Mastering the Marquess (17 page)

Silverton felt his anger grow as he watched the casual display of cruelty, and he had to force himself to plaster a genial smile on his face as he returned the greetings of various acquaintances. Overtaken by a fierce sense of possessiveness, he realized he would like to do a great deal more than just protect Meredith from the harpies of the ton. But for now, all he could do was shield her as best he could from idle gossip.

It nagged at him that he had not yet had the chance to make a full apology to her for his actions at the ball. He felt a driving need to be alone with her—to see if she had really forgiven him. She had been so guarded in his presence these last few days that he found it difficult to read her emotions. And he sorely missed the look of sweet longing that used to shine in her eyes whenever she gazed at him.

Silverton had an almost irrepressible urge to grab Meredith and make her look at him, to force her to see how much he wanted her. But her eyes were fixed firmly ahead as she exited out the front doors and followed Lady Stanton to the carriage.

He stood quietly on the pavement, pondering his next gambit in this increasingly complicated and serious game. It was obvious that Meredith was determined to ignore him as much as possible, at least in public. In private, he thought, it might be a different matter altogether.

He laughed softly to himself, then gave the coachman a tersely worded order before leaping up into the carriage. Meredith glanced briefly at him before looking out the window, her face obscured by shadows in the flickering light of the coach lanterns. Silverton watched her in silence, content to bide his time.

She didn't know it, but he was about to put his next move into play.

Waves of sensation rippled down Meredith's spine, a restless heat that pooled like honey in the secret places of her body. All was velvet and charged silence in the darkened coach as it rolled through the deserted streets of Mayfair. Her palms grew damp with anxious awareness of the man seated opposite her, his presence filling the unbearably intimate space until she could hardly draw a breath.

The marquess, though, seemed to be his usual cool and confident self. He lounged gracefully on the padded bench, apparently unmoved by either the events of the evening or their conversation during the play.

Meredith, however, could barely sit still whenever she thought about that electrifying moment when his gaze had penetrated deep into her soul. As far as she was concerned, her escape from the theater had not come a moment too soon.

But she had almost gasped out loud when the carriage had pulled up first at Stanton House, and Silverton had quickly jumped down to assist his aunt to alight. Lady Stanton had looked momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered. She had bestowed a soft kiss on Meredith's cheek and allowed her nephew to hand her to the pavement.

Her ladyship and Silverton had exchanged a few terse words, but Meredith had not been able to hear them. After escorting his aunt to the door of Stanton House, Silverton had returned to the carriage and leapt inside. He had then given her a slow, hot smile that wreaked havoc on her nerves.

Now all she wanted to do was get away from him, and as soon as possible.

Although separated by mere inches, she refused to look at him. But he was so big, and he radiated a seductive power in the small space; she could hear the siren call of his masculine sensuality in every part of her body. Meredith desperately fought the urge to crawl into his lap and curl herself around him, burrowing her face in his neck and inhaling the healthy male scent that affected her so completely.

Inwardly cursing her lack of self-control, she lectured herself for the hundredth time that a lady should be well able to control her physical passions. Unfortunately, her little scold failed to work, which didn't surprise her, because it hadn't worked all the other times, either.

She breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief as they slowed to a halt, the groomsman leaping from his perch to pull down the step. Silverton turned to help her, his long fingers wrapping themselves around her hand in a steady grip.

Meredith gulped, unable to repress a sudden image of that large hand curving over her breast. The very idea of that possession caused the heat in her belly and legs to flare up more hotly than ever before. She pulled her hand away, covering her confusion by rummaging in her reticule for the key to the front door.

After climbing the steps, Meredith spun awkwardly around and gave him her brightest smile. “Thank you, my lord, for seeing me safely home. Please accept my thanks for a pleasant evening.”

Silverton ignored her words as he frowned at the key in her hand.

“Why don't you simply knock on the door?” he demanded. “Surely the footman is waiting up for you?”

Meredith almost groaned as she realized Silverton would surely be displeased that she had given Peter the night off.

Their new footman was a burly young man, seconded from the Silverton mansion with clear orders to provide security for their small household. Meredith hated to admit it but Peter's bulky presence was a comfort, even though it chafed her to be in Silverton's debt.

