Rebel Marquess (20 page)

The name rang familiar. Rutherford drew a long breath. “And do you recall any connection the Hyndmarsh’s have to the Terribury family?”

“Terribury?” Whitely had joined them in time to hear the name.

“Well, no, I don’t think so,” Grimm replied thoughtfully, obviously trying hard to make a connection. Then he nodded his head. “Though now you mention it, Hyndmarsh was married just last year, and I do believe there were a few Terriburys at the wedding. Indeed, that is where I met Judith,” he concluded brightly.

Rutherford bit back the scathing retort that burned on his tongue.

It wasn’t Grimm’s fault Rutherford couldn’t seem to escape the far reach of the Terribury family. Of all the carriages traveling the road tonight, no one could have imagined the confounded luck that had them stopping another Terribury vehicle. In fact, it had been Rutherford himself who had decided to give the order to descend upon the nondescript vehicle.

“Wait a minute,” Whitely exclaimed. “That’s the name of that chit you got caught with at the Sheffield ball. Which reminds me…we have to plan a night to celebrate your engagement, old man.”

“No, we don’t,” Rutherford countered. “Stay focused, will you? Let us hope tonight’s escapade took suspicion away from the Blackbournes,” he said. “But I believe the highwaymen shall regret their actions sooner than I had intended. Perhaps once everything is returned, Ashdown will give up his crusade.”

And this would be the last he encountered any of the Terriburys as a highway thief.

As soon as he had the thought, he was flooded with the memory of how silky his betrothed’s skin had felt beneath his lips, how her breath had caught charmingly in her throat when his fingers brushed at her nape. And that her hair carried a faint scent of warmed honey that stayed with him still.

Chapter Fifteen

Boarhill Manor in Northamptonshire had been built in the later part of the sixteenth century when the Norman castle, which had been primary residence of the Marquess of Rutherford for centuries, fell into ruin. The new manor house was built with every modern convenience and was intended to continue on as the family seat. However, after only a couple of generations, one marquess had the idea to gift the twelve-bedroom country house to his mother as a means of keeping her at a safe distance from his new wife. The two ladies did not get along very well. From that point on, Boarhill Manor became the traditional residence of the dowager marchioness.

When the Terriburys received the invitation to attend a gathering at Boarhill Manor for an extended weekend, there could be no doubt the invitation was from Lady Rutherford rather than the marquess.

And, as Eliza could not stop contemplating on the long drive out to Northamptonshire, there was nothing in the invitation to indicate one way or another if the marquess would also be in the country for the weekend. The man himself certainly hadn’t felt it necessary to advise Eliza as to his plans, or to communicate with her much at all in the last couple of weeks.

She really tried not to be disgruntled by that fact, but she
was
disgruntled.

They were supposed to be presenting a united front to the world while secretly plotting to end their association. How were they to do either of those things if he couldn’t even be bothered to recall she existed?

Aside from one hasty note she’d received a few days after the Hyndmarsh’s party three weeks ago, there had not been a peep of acknowledgement from him. And that note had been terse at best, saying only that he expected to be quite busy for a while with various things he wouldn’t bore her to name, and he would call upon her as soon as he was able.

Eliza harrumphed. She had exhausted herself in her attempts to talk her parents out of the engagement long ago. Her mother wouldn’t hear a single word she said on the subject, and her father only shook his head in confusion over her reticence and remained completely dedicated to seeing the marriage go through as planned.

If things kept up as they were, the next time Eliza saw the marquess might very well be their wedding day.

The room she had been given at Boarhill was on the back side of the house and displayed a wonderful view of rough countryside. There was no quaint country garden around this manor house. The uneven earth spread out in waves of green and brown and was littered with large boulders left undisturbed for ages. Beyond the rock-dotted hills rose a thick and mysterious forest of ancient pine trees.

She stood at her bedroom window and gazed toward the forest, wondering if she might have an opportunity to explore its intriguing depths during her stay. It looked like the perfect place for her highwayman to have his hideout.

After her last encounter with the marquess in disguise, she had become nearly obsessed with completing her tale of
The Highwayman and the Runaway
. Whenever she found herself thinking about the marquess, which tended to be much more frequently than she was comfortable with, she redirected that focus toward her writing. She had finished the manuscript nearly a week ago and was now going back through the text with an eye toward fleshing out the details.

From what Eliza understood, the weekend was likely to be far too busy to have much time to work on her writing. She did not bring her own maid to Northamptonshire, and the girl who assisted her in unpacking shortly after her arrival was happy to chat about the other guests. Several impressive London matrons were in attendance as well as a handful of Rutherford’s cousins, who were likely curious about the young woman who had finally brought the marquess to heel. Lady Rutherford had also extended an invitation to each and every one of Eliza’s sisters, along with their husbands, of course. And they had all decided to attend.

There were so many Terriburys traipsing about in Northamptonshire, and add to that the curious members of the marquess’s extended family, Lady Rutherford had to rent out two full inns in the area. She’d even gone so far as to staff them with her own people brought up from London so all guests could experience the same quality of meals and service as if they stayed in Boarhill Manor themselves.

It was a generous and extravagant thing to do, yet Eliza doubted the dowager had even thought twice about it. That Eliza had been put up in the house, and in a spacious and well-appointed apartment decorated in a lovely pale blue, told her one thing at least—Lady Rutherford had a high expectation of her visit.

Groaning at the thought, Eliza let her forehead rest against the smooth pane of glass. Was there any chance she would make it through this weekend without a few social scars?

