Rebel Marquess Read online

  Dedication

  To my three wonderful children who amaze and inspire me more and more every day. My greatest hope is that you always believe in yourselves and follow your dreams.

  Chapter One

  England 1824

  Eliza Terribury was in the wrong room.

  She had been sent on an errand to fetch her mother’s favorite fan and recalled the directions clearly. “Left at the top of the stairs, sixth door on the right.”

  Eliza was certain she’d counted the correct number of doors along the third-floor hallway to find her mother’s room. She may have been a bit distracted, but she wasn’t a featherbrain.

  So why did she see a set of men’s clothing laid out on the grand four-poster bed?

  A scowl narrowed her gaze. She glanced around for the vanity, looking for her mother’s vast collection of scented water bottles she brought with her everywhere. There was no vanity. Though there was a valet’s station all set up with shaving implements.

  A frisson of fierce trepidation coursed through her. Oh, pray let it be her father’s room.

  She looked again to the clothing on the bed. From the short distance, she could see the fawn-colored trousers were of soft cotton as was the fine-stitched white shirt. Her father preferred linen for his shirts. The coat was expertly tailored and far too broad of shoulder for her father’s modest frame.

  As she stood in the center of the room, finally coming to terms with the fact she must have somehow gotten her mother’s directions wrong, a small door tucked unobtrusively into the corner of the room opened.

  “Back so soon, Simmons?” a strong male voice inquired.

  Panic flashed through Eliza in a hot arc and froze her in place on the plush carpet. Before she could gather her wits to command her body to move, a man strode through the inner door into the room.

  But not just any man.

  It was the Marquess of Rutherford, the most sought after and elusive bachelor in England. The prize feather that has so long eluded her mother’s match-making cap.

  And he was completely naked.

  The swift acknowledgment that her mother had really gone too far this time was overtaken by the shocking details of the sight before her. Heat flushed though her body in a wave. In all of her nineteen years, Eliza had not had a single opportunity to catch a glimpse of unclothed male anatomy.

  And Lord Rutherford was an amazingly well-formed man.

  Solid muscle defined the length of his arms and legs, which were liberally sprinkled with dark hair. Broad shoulders put to rest the rumor that he padded his coats. And his chest and narrow abdomen were cut with more ripples of muscle. A modest patch of damp curling hair covered his chest and a thin dark line extended from his navel downward.

  Her curiosity was cut short by the towel he brought in front of his most masculine body part.

  To Eliza, he looked more like a medieval warrior than the pampered lord of London he was. For a man who had reached his mid-thirties, an age when most gentlemen began to show evidence of their indulgent lifestyle, he was incredibly fit. Not what she would have expected by far.

  “You are not my valet.”

  His voice was low and curious, telling Eliza he did not yet realize who she was. Once he did, his manner would not be so relaxed or amiable.

  She needed to get out of there. In fact, she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t turned tail and run already. Aside from the obvious reason that she couldn’t seem to keep her gaze from running rampant over the details of his body.

  Shaking her head to unlock her gaze, Eliza managed to lift her focus to Rutherford’s face.

  A bit of a mistake there.

  She had only ever seen him once at a distance in Hyde Park two years ago. Her mother had been pointing him out to her sisters who were then at the start of their London season.

  Impressive at a distance, the marquess was nearly devastating up close.

  His was not a face one could call classically handsome. His forehead was a touch too wide, his nose had an obvious crook in it and his chin held a dimple in its center. Not to mention the fact that the imperious arch of his brows and the arrogant glint in his brown eyes made him appear unapproachable. Still, there was something about him that had Eliza casting him as one of her romantic protagonists without conscious effort. Maybe it was the overwhelming confidence he exuded in spite of his bared state.

  “Can I help you?” he asked as he took another few steps into the room.

  Did her imagination conjure up the smooth and suggestive note in his voice?

  She suddenly felt overwhelmed by the pure masculinity of his presence. Hot embarrassment and acute awareness spread through Eliza’s limbs, making her mouth go dry and her palms sweat. A previously dormant instinct for self-preservation released her frozen feet and she took a couple of steps back in response.

  “I, ah…I am,” she stammered.

  The marquess raised his brows as he wrapped the towel around his lean hips.

  Eliza had to make a very concentrated effort to keep her gaze above his chin. She never would have foreseen she had such voyeuristic tendencies.

  “You are standing in the middle of my bedroom,” he stated dryly. “Either you were looking for me, in which case I’d expect you to have a reason for doing so. Or as I’m starting to suspect, you have somehow found yourself in the wrong room.”

  “Wrong room,” Eliza admitted with a decisive nod of her head.

  Why on earth couldn’t she find the proper connection between her brain and her tongue? She was starting to give the impression of being short on intelligence.

  “A pity.” His sigh was barely audible as his dark gaze swept over her body in a swift and proficient assessment. The way his brow furrowed had Eliza wondering what bothered him more—her intrusion or the fact that she had not been seeking him out. “I will show you out then.”

  He headed to the door without bothering to see if she’d followed. When he opened it, voices could be heard coming down the hall.

