An Undomesticated Wife Part 12

Marcus got out of the carriage and handed her down to the walkway. When she asked him what he had planned, he only smiled. He slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her toward a door that looked no different from its neighbors.

Regina grew more bewildered when he opened the door with a key he withdrew from under his coat. When he waved her into the foyer, she stared about herself unabashedly. The room, which seemed cramped after the s.p.a.ciousness of the duke's house, was round. A flight of stairs led up from one side.

"Do not look so uncomfortable," Marcus said as he put his hand on the newel post. "A friend lives here."

She did not move from near the door. "But where is he? Where is his household?"

Taking her hand, he brought her up the stairs. "This dear friend always welcomes me. No one is about to signal the Charleys to come and rout us from here."

"But it does not seem right to be here when your friend is out."

"I told you I am always welcome here." He put his arm around her waist as they walked together along the first floor. "We need a chance to be alone to smooth our differences, Regina, so my friend has encouraged me to run tame here. I arranged, last night after the ball, for the house to be available to us today."

Regina's eyes widened as she stared at the lace-draped room. Everything was ruffled or flounced, save for the blue Persian rug. She wondered how anyone could live in such a place and why Marcus had chosen this place to bring her.

"Sit down, sweetheart," he said, pointing to a settee. "I shall get us something to take the dust from our throats."

Unable to shake her uneasiness, she sat with her feet pressed against the floor as if she was about to jump up and race away. She never had been so utterly alone with Marcus before, and the very thought unsettled her more than she wished to own.

He handed her a gla.s.s of madeira as he sat next to her. Smiling, he untied the ribbons beneath her bonnet and drew it off. She flinched when a hairpin fell onto her lap.

"Allow me," he said softly and held out his hand.

"It goes-"

"I saw exactly where it goes," he murmured.

Staring up into his eyes, she could not guess what he was thinking. She put the pin on his palm and gasped when his fingers closed over it and her hand. With a smile, he reached up with his other hand and withdrew another pin from her hair. Heavy strands dropped to her shoulder.

"Marcus-"

She could say no more when his mouth covered hers. His arm encircled her waist as his fingers combed upward through her hair, scattering pins to the floor. She raised her hands to push him away, but he leaned her back against the lush cus.h.i.+ons. The strength of his body pinned her against the velvet as his lips meandered on a slow, sensual journey along her neck. When he loosened the top hooks at the back of her gown, he drew the neckline lower to reveal the curve of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Each touch of his moist mouth against her skin was a separate ecstasy, enticing her to want more.

He sat and drew her up beside him. Capturing her mouth anew, he sent fire across her lips. Then he stood. Holding out his hand, he said, "This settee is too cramped. Come with me, sweetheart."

As if she were outside her own body, she watched her hand rise to settle on his palm. Her hair cascaded down her back as he brought her to her feet. When she wobbled, for her knees were as weak as if the fever within her was a sickness, he laughed and grasped her hand. She grasped a table with her other hand.

"Oh, no!" she cried when a folded gilt frame rocked and fell to the floor.

"Do not worry," Marcus said.

"But it may have broken."

"Leave it."

Regina knelt and picked up the frame. As she had feared, shards of gla.s.s fell back to the carpet. She was about to set it on the table when the face on one side caught her eye.

"Regina ..."

She jerked her hand out of his as she held up the double miniatures. "Your friend keeps portraits of you and your convenient in his house?"

He took the frame. "Regina, you must let me explain."

"Why? What is there to explain?" She fumbled with the hooks on her gown as she whirled away. "This is her house, isn't it?"

"To be exact, it is mine."

Wis.h.i.+ng he had lied, glad he had been honest about this at least, Regina grabbed her bonnet. She raced out of the room and down the stairs. She wanted to be gone from this place before she was further tainted.

"Regina! Come back! Give me a chance to explain!"

She did not slow. Tying her bonnet under her chin, she threw open the door and rushed to where the carriage was waiting. She did not wait for the startled coachman to open the door. She climbed into the carriage.

"Go!" she cried.

"But Lord Daniston is not-"

"Go!"

