, she still looked suspiciously disheveled. He hoped Marcus and Lydia wouldn't take note. For fear of betraying themselves, he was careful to avoid her gaze. He had no plans to tell anyone of their secret pact, not even his best friend, Marcus.

"Lyddie! You have finally arrived!" Mariah declared as she embraced her cousin. "I was so worried about you."

"Where the devil have you been?" Nick asked Marcus. "Bedford is in a thunderous temper. You have no idea what I suffered on your behalf."

"That bad?" Marcus shuddered. "I confess the thought of facing His Grace in the morning nigh strikes terror in my heart."

"As it should," Nick replied dryly. "Your mother was also beside herself."

"Didn't you receive my missive? I dispatched a messenger from the coaching inn before we turned back for London."

"Yes, I got it, but you revealed virtually nothing. Why did you turn back to London?"

"Let us say I discovered an urgent need, a matter I was certain would allow me no rest until satisfied."

"Given the circumstances, couldn't you trust me to handle it for you?" Nick asked.

"No, dear boy." Nick noted the exchange of looks between Marcus and Lydia. "This was a matter requiring my own delicate touch. Can we please continue this discussion in the morning? It has been a very long day and will assuredly be an even longer night." Another meaningful look in Lydia's direction sent a flush of color into her cheeks.

"Poor Lyddie," Mariah crooned, "you must be exhausted. I'll show you to your chamber. It's adjacent to mine."

Lydia hesitated and looked to Marcus, who broke into a devilish a grin. "My
wife
will retire with me."

"Your wife?"
Nick and Mariah exclaimed in unison.

"Aye." Marcus laughed. "That was the true cause of our delay and the crime for which I must plead clemency in the morning."

"Good luck with that," Nick remarked dryly. "Your impetuosity has jeopardized everything you've worked for over the past six years."

"Oh, Marcus, how foolish you are!" Lydia cried.

"If I am a fool, it is all for love." He smiled and kissed her. "I could have done no differently. One more day and I would have died in my want of you." Marcus turned to Lydia's maid. "Sally, please see that Lady Russell is properly settled in
my
chamber." He then took Lydia's hand. "I'll repair to the library with Nick for a short while and give you time to . . . refresh yourself."

"Of course," she breathed. "You won't be long?"

"I assure you, my dove." He brushed his lips across her fingers. "I won't be long."

"I'll wait for you," she replied breathily and departed with a smile.

Nick wondered if Marcus had indeed seduced her as he'd threatened. Their exchange of heated looks suggested he had. "Come, Nick!" Marcus clapped him on the shoulder, adding with a wink, "Let us go and drink a toast to my blushing bride!"

They retired to the library, where Marcus seemed unusually restless as Nick related his conversation with the duke. "Un-bloody-believable! Bedford actually wagered my career on a cricket match?"

"Yes. It was Rochford's idea, actually. Sandwich pressed him to support Montagu for first secretary, but he agreed to support you if the duke's team wins."

"And if we lose, he throws his considerable weight behind Montagu?"

"Not exactly," Nick said. "This is where it gets interesting. In exchange for five hundred guineas, Rochford will recuse himself."

"And Bedford agreed to this?"

"Yes. And then I offered to play in your stead."

"Did you?" Marcus eyed him over his port. "I daresay you're a bit rusty, but even so you're a damned lot better player than I ever was. I owe you, Needham."

"Save your gratitude. I was merely acting in self-preservation," Nick replied dryly. "If the duke loses, we will both be unemployed. What would you then do?"

"You see this glass?" Marcus raised it to his friend's view. "Is it half-full or half-empty?" he asked.

"More than half-empty," Nick replied. "You've almost drained it."

"You're missing my bloody point, man!" Marcus exclaimed. "I prefer to consider the wine that still remains to be drunk. What I'm trying to demonstrate is the power of positive thinking. I refuse to dwell on a negative outcome. Whatever transpires, I will move forward and overcome it just as I did with Lydia. Speaking of which, it's unseemly for a groom to keep an eager bride waiting."

"Eager, eh?"

"Oh yes, indeed." Marcus flashed a smile of epic proportions. "I count myself one thousand times blessed."