“Since we were to be out most of the evening, I told Peter and the other servants they need not wait up for us,” she explained patiently. “I knew that you or Mr. Stanton would be escorting us home.”

Silverton's mouth thinned with displeasure. Without saying a word he plucked the key out of her hand, reached past her, and opened the front door.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, trying to control the irritation in her voice. Meredith was about to bid him good-night when put his hand on her waist and gently pushed her through the door, following closely behind.

“Lord Silverton,” Meredith protested, “I am grateful for your protection but there is really no need for you to come in. I will wait up for Annabel, I assure you.”

He coolly removed his hat and stripped off his gloves, tossing them on the table by the door.

“And I assure
you
, Miss Burnley, there is every need to see you safely inside your house.” He bent his golden head close to hers, and his voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I thought we had reached an agreement about this.”

Meredith took a hasty step back, all too aware of the force of her attraction for him in the close quarters of the small hallway.

“Yes, well, be that as it may,” she stammered, “all is well now, and I will bid you good-night.”

“Not yet,” Silverton said. “I need to talk with you.”

“Now?” she questioned faintly. The thought of being alone with him in the dark and silent house was almost more than she could bear.

“Now,” he responded firmly.

An enigmatic smile played around the corners of his mouth, and the look on his face caused her to turn on her heel and walk to the drawing room with a hasty step. He strolled leisurely after her, but she had the oddest feeling that a wild beast stalked her footsteps. It did nothing to calm her disordered state of nerves.

This late at night, the drawing room was only dimly lit with a banked fire and a single candle under a lamp. She used the taper to light a branch of candles, refusing to look at Silverton until she had done so. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his muscular arms straining the material of his coat as he crossed them over his chest. The intensity of his gaze as his eyes followed her about the room caused her scalp to prickle with a strange mixture of apprehension and excitement.

Straightening her spine, Meredith took refuge in the self-control her stepmother had drummed into her so many years ago. No matter what, she would not allow him to see how greatly he affected her.

“Yes, my lord? What is it you wish to discuss with me?” Her voice sounded wary, even to her own ears.

Silverton pushed away from the door. Crossing to her, he tipped her chin up with his hand and forced her to look directly into his eyes.

The shock of his touch streaked through her like a bolt of summer lightning. Under his steady scrutiny, her cheeks burned with heat.

“My dear girl, you must think me a perfect ogre.” His voice was very soft, and his hand caressed her chin for a moment before he let her go. “I simply wanted to apologize for my inappropriate behavior the other night at Lady Framingham's ball. I'm not sure you understand how sorry I am. It was my fault that you and Annabel were exposed in so painful a manner, and I beg you most sincerely to forgive me.”

Meredith stared back, stunned that a man like him would feel it necessary to apologize for his actions. In her experience noblemen rarely apologized, especially to someone from a lower social standing.

“Lord Silverton,” she exclaimed earnestly, “there is nothing to forgive. My foolishness was entirely to blame for the whole incident. I cannot even plead ignorance as an excuse, since Lady Stanton gave Annabel and me very clear instructions regarding our conduct. It was my fault entirely, and I regret that I have caused such inconvenience and trouble to you and your aunt.”

Silverton shook his head. He didn't smile, but his eyes gleamed with a rueful amusement.

“I should have known you would take all the blame on yourself. Miss Burnley, I have never met anyone with such an exaggerated sense of responsibility. It would be refreshing if it were not so alarming.”

Much to her surprise, he laughed.

“If only the other members of the ton shared your sense of selflessness. Now
that
would be truly radical. Of course, if such a revolution were to occur, the nobility wouldn't know what to do with itself, since there would be nothing to gossip about and no one to insult. I don't think the Upper Ten Thousand could survive the shock.”

Meredith frowned, unable to share in his sardonic amusement. She could only feel anger and resentment as she recalled the whispered cruelties and mocking looks of the last few days. She turned from him, swallowing the bitter words that sprang to her lips.

“You must not be so hurt, Miss Burnley,” he added softly. “Believe me, those who have wounded you are not worthy of your notice.”

“Hurt!” she cried as she jerked stiffly around to glare at him. “I am not hurt. I am . . . furious!”