The coachman gave her an odd look but clambered into his seat. At her call to hurry, he sent the carriage racing down the narrow street.

She hunched against the seat and squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. Marcus might have a claim on her body, which she could not deny him after their wedding ceremony, but she vowed to keep him from gaining control of her heart.

The street in front of the church was crowded with a rainbow of ladies. The men were dark clouds among them, for most of them wore black or navy coats. Feathers floated from upswept hair, and the sound of laughter was a musical finish to the Sunday service.

Regina winced as she pa.s.sed a woman who was wearing a surfeit of perfume that would not have been out of place in the Dey's seraglio. A smile teased the corners of her lips, for she knew the woman would be highly offended to be compared with the Dey's collection of concubines and wives.

"Yes, I found it very interesting," she said to answer the dowager d.u.c.h.ess's question.

"I thought your tastes more cosmopolitan than this silliness," the old woman said with a sniff. "I vow I never heard such a poor sermon."

Before Regina could reply, the dowager d.u.c.h.ess turned to greet yet another of her many friends. At a laugh behind her, Regina looked back to see the Duke of Attleby's smile.

"Pay Mother no mind," he said as he offered his arm. When she put her fingers on it, he put his hand over her gloved one. "She delights in taking apart every bit of a sermon until there is nothing remaining. I daresay, if she were younger, she would yearn for a life behind the pulpit."

"The dowager d.u.c.h.ess?"

"Don't look so amazed, Regina." Hearing Marcus's laugh, she turned. "She does, after all, enjoy telling us all the right thing to do." The sweet aroma of wine washed over her along with his chuckle, surprising her, for she had never seen him drink at this hour. Then she reminded herself that after his attempt to seduce her in Mrs. Simpson's sitting room, she had no idea what he might do. "My grandmother has a mind of her own. Good morning, Father."

"Good morning, son. I leave your wife in your care." His smile broadened. "Another week, and this wedding nonsense will be over."

Regina almost replied to the duke's statement, for this was the first time she had heard him speak out against the wedding ceremony. Instead, as he walked to where Mr. Fisher and Aunt Elayne were talking intently, she said to Marcus, "I thought you considered it unseemly for a woman to have a mind of her own."

"To the contrary, I like a woman to have some imagination." His finger trailed a flame across her hand and up her arm. Twisting it in one of the curls along her neck, he drew her hair up as he brushed his finger against her ear. "For example, now, I would have you imagine the pleasure we might share."

"I am sure you can." She settled her parasol more firmly on her shoulder. "You made that clear when you took me to that place."

"You can say her name."

"Not here." She looked up at the steeple. When the bell began to peal, birds scattered like shreds of paper tossed into the air. "Mayhap you can be a hypocrite, my lord, but I find it distasteful. I bid you a good day."

"Regina," he said, putting his hand on her arm, "you cannot run away from me forever. We need to talk."

"Odd that you always tell me that you wish to talk, but then you try to involve me in a far different sort of intercourse."

"Why do you sound affronted?" His voice grew husky with the longing she knew too well. "I want you in my bed, Regina. I own that I conceived of making love with you at Jocelyn's house when I realized it would be wrong to break the pledge we both made to Grandmother not to become lovers in my father's house."

She shrugged off his hand. "I bid you good day, my lord."

His muttered reply was not fit, she was certain, for the churchyard, but she continued to walk away from the church. She must close him out of her dreams and her heart, although that was not an easy task. Only a cork-brained air-dreamer would have believed that Marcus Aurelius Octavius Whyte could be heart-smitten with a woman like Regina Morrissey Whyte.

Suddenly a hand clamped over her mouth. She shrieked, but the sound was muted by the damp flesh. Pulled back into the shadows at the rear of the church, she heard her captor curse under his breath.

In Arabic!

But this wasn't Algiers! It was London! What was happening?

She struggled to escape. Her soft slippers were no use because her captor wore boots. Pulled between the church and another building, she fought to break free. She must get away.

He readjusted his hand as he pulled her backward. She locked her teeth on his finger. He screeched and jerked back. She shrieked, straining her throat. She ran, but her arm was seized. She screamed again.

