Page 74 of Madcap with a Marquess
“O-o-oh! That was fantastic,” Franny gasped out and Billy grinned down at her, chuckling.
“I fail to see the humor in catching on fire,” Rupert said stiffly, jealousy simmering beneath his words as he watched the two laughing and smiling together. Only made worse by the fact that the man seemed to be a thoroughly decent fellow.
Billy slapped Rupert on his back, and Rupert almost fell face first into the dirt from where he was on his knees. The man surely had a future as a blacksmith.
“She’s not the first one to catch fire. We’ve been at this a long time. You can do the good ol’ tuck and roll you just did, take off for the river, or we have some rushes we could’ve beaten her with.” He leaned toward them and said conspiratorially, “Always best to choose the rolling option when it’s with a lady.” He threw a wink Rupert’s way, then backed away, and Franny broke out into another fit of giggles.
Rupert’s lips twitched—reluctantly. He supposed the man did have a point. Now he was a bit peeved he hadn’t taken the time to enjoy said rolling. He leaned forward and pulled Franny up to her knees. With more force than necessary. She landed in his chest with anoomphand grinned up at him. He tucked a loose hair behind her ear, little good it did as her plait was nearly completely undone, her crown disappeared in their foray fighting fire.
“So, what say you, husband? Do you think our jump was successful?” She booped him on the nose with her finger.
He grinned. “I think we may have…sparked a bit of good fortune.”
She tilted her head back and laughed, the beautiful curve of her pale neck glowing in the firelight. Bloody hell, she was gorgeous. His groin stirred, and his fingers dug into her waist.
She leaned back into him, her forehead pressing against his, shaking with soft mirth. “That was horrible, Rupert.”
It was. But it had made her laugh, so he was in favor of making horrible jests all the time. He didn’t truly know how to jest; it wasn’t something he had much experience with. But he’d spout a thousand horrible ones a day if even one hit the mark and made her laugh.
Unable to resist her smiling pink lips any longer, he leaned in for a kiss. He had intended it to be quick and controlled. But Franny had other plans and so did his demons. Perhaps it was the cover of night, the flickering flames of the bonfires, lending a feeling of freedom. But he let go. He didn’t hold back. It turned deep and heady and overwhelming much too fast. It wasn’t until the rowdy catcalls and ribbing finally broke through the thick haze of his lust that he realized he was seconds away from lifting his wife’s skirts in the middle of the St. John’s Eve festival.
“Now, that’s what I call a festival kiss!” someone cheered.
He hastily disengaged from his wife and lifted them both to their feet. He groaned at the picture she presented, covered in dirt, hair in complete disarray, biting her lip in a seductive little half-smile. Like she’d been defiled. Want raced through him.
Someone clapped him on the back, and another yelled out through the crowd, “Looks like the festival spirit got to ‘em!”
He smiled and ducked his head to the ground. He couldn’t believe he’d kissed his wife in the middle of a crowd. His mother would have expired on the spot. But he wasn’t sorry for it. He wasn’t sorry he was here at the festival, rubbing elbows withthe commoners, the vulgar. It was clear to him now that many of the principles he’d been raised with might be flawed. And while that brought a sense of freedom, it was also unsettling—no longer knowing what was right or wrong.
As they strolled hand-in-hand to the barrel of sweet wine, Rupert stole a glance at Franny. Her face glowed with happiness. Franny had been right the other day. These were his people, diligently laboring for the prosperity of his estate. He thought back to Mr. Doherty’s advice, his subtle nudge for Rupert to jump in and take back his wife. And they were kind and genuine. They didn’t deserve the disdainful thoughts he’d been raised to believe about them.
He handed Franny her cask of wine, and they both took a sip, staring at each other over the rims of their drinks and smiling like besotted fools. He liked that. Being her besotted fool.
She leaned against him and looked out at the bonfires. The flames appeared to reach straight up into the heavens. “I have to admit I was quite shocked that Proper Perty kissed me in full view of a gathering,” she murmured softly.
“I may have gotten a bit carried away,” he said into her hair.
Thank goodness for the revelers, or who knows how far he would have taken it. He would have taken her in the dirt. His fantasies flashed in his mind like the fire’s flames. Chasing her through the wood. Catching her. His captive.
“Perhaps you should get carried away more often.”
His cocked jumped eagerly.
At that moment a resounding boom rent the air and the sky lit with shimmering golds, silvers, and whites. The sparks cascaded down and slowly faded away before another rocket was burst into the night.
“I don’t think you understand the full gravity of those words,” he whispered, letting the fireworks drown out his words.
37
Franny
Thebrownleatherballechoed with athwackas it bounced off the main wall of the Rutledge family tennis court. Franny ran to her left, feet flying, running so fast her frustrations could never catch her.
Rupert had finally kissed her—with passion—last night.
With a yell, she swung her racket, making contact with the ball and sending it soaring back to the wall. Oh, it felt good to yell. To rail.
And then he escorted her home, brought her to her rooms, pecked her on the lips, and disappeared.
