Page 18 of Madcap with a Marquess
With shaking fingers, she traced over Rupert’s handprint. Tears pricked her vision as a slight weight seemed to lift from her. In its place a heady, freeing relief. A punishing grip left this mark on her, but one from want and desire, not from hate and disgust.
Her shaking fingers slid up to the bite mark on her shoulder, her fingertips grazing over the slight impression there. And it was as if those marks, the sentiment behind them, helped the others in her memory fade. Not gone completely, but maybe with time…
She glanced back at the door. The door her husband had fled through. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what he’d said. What had occurred. It had all happened so fast, his restraint breaking, the look he’d shot her the second before he’d fallen on her. One dark with lust, glittering with dominance, with raw need. For her.
And then the way he’d claimed her body—granted, it had been painful, but she’d been expecting it to be. She hadn’t even cared. She felt the soreness and slight burn between her legs more now than she had during. Because being surrounded by him, his possessive grip anchoring her against him… A pulse picked up between her thighs again. It was like he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t get close enough. It mended a small, long-neglected corner of her battered heart.
But he’d left.
I cannot adequately express my regret for my deplorable behavior.
She gnawed on her lip. There was most definitely nothing to apologize for regarding what had just happened. The leaving part, though. She’d speak with him during the carriage ride tomorrow. They’d get this sorted out. She fisted the bed linens as something sparked in her chest. Dear Lord, it was that candle of hope. Burning stronger than it ever had before.
10
Franny
Littlebredy, Dorsetshire, England.
A GREEN-AND-GOLD liveried footman handed Franny down from the carriage. She shook out her faded burgundy traveling skirts and looked up at the monstrosity that was Rutledge Manor, a place she had seen a million times before. Why did it look and feel different now?
Three levels of grey stone and diamond-paned windows towering into the overcast sky stared back at her. And now she would walk up the twenty-three steps—she knew, she’d counted them as a child—leading up to the columned entry as Lady of the Manor. Perhaps it felt different because this would be the first time she ever went inside. Inside, where her future awaited. Uncertain.
A short distance away, Rupert handed his horse off to a stable boy. His horse. Franny glared at the mutton-headed man, ire bubbling up inside her. He rode the entire half-day’s journey instead of joining her in the carriage. She’d tried to seek him out before they departed, but he’d already left.
Rupert walked over, his gaze locked on something over her shoulder. He was always staring over her blasted shoulder.
“Won’t even look me in the eye, my lord?” She couldn’t hold back the bite from her words. But she never claimed to be a saint. Far from it. And after last night, she was raw, vulnerable. A vulnerability that needed to be hidden behind spikes and thorns.
“Pardon?” His gaze slowly,casually, drifted to hers, his brows lifting in a bored expression. But his lips were pressed into a thin line, and he tapped his leg twice.Not so bored and calm, are we, Rupert?Sometimes she wanted to reach out and tug on those stupidly tight lips, loosen them up a touch.
“The way you seem to be avoiding me, I would question your status as a man…” she murmured as they marched side by side toward the line of servants awaiting them at the bottom of the stairs. “If it were not for last night, of course.”
“We arenotdiscussing last night.”
“Oh, but I think we should. Discuss last night. How you bolted. Left me naked after avery thoroughbedding. To sleep in the stables. And then, this morning—”
“Enough!” he hissed.
She stiffened at the vehemence sharpening his tone. At the memory of that same word thrown at her, but a different man, a dark study, obsidian eyes. She shoved it down. Refused to let it gain purchase. But she couldn’t prevent the way her heart shriveled and closed in on itself for protection.
They stepped up to the servants, and she forced her lips upward, infused her voice with false cheer, and buried her hurt in that place deep inside where no one would find it. They went through the line, each servant stepping forward to greet her—the new Lady Rutledge.
Rupert introduced Mrs. Higgens, the housekeeper. The familiar, pretty, mature woman smiled warmly at Franny, her cheeks bunching in her heart-shaped face, blonde tresses neatly piled atop her head. Her soft blue-grey eyes twinkled as she dipped a curtsy, and it immediately set Franny at ease. This wasn’t like Pinehurst Abbey, her father’s estate. She had allies here. And she knew many of these servants, having snuck onto the Rutledge estate more often than she ought to have. Something her husband knew nothing of.
“Good afternoon, my lady, and welcome. I speak for myself and the rest of the staff, that we are beyond pleased to serve you as our new mistress. If there is anything you need, we are here to assist in any way.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Higgens.” And this time Franny’s smile was genuine.
After the last servant bowed, Rupert and Franny fell into step behind Mrs. Higgens and made their way up the stairs and into the manor.
“Mrs. Higgens, if you would escort Lady Rutledge to her rooms and ensure she is well settled. She will also need a tour of the house.” Rupert’s voice rang through the ivory-painted entry, climbing up the height of the three-story ceilings.
He stepped away, his feet moving swiftly against the light cream-and-grey striated marble tile as he headed toward the hall at the back of the entry.
“You are leaving?” Franny called after him.
He paused and looked over his shoulder, his face blank. “Yes, I have business matters to attend to. I am sure you are fatigued from the journey and will be happy to have some time to rest.”