Nick was jolted by a fierce wave of envy. Marcus had succeeded in his grand scheme to win back Lydia by means of seduction, and now they were wed. Were he not a man of higher principle, he could easily have done the same—compromised Mariah and forced her hand, but that would have meant sacrificing every ounce of his self-respect. No, his sense of honor dictated that he win her only by honorable means. With no title or lands, his pride, reputation, and self-respect were all he had. Whatever the outcome tomorrow, he vowed to find some means of claiming her for his own. He knew with a certitude that ran bone deep that his only hope of true happiness depended on it.

***

"I cannot believe you have really done it, Lyddie!" Mariah exclaimed the moment they entered the privacy of the bedchamber. "You told me you would never have him!"

"Because I believed him too arrogant and conceited ever to seek my forgiveness, but I was wrong. Marcus is truly and genuinely contrite, and I have truly and genuinely forgiven him."

"Just like that?" Mariah snapped.

"Hardly. We were confined together for many hours in the carriage. At first, I wanted nothing to do with him, but then something changed." Lydia sighed dreamily. "
Everything
has changed."

"You are truly happy?" Mariah asked.

"Yes." Lydia smiled. "Blissfully, euphorically, rapturously happy."

"I am incredulous. When you departed London, you were hardly speaking to him."

"Sometimes, dear cousin, words only get in the way." Lydia tossed herself onto the bed with a giggle. "Marcus will expect me to be ready for him. Can you help me to undress, or shall I ring for Sally?"

"Of course I can help you," Mariah said. "Are you not nervous, Lyddie?" she asked, desperate to know more of what had transpired but afraid to ask directly.

"Anxious mayhap, but not the least bit nervous," Lydia replied with a knowing smile stretching her lips.

Suddenly, Mariah understood Lydia's breathless exuberance and radiant visage. Had she not also experienced a similar giddy glow when she'd returned from her garden tryst with Nicolas? "Lyddie," she began tentatively, "are you saying that you and he have already . . ."

Lydia giggled again. "I have given myself away, haven't I? Yes, Mariah, we are united in every sense of the word. And it is the most heavenly experience imaginable."

"So you have achieved your dream of a love match after all?"

"Yes. I love Marcus and he adores me, and we will be blissfully happy the rest of our days. I was a fool ever to consider anything else." Lydia sat up and clasped Mariah's hand. And now that I know the difference, I beg that you also will never settle for any man you cannot fully give your heart to."

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are."-
John Dryden

AS WAS HER HABIT, Mariah awoke to the teasing first rays of the sun. She'd always been an early riser and relished the first hours of the morning. One of her few remaining pleasures since her father's illness was a brisk morning walk.

She rose and began her own toilet, choosing to spare the duchess's overworked staff. They already had their hands full with all of the guests to attend. It was her custom at home anyway. She rarely called a maid to assist her unless it was a formal occasion. After performing quick ablutions with cold water, she donned front-lacing stays, a simple linen walking gown, and half boots. She eschewed hoops, dressing purely for comfort, figuring she was unlikely to encounter anyone but servants at this hour. She then pinned her plaited hair into a neat bun that she topped with a lace cap and straw bonnet.

She exited her room with a buoyant step, pausing briefly as she passed by Lydia's chamber. Then she remembered that Lydia was not in her room, but with Lord Marcus. She wondered how her cousin fared this morning. She had seemed ecstatic the night before, and Mariah was happy for her. Lydia's exuberance gave her hope that she could also experience the full joys of marriage with a man that she could both respect and love. Nick's loyalty to Marcus and dedication to his duty had already won her respect, but it was his sense of honor she most admired. Perhaps he didn't bear a noble title, but he had proven he possessed a noble heart, the heart she hoped would be hers alone, just as he had already claimed hers.

Feeling lost in the vast house, she retraced her steps to the same ballroom terrace she had exited the night before. She paused briefly on the steps to breathe in the crisp, moist spring air and then set out briskly with skirts raised to protect her hem from trailing in the dew that glistened on the closely cropped grass. She traversed the length of the parterre gardens that opened onto an expansive green whose wickets identified it as the duke's cricket grounds. She halted abruptly at the sight of a lone man in the distance with a bat in one hand and a basket at his feet. Her breath caught at the realization that it was Nick.

He hadn't seen her. His attention appeared fixed on the basket. He reached into it and retrieved a ball, bouncing it in his hand a few times as if testing its weight. He then produced a long white object that she recognized as a stocking. He placed the ball inside it and tied it off. He was so engrossed he didn't seem to hear her approach. "Nick? What are you doing?"