  “Bloody hell. That woman seems to be everywhere at once,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed the door closed again. “You will have to wait a moment until Lady Terribury and her entourage pass by.”

  Alarm sparked across Eliza’s nerves and turned her fingers ice cold. “Lady Terribury? Are you sure?”

  “No mistake. The voice of that woman haunts my nightmares.” He did not bother turning around to look at her as he spoke, not even considering his less than favorable comments about a fellow guest might be considered offensive.

  Eliza was well aware of her mother’s faults and the unsavory history that existed between Lady Terribury and the Marquess of Rutherford. His opinion of her mother was the very least of her concerns at that moment. Her gaze darted about the room as she grasped her skirts with both hands in preparation for flight.

  “You have to hide me.” Panic laced the edges of her words.

  He turned to her then. Curiosity lit his features along with the obvious note of irritation at having his decision questioned, but he showed no real concern. Yet.

  “Once she passes you can be on your way.”

  Eliza met his gaze with intent directness, trying to impart the urgency of the situation into the tone of her voice.

  “No. You do not understand. She is coming here. To this room. You have to hide me. Now.”

  Finally, her manner seemed to affect him and he looked at the door then back at her. Suspicion darkened his countenance.

  “There, quickly.” He gestured to the inner door he had just come through.

  She ran to what turned out to be a small bathing room with a washing table and large bathtub, still steamy from the marquess’s occupancy. She closed the door behind her just as she heard a muffled commotion in the other
room and her mother’s familiar voice, effusive and overly sweet.

  “Oh my! Lord Rutherford. But what are you doing here?”

  Eliza pressed her palms flat against the door as a nervous sweat cooled the back of her neck. She silently prayed that Rutherford was as skilled an adversary as her mother had so frequently bemoaned over the years.

  “And why shouldn’t I be in my room, Lady Terribury? A better question would be to ask what gives you and your companions leave to intrude so forcefully upon my privacy?”

  The pride and privilege that came with being one of the wealthiest and most respected members of British aristocracy was evident in the clipped and even tone of the marquess’s response.

  “Well,” Lady Terribury pressed, “I could have sworn I saw my daughter enter this room only moments ago.”

  “Your daughter.” His tone had dropped several degrees colder.

  “Indeed. Did I not say I saw my dear Elizabeth and wondered what reason she had to be up here?”

  A collaborative murmur rippled amongst her mother’s companions. More movement could be heard on the other side of the door and Eliza tensed, certain her mother was about to start peeking in the wardrobe and ducking her head under the bed.

  “As you can see, I am quite alone, and must I add, not in the mood to indulge in a search party for your wayward daughter. You may exit as you entered.”

  This time, the irritation in his voice was unmistakable. Even her dauntless mother would have to see there was no option but to retreat.

  “Of course, my lord. Entirely my mistake.” The rustle of silk and batiste heralded the departure of Lady Terribury and the others. “Do accept my apologies,” her mother offered before there was the distinct sound of the outer door shutting and then blessed silence.

  Eliza released a pent-up breath and pushed away from the door. She didn’t realize until just then that she had been leaning against it with all her weight in a last-ditch effort to keep herself hidden.

  A perfect trap narrowly missed. But there was still one vital element to be dealt with.

  The door opened in front of her, missing her nose by a bare inch.

  Lord Rutherford’s solid form blocked her path to freedom. “Miss Terribury.”

  Eliza bobbed a curtsy and nodded. “At your service, my lord. In a manner of speaking,” she quickly clarified. Although he had taken a moment to pull on his trousers and throw his shirt on, the shirt was open down the front and Eliza was once again struck by the sheer male impression of him.

  The corner of his mouth twitched, whether from amusement or annoyance, Eliza couldn’t tell. Then he crossed his arms over his expansive chest in what she was sure he intended as an intimidating gesture. Eliza decided the man was not likely to find any humor in the situation even though her mother’s little plot had been efficiently foiled. For now.

  “Care to explain what all of that was about.” It was not a request.

  “I daresay it is rather obvious. Is it not?”

  She took a step back and tilted her head to provide herself a better angle with which to return his open stare. He really was quite tall. And broad. She was of average height and a bit on the curvy side, not waif thin like many fashionable young women, yet she imagined he could sweep her up in his arms with very little effort.

  Now where on earth had that thought come from?

  His lips curved with a hint of a sneer and his eyes remained cool. “I take it you are the latest Terribury chit to escape the schoolroom.”

  Eliza sighed and crossed her arms, careful to keep her posture just shy of outright mocking imitation. “I should take umbrage over your offensive choice of words, but I suppose I can be gracious and allow you the small insult. Though I do refuse to take it personally since you and I have never met,” she added brightly.

  He arched a brow in imperious fashion and Eliza had to fight the urge to smile. He was everything she had heard about him and more.

  Arrogant. Entitled. Proud.

  “Yet it did not stop you from charging uninvited into my bedroom. Followed by your mother and a sufficient number of witnesses.”

  Eliza held up her hand. “I do not blame you for your suspicions, but I assure you I did not enter this room with any devious intent.”