She highly doubted it considering she had never paid much attention to all the detailed rules of proper deportment. Then there was the added burden of her oft-times obnoxious family. She loved them all dearly, but in full honesty had to admit they were a lot to take in moderation, let alone all at once.

She shifted her gaze and peered across the hills to the thick jumble of pine spires that spiked forbiddingly along the horizon. She imagined the forest would be cool and mysterious, the perfect place for a private meeting or a lover’s tryst. A warm feeling invaded her limbs as she thought about being alone with the marquess in such a dark and ancient place. Perhaps he would pull her into his arms and kiss her as he had in her mother’s parlor. Or maybe he would smooth his fingers down the length of her neck, making her skin tingle with rising sensation.

Eliza squeezed her eyes shut and rolled her lips in between her teeth.

It was getting easier and easier for her to remember the brief and intimate moments she had spent with Rutherford as the marquess and as the highwayman. And in each reimagining, she allowed the encounter to go a little bit further. He would slide his hand more firmly over her skin. His whispered breath would become words of appreciation and adoration. She would lean into him, lifting her hands to his shoulders, turning her lips to his…

Unfortunately, such detailed imaginings did nothing to ease her growing frustration.

She turned away from the window and crossed to the bed. She picked up a pillow and promptly threw it back down onto the feather comforter.

It didn’t help. Nothing did, and she had become more irritable as the days had passed without word from him.

She stalked back to the window. Perhaps if she allowed some fresh air into the room, it might sweep away the heavy longing that threatened to consume her thoughts. Reaching for the window latch, she stopped in surprise as she saw something entirely unexpected.

Beyond the rocky hills, at the very edge of the forest, a small footpath meandered across the landscape. And traversing the path was the marquess, but not in any way Eliza had ever seen him before, or ever even imagined he could be. He wore the typical costume of the country gentleman at his leisure. Dark trousers, black boots, a simple linen shirt and a buff-colored coat.

But it was not his dress that struck Eliza. It was his entire demeanor.

As he strolled in a slow and easy pace, the wind tugged at his brown hair and he retained little resemblance to the arrogant lord of the realm. In that moment, he was simply a man.

And he was lonely.

The realization came to her suddenly, and not because he walked without even the company of a pair of hounds jumping at his heels. But because even in his obvious state of relaxation and ease, and even though he was too far away for her to see the details of his face, she could easily picture the calculated detachment she always saw in his gaze and the stiff way his expression seemed to hold something back from the rest of the world.

She was struck by an odd sort of protective instinct that surprised her.

The clock beside her bed struck the hour.

She turned away from the window and took a deep breath. Rutherford was more than capable of taking care of himself. Such a man could not possibly need her to worry about him.

She would be better served to care for herself just now and find a way to keep her rioting emotions from getting the better of her.

Rutherford had hoped a long walk would prepare him for the ordeal ahead. But even after a vigorous trek through the woods and then a long steamy bath followed by a shave and two fingers of brandy, he still felt an inordinate amount of tension riding his shoulders as he stepped into his grandmother’s drawing room.

It was just before dinner and most of the other guests had been socializing all afternoon, which was evident in the way the Terriburys mingled freely amongst his many cousins from various branches of the family. Only his grandmother and her set of closest friends remained segregated, though he knew from experience this was entirely by their choice. That group preferred to fill the roles of audience and critics rather than the players these days.

He almost envied their private fun.

As he slowly made his way to his grandmother, he scanned the room for Eliza. He knew she had arrived. If he hadn’t already confirmed such with Simmons, he would have known it anyway by the swaying head of ostrich feathers in the corner that heralded Lady Terribury’s presence.

Every single one of the past Terribury debutantes who had been shamelessly shoved in his path over the years was present with their spouses. But his fiancée was nowhere to be seen.

The tension deepened into his muscles. She had better not be thinking to abandon him to this crowd. Being late to her family’s dinner was one thing, but to think he might have to put up with the combination of both their families without some assistance, was too much.

He didn’t realize a scowl had darkened his features until he reached his grandmother’s side and greeted her a bit distractedly.

She flashed an inquiring lift of her brows and muttered a swift aside, “You had better soften that severe expression, Michael, or my friends will think there is something lacking in my hospitality.”

Consciously smoothing the furrow between his brows, Rutherford gave a bow of concession. “Forgive me, Grandmother. Your hospitality is impeccable.”

“Of course it is,” she retorted. “I did not imply otherwise. Now come around and greet Miss Terribury properly.”

He managed to keep from showing his confusion as his grandmother stepped aside to reveal that Eliza was firmly ensconced within the dithering circle of elderly matrons. At first glance, it looked as though the typically sour old biddies were fawning over the young woman in their midst. On second glance, he realized that was exactly what they were doing.

Rutherford stepped past his grandmother and tried to make his way to his fiancée’s side. She was partly turned away from him so did not yet realize he approached. And as he neared, he realized she was telling them all a tale of some sort. Judging by the enraptured looks on the ladies’ faces, it was a rather titillating tale at that. One of his grandmother’s friends happened to look up and catch his eye. She immediately coughed behind her hand. She repeated the sound more loudly when the first attempt did not get Eliza’s attention.

Eliza turned then and looked over her shoulder right into his face as he reached her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were brightly animated. She parted her lips in surprise at the sight of him and he noted a flash of something mysterious and intriguing in the rich color of her eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Terribury.”

She cleared her throat as well. Did he imagine the pink on her cheeks turning a slightly deeper shade?