He looked up in surprise. "Mariah? You are an early riser. After the events of last night, I hardly expected to see you until the afternoon. I doubt the rest of the duke's guests will emerge from their chambers before then."

She grinned. "I know it's not fashionable to confess, but I follow the habits of most country dwellers and always rise with the sun. What are you doing? Why did you put a ball inside a stocking?"

"I'm practicing my batting, albeit not in the most ideal manner. Marcus was supposed to have come and bowled for me, but the blighter can't seem to pull himself from his conjugal bed."

Mariah flushed but ignored the intimation. "Is there no one else to bowl for you?"

"In truth, I would rather no one else sees me until I am certain I can still hit a bloody ball," he replied dryly.

"Then how will you do it? I didn't know one could practice batting without a bowler."

"I will suspend the ball from a tree branch. It's what I did as a boy."

He proceeded to tie a long section of rope around the stocking and then looped it over a low-hanging branch of a nearby chestnut tree until the ball hung at mid-thigh level. He gave his handiwork a nod of approval and then shrugged out of his coat, tossing it carelessly to the ground. His waistcoat followed. He then stripped off his cravat and rolled back his shirtsleeves to expose his very masculine forearms. They were muscular and covered with a light dusting of dark hair.

Mariah had never truly considered the male anatomy before, but now she found herself utterly enthralled by the sight of his bared arms. Her gaze tracked upward, noting even darker hair just below the exposed portion of his throat. The sight both fascinated her and filled her with questions. Did he have hair all over his body? Did he, like she, also have a thick thatch of it in his nether region? Her gaze reflexively flickered downward. He glanced up and caught her looking.

"If I didn't know better, Lady Mariah, I would think you were ogling me."

"Perhaps I am," she confessed.

One dark chestnut brow cocked. "Then you compel me to ask if you
like
what you see."

"Yes,
Mr. Needham
," she replied with a boldness that surprised even herself. "I believe I do. Indeed, I find you altogether fascinating."

"Do you? I find that remark terribly distracting. If you are going to continue to stare at me, I'm going to have great difficulty concentrating on my batting."

"Do you wish for me to leave?" she asked, instantly disappointed.

"No, I do not."

"Might I remain if I promise not to ogle you?"

"You may," he said with mock solemnity.

"I could always bowl for you instead," she suggested.

His brows rose.
"You
?
"

"Yes, me," she replied indignantly. "I may not be the best, but surely I am better than nothing. At least I can bowl better than a tree limb. Besides, I seem to recall your promise to teach me proper batting technique. Here's our chance to kill two birds with one—"

"Cricket ball?" he interjected.

"Indeed!" She laughed. His rumbling chuckle joining hers was the sweetest sound. It was warm, companionable, and wonderful to have this unexpected private time together.

"While I appreciate the gesture," he said, "I doubt you can produce the speed I require."

"You won't even let me try?"

"If Marcus doesn't appear shortly, I will accept your offer. In the meantime, I would be happy to demonstrate the proper batting technique to you."

"Thank you." She sank to the ground under the tree to observe him.

"It's all about balance," he said as he took up his bat. "Watch carefully."

She couldn't ignore how his breeches pulled taut over his muscular thighs and rounded buttocks as he assumed the batter's stance. She'd never been so drawn to the male form until now, but there was a kind of beauty and athletic grace in each of his movements.

"Are you watching?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Very intently."

He lunged forward as he swung the bat. The crack of wood on the ball split the silence. The stocking-covered ball shot into the air and then jerked back down, it's flight halted by the stocking and rope. Nick immediately stepped forward into another swing, striking the ball again and again.

He continued for several minutes without pause, never missing the ball. His brows contracted in concentration, his breathing came harder, and his shirt clung to his perspiring body as his strikes came harder and faster. As he lunged into another hit, the ball suddenly shot out of the stocking and into the air, flying far into the tree line.

"Bloody hell," he cursed and threw down the bat.

"Do you not have another ball?" she asked.

"I do, but I tore a great gaping hole in the stocking."

"Have you another?"

"Only on my feet."

"That is no good at all," she said. "You would look very peculiar walking around with one stocking, not to mention the discomfort. Perhaps I could assist you?"