  “Your intention is irrelevant.” His tone was flat with disbelief. “Time for you to go.”

  Eliza bristled. She was not accustomed to having her word distrusted. Most times she was accused of being far too honest. “My mother could very well be waiting out in the hall.”

  He scowled at her, suspicion evident in every crease of his forehead.

  “How long would she wait?”

  Eliza lifted her brows. He should know as well as anyone the tenacity of her mother’s ambition.

  “Right.” He paused and narrowed his gaze. “A clever predicament you have put us in, Miss Terribury.”

  Eliza didn’t miss the way he said her name as if it were a curse. Her indignation grew. He may have reason to distrust Lady Terribury since he had been countering her machinations for more than a decade. But Eliza was getting annoyed at how readily he was prepared to think the worst of her. She did not appreciate being the object of such blind and unreasonable prejudice.

  “Now just a moment. You force me to be insulted after all.” She propped her hands on her hips and eyed him with a direct, accusing stare. “I tried to be empathetic since I know what you have had to endure from my mother over the years, but I have had enough of your continued insistence that I had something to do with this when I stated I did not. I have absolutely no desire to maneuver you into a compromising position. In fact, I would prefer to avoid the whole marital business altogether.”

  He harrumphed. “You expect me to believe—”

  His argument was cut short by the sound of the outer bedroom door opening.

  Eliza froze, her breath stopping. Surely her mother wouldn’t come back again.

  Rutherford must have considered the same possibility since he stepped forward into the small bathing room and kicked the door shut behind him. He placed his hand over her mouth to silence her.

  She yearned to tell him the precaution was unnecessary. But it would have to wait since she could barely move her jaw beneath his heavy palm.

  As they both stood stock still listening for a clue as to who had entered the room beyond, she noticed that his hand over her mouth was not the only place he touched her. He’d wrapped his other arm tightly around her waist and held her securely against him. She suspected it was to hold her in place and prevent any movement that might make noise. When he had stepped toward her, she had instinctively raised her hands. The skin of his bare chest was hot and smooth under her fingers. Rough curls tickled her palms.

  If not for his hand over her mouth, the position would have felt curiously similar to an embrace.

  Time seemed to slow in a dramatic fashion as she detected the heavy thud of his heart beneath her hand and the way their breathing had found a matching rhythm. Eliza took a slow breath through her nose and drew in the scent of citrus and some unfamiliar spice from his skin. It was a clean and exotic scent that tantalized Eliza’s senses, bringing sudden warmth to her skin.

  She looked up at his face. His head was turned to the side as he kept his gaze on the door, and she noticed the rough stubble of hair growth on his jaw. The steady thrum of his pulse showed at the side of his throat and Eliza felt her mouth go dry. She drew a long breath through her nose to dispel the sudden wave of lightheadedness that threatened to overtake her.

  What on earth was wrong with her?

  “My lord?” The voice from the other room was male. At the sound of it, the tension immediately fell away from Rutherford’s body.

  “Another ten minutes, Simmons,” he called out.

  “As you wish.”

  “And, Simmons.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “As you leave, take a look around for Lady Terribury. You will know her by the obnoxious purple plumes stuf
fed into the turban wrapped around her head. If you see her, lure her away.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Once the outer door closed behind the valet, the marquess turned his attention back to Eliza.

  She saw the very slight widening of his pupils, indicating the moment he realized the impropriety of their position. He dropped his hand away from her mouth but continued to hold her against him with his arm solid around her waist.

  A tingling flutter of sensation traveled from her toes to her fingertips and then back down again, as if she were balancing at some great and dangerous height. Her stomach twisted in a wild little dance. What was it about him that so easily turned her mind to mush and left her with not a single thing to say?

  His intent gaze fell to her lips and then lower to where her bosom pressed upward against her bodice.

  The air in the small space felt suddenly charged with energy. Eliza resisted a strange desire to shift against him, to feel the slide of his warm skin under her hands and test the tension of his thighs against hers. If she stood on tip-toe would her lips reach the harsh edge of his jaw?

  As if he read her thoughts and realized the peril of the moment, the marquess issued a short grunt of annoyance and grasped her shoulders in his hands to forcibly push her away until he held her at arm’s length. His gaze was sharp with distrust.

  “Miss Terribury.”

  At the condescension in his voice, Eliza mentally shook off the sensory fog that had enveloped her. “Yes?”

  “Allow me to be clear on something,” he began in a stern voice.

  “By all means,” she retorted. She was fully aware he hadn’t actually been asking her permission but couldn’t resist the temptation to interrupt anyway. At his imperious scowl, she suspected it did not happen to him often.

  He took a slow breath and narrowed his gaze upon her as if assessing the likelihood of another interruption. When she did nothing but stare up at him with wide-eyed expectation, he apparently deemed it safe to continue.

  “It matters naught to me whether you were an accomplice in this plot or a pawn. The fact of the matter is, Lady Terribury is not the only ambitious mama who has tried to entangle me in matrimony with some insipid debutante over the years. I will not be coerced, tricked or otherwise manipulated. You would think after five failed attempts, your mother would have accepted that fact.”