Rebel Marquess (16 page)

“We would love for you to join us for dinner this Saturday. Nothing elaborate, just a family meal.”

“I will check my schedule.”

“Wonderful. Wonderful,” Lady Terribury muttered with a delighted clap of her hands and a wide smile.

Having had about as much as he could take, Rutherford cast a final glance toward Eliza, who stood behind her mother and so didn’t need to hide the wide grin that spread her lips. Not at all comfortable with her obvious amusement and frustrated that he had no idea what caused it, he turned and strode into the hall.

The butler stood by the front door, already prepared with his coat and hat. Rutherford drew the coat on quickly and glanced in the mirror beside the door as he placed the top hat on his head. Catching a glimpse of an odd shadow, he leaned forward and angled his head to better see his image in the reflection. He flinched at what he saw.

There was an unmistakable smudge of pencil graphite along his jaw.

Chapter Twelve

The evening of the Terribury family dinner party arrived far sooner than Eliza was prepared for. In truth, she wasn’t sure she would ever be prepared to face the marquess again.

The betrothal of Michael Ellison Gerard, the Marquess of Rutherford, to Miss Elizabeth Terribury had been announced in the papers two days ago, but even that was not as distressing as the unbelievable suspicion that had grasped hold of her since his last visit.

Memories of what had happened that afternoon in the parlor replayed through her mind in an infinitely repeating pattern. A thousand times a day, in exquisite detail, she recalled the pressure of his lips on hers and the warmth of his hands roaming over her body. And inevitably, the memories would give rise to the same flashing licks of heat through her blood and she would find herself trembling.

But the oddest part of her preoccupation with the events in the parlor, and what so completely disturbed her, was that the feelings aroused by the marquess were so deeply reminiscent of what she had felt during the highwayman’s brief kiss.

The thief had been well concealed from the light of the moon and his mask had covered more than half of his face, but she easily recalled the harsh lines of a familiar jaw and the unforgiving posture she had come to associate with the marquess’s proud demeanor. And then there was the fact that both men carried the same exotic scent.

As the days went on, her memories of the two incidents became inexorably intertwined in her mind. In spite of all rational considerations, somewhere along the way she convinced herself Rutherford and the gentleman highwayman were one and the same. Eliza gave herself a headache trying to understand what could possibly motivate a man like the marquess to perpetrate such a ruse. It defied all logical explanation, yet somehow, in the depth of her marrow, she knew it to be true.

And if she accepted the belief that the marquess had turned to criminal activities, then she would have to follow through and acknowledge that the marquess had kissed her twice. Intentionally.

Such a thought was almost more unbelievable than the idea of the marquess robbing his peers of their jewels.

Unfortunately, no matter how badly she wished to delve into the mystery behind his masked deception or how desperately his kisses made her want to melt into him, neither issue could be allowed to interfere with Eliza’s plans. Though the idea of Rutherford riding about the countryside as a thief was a source of infinite curiosity, she needed to stay focused on the grand scheme of things and her ultimate goal.

A goal that did not involve kisses from the marquess.

So she told herself, yet when her sisters and their husbands began to arrive the night of the dinner party, Eliza retreated to the attic. From her vantage point high above the street, she witnessed his arrival perfectly on the appointed hour. And even at the distance that separated them, when she saw his strong form exit the vehicle and stalk to the front door with an obvious hitch of reluctance in his step, she felt a rush of anticipation that left her breathless.

She had agreed to play along with the engagement until a suitable termination could be arranged. If she were a good little fiancée, she would have rushed downstairs to greet him in the hall so they could enter the bosom of her family as a couple.

But she stayed in her refuge for another twenty minutes before deciding she had used up the last of her defiance. She would have to come face to face with the marquess again eventually. No point in delaying any longer when every minute she remained in the attic just allowed for more disturbing introspection.

She heard the dinner party long before she reached the dining room. Terribury voices tended to carry rather well, and each step that brought her nearer buoyed her intention to put the matter of the kisses out of her mind.