***

Mariah had already untied and removed one boot before Nick even realized what she was about. Her hands worked under her petticoat as she untied her garters and slid her stockings down her calves. As he imagined what he could not see, a surge of heat hit his groin. Although her actions were concealed by her petticoats, the knowledge alone of what she did flooded his brain with the most erotic visions of long and shapely bare legs.

"Bloody hell, Mariah!" he groaned. "I thought I was distracted before! You have no idea what you are doing to me."

She looked up with a perplexed expression. "But I am only removing my stockings."

"And now practicing with this bloody bat is the
last
thing on my mind."

"But you must," she insisted. "Didn't you say that everything depends on the outcome of the match?"

"Yes," he said. "It does."

"Then you cannot let anything distract you."

She rose and brushed the grass off her skirts and then offered him her silk stocking.  Nick's gaze flickered from the stocking to her guileless blue-green eyes. She truly had no idea what she did to him, but he was aware enough for both of them. Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into his arms. She yielded to him instantly, eagerly melting into him as his lips sought hers in a slow, savoring kiss. Her scent was as fresh and fragrant as spring flowers, and her lips tasted like heaven. How had he lived twenty-six years and never experienced such pleasure from a kiss?

She twined her arms about his neck, pressing her soft, supple body to his, opening her lips to him with a breathy sigh that he caught with his mouth. As he drew out the kiss, she surprised him with teasing nips and tiny flicks of her tongue. It was achingly sweet and made him want so very much more. Not only to feel himself inside her, but to see the rapture in her eyes as her passion awakened to full bloom.

He backed her slowly up against the tree, pressing his body into hers, suddenly aware that there was no obstacle of hoops between them, only thin layers of linen and muslin. Her eyes widened and breath hitched as he slid his thigh between hers. He kissed and licked up the slender column of her throat and then sought the hollow behind her ear.

"Oh, Nick," she gasped. "What are you doing to me?"

"Certainly not what I wish to do. Where are your bloody hoops?"

"I never wear them while out walking," she replied breathlessly.

He licked the shell of her ear and nibbled her lobe. "My God. You do tempt a man to sin, Mariah."

"And I have no will to stop you," she murmured, throwing back her head to give him better access. "I can't understand how a simple kiss can contain so much power."

"I never would have imagined it either, had I not experienced it. I almost believe I've been enchanted by a wood sprite," he replied with a twitch of his mouth.

They were thus engaged and utterly caught up in the pleasures of the moment when Marcus came upon them, sounding a loud cough. Nick and Mariah instantly separated. Mariah lowered her lashes and smoothed her skirts. Both of them were panting with frustrated lust. Nick had never before desired to strangle a man with his bare hands until that moment. He stepped toward Marcus, hoping to shield Mariah and give her a moment to compose herself. 

"So the sluggard is out of his bed at last."

"Yes, but it was far from my preference. Duty alone dragged me from it." Marcus's gaze raked lazily over first Nick and then Mariah. "But now I perceive we all would have been better . . . satisfied . . . had I remained abed," Marcus replied with a smirk.

"I shall come and watch you play later, Mr. Needham," Mariah murmured, her cheeks tinged bright pink. "You must practice for the match, and I must return."

"You bloody jackass!" Nick hissed under his breath as a mortified Mariah scurried away. "Did you really have to do that?"

"I'm afraid so." Marcus chuckled. "You may be a slow starter, but I credit you with making damned short work of it. She descended the stairs looking quite tumbled last night, and now I nearly catch you
in flagrante delicto
. Funny, I've never known you to indulge in dalliances before."

"Bloody hell, Marcus, it's not like that. I would never—"

Marcus arched a brow.
"Never?"

Nick groaned. It was obvious his best friend wasn't about to let it go. "It was innocent. I merely kissed her."

"There are many
kinds
of kisses," Marcus remarked with a lascivious leer. "I wonder what kind you shared?"

"We're done discussing it," Nick snapped.

"Pity. We were just getting to the good part. As to the rest, should I seek out a new secretary?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because it appears you have set your sights on matrimony."

"I'm not in a position to offer for her, Marcus."

"What did I say before about the glass of wine?" Marcus clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You are the best of men and a true friend, Nick. Rest assured that I shall do my utmost to help you achieve your desire." Marcus considered him for a thoughtful moment. "I wonder, would you be averse to a post in Turin?" Marcus asked.

"Turin? You mean with Rochford?"