Wicked Under the Covers, page 29
Fayre came up behind him and covered his eyes with her hands. “What are you doing out here alone, sir?”
Maccus peeled her fingers away from his eyes and kissed them. “Is it not obvious? I am hiding from your family.” He turned around to face her.
Fayre had probably gotten less sleep than he had. Regardless, she looked radiant in her morning dress of sprigged muslin. The duchess had returned shortly after Fayre’s shocking announcement. He assumed her parents had taken turns attempting to talk her out of her decision to marry a commoner.
“You make them sound horrible, Maccus.”
“Your father kept staring at me while we were all together in the breakfast room. He has a look that can put a man off eating.”
“My mother adores you and has accepted the match. She cried for hours after you were settled in your bedchamber, but not once did she mention an extended tour abroad,” Fayre confided, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him fully on the mouth. “Trust me. It is a very good sign.”
“Your father is not pleased. I think he hopes I’ll accidentally cut my throat whilst shaving, or get trampled by a team of horses.”
Fayre laughed, her humor glistening like sunshine around him. “My father is harmless. However—” She sobered as a thought occurred to her. “You might want to avoid my brother until he has had some time to digest our good tidings.”
After she had observed his meeting with her enemies, Maccus had feared he would never see her smile at him again. “Well, your proposal almost brought the house down around us,” she said, recovering her mischievous grin. “Give him time and he will grow to love you as I have. Besides, I warned him that it would be best for the children if they were born on the right side of the blankets.”
Maccus gaped at her, flabbergasted. “Fayre, are you trying to tell me something?” She suddenly looked fragile to him. Perhaps, he thought frantically, she should be sitting down.
“No.” She batted her lashes coyly at him. “At least, I do not believe I am. Be that as it may, if you persist in continuing our nocturnal adventures, Mr. Brawley, children are the usual consequence.”
She did not seem bothered by the notion at all. In fact, she was glancing at him in a flirtatious manner that always stirred his blood. “You do not mind bearing my children?”
Fayre fastened her lips to his. Lingering over the kiss, she wiped out any doubt he might have had. Drawing back, she said, “I forgot to mention a snippet of gossip Mama heard at the ball last evening. It appears Lord Standish has had a falling-out with his father. Something to do with his lavish spending and shoddy investments.”
“Really?” Maccus murmured, feigning surprise.
Fayre nodded solemnly, also seeming astounded by the news. “Wagers are starting to appear in the betting books in many of the clubs around town on whether the Marquess of Pennefeather will rescue his son or if poor Lord Standish—and I do mean that in the literal sense—will be forced to leave the country.”
She looked fiercely pleased by her old lover’s fate. Maccus could not blame her, considering how indifferently he had treated her. “I also have heard some gossip,” he said, cuddling her in a loose embrace.
“When did you have time to listen to gossip? Last night you were too busy flirting with Miss Knight”—Maccus groaned at the reminder—“having secret meetings with very bad people, rescuing me from your father and then dealing with him, fighting me, my father, and the house.” She ticked off each incident on her fingers. “Did I forget anything?”
“You forgot the part where you agreed to marry me.”
“Ah yes,” she said, grinning up at him. “Definitely the highlight of the evening.”
Maccus tweaked the tip of her nose. “That and not getting shot or stabbed.” It was fortunate the duke wielded weapons as if he were nearsighted. “I did manage to hear some news that will please you.”
She fidgeted with the folds of his cravat. “Oh?”
He thought of the anonymous letters he had had a messenger personally deliver to Lord Hipgrave. “Aye, my jewel. Someone whispered in my ear and told me that Lord Hipgrave will be collecting his countess soon. The gentleman longs for his heirs and they are not likely to be born if his lady spends her evenings cavorting with other gentlemen.”
“The countess wanted to cavort specifically with you, Mr. Brawley,” Fayre said tartly. The thought of Maccus and Lady Hipgrave together was something she still needed to recover from. “If the earl is clever, he will keep her pregnant for the next ten to fifteen years. I doubt I am the only one in the ton who will not miss the lady’s conniving ways.”
Maccus had promised to help Fayre revenge herself for Lady Hipgrave and Lord Standish’s treachery. He had gone about it in his usual secretive manner, but Fayre seemed too pleased with the results to quarrel with him. In exchange for his help, she had promised to help him refine his rough ways and facilitate his entrée into polite society. She had kept her promise, and exceeded it by giving him more than he had dared to dream of. Fayre had given him love and a place in her world. He desired nothing else.
“About our bargain—” Maccus began. He lifted her high above his head and spun around, blurring the world and slowing it down for a moment. “Are you satisfied?”
Fayre raised her arms high, reaching for the rays of sunlight shimmering through the glass panes overhead. She trusted him wholeheartedly, knowing that he would not let her fall. “In your arms, Maccus. Always.”
Barbara Pierce, Wicked Under the Covers