Eliza reached the formal drawing room and paused for a moment in the doorway. Her gaze was immediately drawn to Rutherford where he stood at the back of the room with her father. She had hoped she wouldn’t notice him right off since she intended to ignore him, at least for the first several minutes of her arrival. Unfortunately, that first fleeting glance sparked an acute flare of sensation that was difficult to disregard. Though she cast her gaze about for something to distract her, she could not shake the indelible awareness of his presence.

She turned her focus to the others in the room. Not all of the Terribury daughters and their respective mates were present. Her oldest sister, Marietta, was married to Lord Duncan, a Scottish laird who was head of a very large clan in the northern highlands, and so she rarely made it down to London. And Rose, one of the twins, was recovering in the country with her new husband, the two of them having just returned from a grand tour of Italy.

As all eyes turned to her, Eliza swore she heard Lord Ashcroft mutter under his breath, “About bloody time.”

She gave Judith’s pretentious husband a wide and winning smile as she passed by.

Rutherford was as arrogant and proud as they come, but no one compared to Ashdown for sheer unjustified conceit. A dandy of the first water, Ashdown never had a curl out of place or a smudge on his fingernail and he fully expected the world to bow to his every whim.

“Lizzie!” Regina, the other of the twins, came forward to wrap Eliza in a warm embrace.

After marrying nearly a year ago, Regina rarely came around. Lord Sheffield was quite active in politics and it was Regina’s duty as his wife to entertain his political cronies. Regina had even organized a ladies auxiliary group intent upon furthering the awareness of multiple social causes.

As she hugged her, Regina whispered, “If I did not see him with my own eyes, I would not believe it was true. You must tell me how Mother finally managed it.”

Eliza’s reply was interrupted as Judith, having overheard the whispered comment, leaned in with a sly smile. “Mother didn’t manage a thing. Lizzie here is craftier than any of us imagined. Who would have thought our little attic mouse had it in her.”

“It was a misunderstanding, really,” Eliza began to explain.

“What’s the matter, Judith?” Regina asked, disregarding Eliza’s response for an opportunity to take a jab their older sister. Judith had become nearly intolerable since marrying Ashdown. It seemed the traits of the husband had rubbed off on the wife. “Jealous that Eliza accomplished what the rest of us could not?”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Judith scoffed. “I am quite content with my circumstances. Ashdown suits me very well. I could not imagine being stuck with that domineering brute.” The last words were hushed as she gave a stiff nod in the direction of the marquess.

Eliza stiffened against the unjustified comment. “The marquess is hardly domineering. Arrogant, certainly, but—”

“Yes, Judy, we all know how much you prefer to be in charge,” Regina countered as if Eliza hadn’t spoken.

Eliza rolled her eyes as her sisters continued to trade veiled insults, both having forgotten the initial topic of their conversation. Freed from having to comment any further since they weren’t listening to her anyway, Eliza gave in to the urge to glance across the room. Rutherford still stood beside her father, but her mother had since joined them. The marquess looked uncomfortably stiff beside her parents, and Eliza noticed that he glanced more than once at his empty glass with a wistful expression.

She was about to turn away to excuse herself from her sisters and go to him when he glanced up and his dark gaze stretched out to her. In that bare moment as his eyes bored into hers from across the room, she experienced an instant rush of concentrated sensation. Her knees went a little wobbly and she felt frozen in place. There was something practically tangible in his gaze that sparked a visceral response reminiscent of what had happened when he had kissed her.

A flash of expectancy, a sudden weakening of her limbs and softening of her mind.

“My God, that man has a vicious stare.” Eliza didn’t realize her sister Allegra—now Lady Crenshaw, the Countess of Benbroke—had joined them until she heard her muttered exclamation. Allegra prodded Eliza with her elbow as she asked, “What on earth did you do to make him so angry?”

Eliza tamped down the riotous flurries in her stomach. She turned to Allegra in confusion. “What? Who is angry?”