When she was thrust to the ground, her breath burst from her in a moan. She pushed herself up to sit just in time to see Marcus land a facer on her captor. The man reeled back, blood spurting from his lip, then collapsed. With a whistle, Marcus called to a group of men who had been watching from the street.

"Get the authorities, and have them do what they should with him," he ordered sharply. "Just keep him away from Lady Daniston, and there will be a guinea in it for each of you."

"'Course, milord," one of the men hurried to say. He tipped his torn cap toward Regina before joining the swarm of his fellows around the fallen man.

"How are you?"

Tears welled into Regina's eyes at Marcus's terse question. What a moonling she was to think that her husband had come to her rescue because he possessed a deep tendre for her! Instead he sounded as if she had caused this disruption purposely.

"I am fine," she said, but her voice was shaky.

"Come. I shall take you home." He held out his arm, and she let it encircle her shoulders.

She leaned against him as she fought to keep her tears from falling. Surrendering to such a feminine artifice now would infuriate him more.

Wrapped in a blanket, although the air was smotheringly warm, Regina was propped against the pillows in her bed while she watched Marcus pace. The dowager d.u.c.h.ess was stretched out on a chaise longue while Aunt Elayne fanned her. The duke sat on the windowseat, a rare frown on his face. Only Mr. Fisher was absent.

"Do you wish to explain?" asked Marcus as he paused in front of the bed.

"I was the victim of this attempted abduction!" she cried. "Why do you treat me as if I were the villain?"

Taking her hand, he said, "Regina, hysteria will solve nothing. Mayhap it would be wise to allow you to rest before we discuss this further."

"Nonsense!" snapped the dowager d.u.c.h.ess, echoing Regina's very thoughts. "This is too dire to dismiss simply because Regina is distressed."

"I shall try to control myself," Regina added.

Marcus nodded. "Then explain what you can."

"I know nothing save that the man spoke Arabic."

"Arabic?" The duke sat straighter. "Oh, dear me, this is not good. It is not good at all."

The dowager d.u.c.h.ess stretched to pat his hand. "Son, you need not worry yourself about this. The Charleys will teach that Newgate saint a proper lesson."

Marcus laughed humorlessly. "Do you honestly believe those corned men, who can barely see through their gin-bleary eyes, will do anything save allow the man to escape?"

"Let Her Grace speak," Aunt Elayne said as she continued to waft the fan in front of the dowager d.u.c.h.ess's gray face.

The duke heaved himself to his feet. "I think the wisest thing to do would be for Marcus and Regina to leave Town posthaste."

"Leave?" asked Regina. "Why?"

The dowager d.u.c.h.ess swung her feet to the floor. "Silly child, can't you see the danger right in front of your face? Who knows why a man who spouts Arabic would try to kidnap you?"

"I can think of several reasons," she replied, then wished she had not when the old woman nodded in agreement.

Marcus tensed. Something was not right here. On that, he had to agree with his father, but doing something as poorly thought out as fleeing Town was jobbernowl.

"That is an excellent suggestion, son," the dowager d.u.c.h.ess said. "But where should they go to?"

Aunt Elayne lowered herself onto the chair. "To gra.s.sville."

"The dowager cottage on the old lands of Attleby Court has not been used in years," the duke said. "I doubt if many people still know where it is."

Motioning to Aunt Elayne for help, the dowager d.u.c.h.ess came to her feet. "There is much to do. Come along. I shall need everyone's help. Not you," she added, pointing to Marcus. "You should stay here to offer solace to your wife."

As the door shut behind the others, Regina pushed out from beneath the blanket. "Didn't I warn you?" she cried, not caring who might hear.

"Warn me?" Marcus asked. "About what?"

"Making wishes. You wanted us to be alone, and now we will be." She s.h.i.+vered as she added in a whisper, "But we may not be for long."

He nodded. "Father should come to his senses soon."

"That was not what I meant."

"And what did you mean?"

With another s.h.i.+ver, she gripped the pole on the tester bed. "It may not be long before that man comes back ... and succeeds in stealing me away."

Twelve.