She began to pace around the room. “How dare they treat my sister that way? She is the sweetest, most innocent creature that ever lived!”

Silverton watched impassively as she pivoted on her heel to cross the room again.

“I don't understand how you can bear such horrible people. They are petty, small-minded, and cruel!” Meredith flung the words at him, angry that he could be so dismissive of her pain. “They believe their aimless, selfish lives actually mean something, are of value to the rest of us. I see no evidence of kindness or compassion—even tolerance would do—but they lack that quality as well! Sometimes I think that I would like to . . .”

She stumbled to a halt, suddenly horrified by the words she had almost blurted out.

“Like to kill them?” Silverton inquired genially.

Meredith clapped her hand over her mouth, humiliated by her outrageous display of temper. Why did she find it so difficult to control herself when she was with him? All night long she had been tossed on a sea of turbulent emotions. A few moments ago she only wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and cover his cynical mouth with her lips, and now she lashed out at him like a madwoman.

Silverton, however, did not appear the least bit put out by her conduct.

“My dear girl, you must not be embarrassed on my account. I share your contempt for the privileged classes but must, alas, count myself as one of them. It's my hope that when you get to know some of us better, you will not judge us so harshly. Surely we must have a few redeeming qualities. Perhaps if you look hard enough you will find them.”

He made no attempt to disguise the laughter in his voice.

Meredith blinked away angry tears, wishing that she were anywhere but here, exposed so completely to his amused regard.

She hesitantly met his eyes, miserably aware of the social and emotional distance between them. No matter how much she yearned for it, she could never be comfortable in his world, nor be the kind of woman he could possibly desire.

Besides, she remembered with a guilty start, she still didn't know what he intended for Annabel. Why was she even talking to him like this? He must think her a complete hoyden.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she managed to get past the lump in her throat. “You must truly be shocked by my outburst. You know the last few days have been very taxing, which can be my only excuse.”

When he didn't answer her, Meredith couldn't hold back a sigh. “Please forgive me. I know how inappropriate it is for me to indulge in such strong displays of emotion.”

Silverton laughed softly. “Ah, Miss Burnley,” he murmured, his voice whispering like silk across her skin, “sometimes a strong display of emotion is precisely what the situation calls for.”

He closed the distance between them and slid a hand up her arm to caress the bare skin of her shoulder. Tiny shocks sparkled along the path traced by his fingers. Meredith looked up into his eyes, and this time she did gasp, completely undone by what she saw in them.

He looked ready to devour her, his gaze so incredibly fiery as it roamed over her face and breasts that her dazed mind imagined it might actually leave a mark on her flesh. She no longer harbored any doubts that he wanted her, and wanted her very badly.

Meredith pressed cold hands to her flaming cheeks, stepping quickly away and stumbling over to the fireplace. She rested her forehead against the cool, marble mantelpiece.

“No, no, you don't understand,” she said in a tremulous voice. “What I feel is . . . I can't . . .”

She fell silent. Never had she been so unsure of herself, so trapped in a bewildering tangle of emotions. His desire stunned and frightened her, precisely because she longed for it more than anything else in the world. But how could they ever bridge their differences—differences arising from so many things she couldn't even begin to count them.

And how could she betray Annabel, robbing her sister of Silverton's protection when she needed it most?

He crossed the room to stand beside her and with a light touch on her shoulder turned her to face him. His long fingers stroked her cheek, gently urging her to meet his gaze.

She had to fight against an overwhelming desire to nuzzle her cheek into the warmth of his big hand. He made her feel so vulnerable, and she was both strangely thrilled and appalled by her impulse to surrender to him.

“What is it, Meredith?” His voice was a soft growl that sent shivers down her spine. “What are you afraid of?”

She refused to look at him, shaking her head against his hand, unable to voice her guilt and confusion.

“Tell me,” he whispered as he brushed his cool lips against her burning face.

She jumped back, stung by the gentle kiss.

“No,” she cried. “You mustn't!”

To her surprise, he seemed more annoyed by her reaction than anything else. His eyes narrowed suspiciously on her.

“Meredith, tell me what troubles you.”

She recognized an order when she heard one. His perfect face, so often a mask of casual indifference, blazed with a potent combination of desire and anger, so intense it made the hair stand up on the nape of her neck.