“Look again, Allegra,” Regina interjected with a pretty blush and a husky laugh. “I do not believe that is an expression of anger.”

Allegra tilted her head and narrowed her gaze as she looked past Eliza curiously. Then she coughed and gave Eliza a knowing little smirk. “Lizzie, dear, you had better greet your fiancé before you burst into flames where you stand.”

“Yes,” Judith agreed, her smile crafty as she nudged Eliza back to face the marquess. “Do run along. I cannot wait to see how our mouse fares against the haughty pride of the lion.”

Eliza was more than happy to escape her sisters’ condescending observations. Let them think what they wanted if it helped them to accept the engagement as real. “I am overwhelmed by your consideration for my wellbeing,” Eliza replied with pert sarcasm. Before turning to leave, she couldn’t resist adding, “Do be sure to continue your witty commentary at dinner. I am sure the marquess will be equally impressed. He is well known for his pleasant social banter, after all.”

Considering Rutherford was known only for issuing cutting set-downs in response to those who attempted to outwit him, Eliza almost hoped her sisters wouldn’t recognize her words for the warning she intended.

Gathering her composure, Eliza crossed to where Rutherford stood with her mother and father. Allegra’s husband, Lord Crenshaw, had also joined them. The marquess gave the impression of listening politely to what Crenshaw was saying, but as Eliza drew near, he turned his gaze upon her with a look that clearly begged for rescue.

Grateful the heat she had detected earlier was no longer so starkly evident, Eliza pressed a cheery smile to her lips as she stepped to his side and slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow. Crenshaw was engaging in a diatribe on the infinite troubles associated with preserving heirloom silver. It was an argument she had heard him espouse a half dozen times and she knew he could go on at least another forty minutes before he needed to stop for breath. Tilting her head, she met the marquess’s heavy gaze and experienced more disturbing little flutters in her stomach.

Ignoring her physical response, she gently cleared her throat. “Forgive my tardiness, my lord. Say you will allow me to make it up to you by taking you on a stroll about the room.”

“Of course,” he replied stiffly. He gave a short nod to the others. “Lord and Lady Terribury, Lord Crenshaw.” Without asking for their pardon or even waiting for their acknowledgment, he steered Eliza quickly away.

“I thought I was leading you on this walk,” she remarked in amusement once they were out of anyone’s hearing.

“Do not ever do that to me again,” he replied from between clenched teeth, continuing to take the lead as he drew them toward the perimeter of the room, beyond the chance of being overheard by the others present.

Eliza looked up at him in wide-eyed innocence. “What did I do?”

He snorted. The scornful sound somehow coming off as refined when he did it. “You dare to deny you left me to fend for myself amongst this pack of wolves?”

Eliza gave a small laugh. “I would hardly classify them as wolves, my lord. At their worst they are perhaps a scurry of curious squirrels or a tribe of omnivorous goats. Certainly nothing a grand and vicious lion should be unable to handle.”

The marquess lifted his brows and gave her an imperious glance. It was a look he had given her a dozen times before, yet this time it felt warmer somehow. More intimate than haughty. “A lion, am I?”

“Yes, I know. Rather unimaginative.” She threw him an impish grin. “Personally, I think I would liken you more to the hulking bison.”

He exhaled on a heavy sigh. “I am sure I will regret asking, but why is that?”

Eliza kept her tongue firmly in cheek as she replied. “Though you appear quite grand and intimidating at first, I believe you are more domestic than you look, and I suspect you are rather easily tamed.”

They had just reached the other end of the room and were about to head back toward the rest of the guests. She expected her pert little description to garner a reaction, but she never could have anticipated what Rutherford did then. In a move that would have been envied on the dance floor, he swung his arm smoothly around her waist and swept her around to face him, at the same time, veering off to the side so they were suddenly hidden from the room by a large porcelain vase filled with an elaborate display of dyed ostrich feathers.