Page 101 of The Rogue’s Embrace

The storm blew itself out during the night, leaving the grounds around Albany Court glittering with raindrops and dew as the sun rose on a new day. Contrary to his promise to make love to Cece again once he'd rested, he slept deeply, well past the first rays of dawn and the chorus of birds twittering happily in the garden. Cece didn't mind at all. She was just as happy to wake up to such an idyllic scene, particularly as it meant waking up naked and content, snuggled against Rupert's side.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and propped herself on one elbow, careful not to wake him, so that she could study him in the fresh, morning sunlight. He truly was a handsome man, even with the dreadful moustache. He had the same high cheekbones and commanding brow that his mother had, and though she'd only seen a single portrait of his long-dead father on a visit to Broadclyft Hall, Lord Richard Marlowe had been a handsome man too. She traced his expressive lips with her fingertips, her heart thumping within her as she remembered all the things those lips had done to her. Maybe she should thank his string of nameless, past lovers for teaching him instead of resenting him.

A smile danced across her lips. She did thank them, but she would never let Rupert know that. She loved him with all her heart, but his head did have an unfortunate tendency to swell. Though, if she were honest with herself, she liked that arrogance too. Mostly because it was infrequent and couldn't hold a candle to the kind, generous, and intelligent man Rupert was at heart.

She scooted closer to him, leaning forward to kiss him, like Sleeping Beauty in reverse. Sure enough, he stirred and sucked in a breath as she nibbled on his lower lip. His mouth curved into a lazy smile as he circled his arms around her and rocked to his side, pressing their bodies together.

"Good morning,"

he rumbled in a sleepy voice.

"It is a good morning,"

she said in reply, brushing her fingers through his tousled hair. "Any morning waking up with you is good."

He hummed in agreement and scooped a hand down over her backside and thigh to lift her leg over his hips. The movement brought them into intimate contact, and Cece wasn't at all surprised that he was already half hard.

"Do you think anyone would notice if we stayed in bed all day?"

he asked, grinding against her and growing harder as he did.

"Yes,"

Cece answered with a laugh, wriggling to help the process along. "I wouldn't be surprised if they were all downstairs at breakfast already, gossiping about how scandalous we are."

"Nonsense,"

Rupert said, kissing her neck and fondling her breast. "House parties are designed for illicit assignations. I would bet my fortune that half the company is doing exactly what we're doing right now."

"And what are we doing?"

Cece asked, breathless.

He shifted and entered her in one swift, firm move. It was the best answer he could have given. She let out a long, low moan of enjoyment as he clamped a hand over her backside, holding her hips perfectly to accept his luxuriously slow thrusts.

Their mating was quick and far simpler than the night before. It was no longer a game of one-upmanship, but rather a deep expression of intimacy. Rupert rolled her to her back so that he could fill her more fully with each delicious movement. She closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling of being one with him, digging her nails into his backside to urge him on. Within no time, pleasure coiled tight within her, then burst into sizzling release. He followed her into orgasm, sighing with joy as his seed poured into her.

It wasn't until afterwards, when the two of them lay in a pile of loose arms and legs, spent and sated, that reality came knocking on the door. Literally. The door handle rattled, and when the maid attempting to enter to light a fire in the grate saw it was locked, she whispered, "My lady?"

Cece tensed and Rupert sucked in a sudden breath, sitting up. The maid must have put two and two together and realized her mistake in saying something. Footsteps skittered down the hall. Rupert laughed, running a hand over his face and climbing out of bed.

"It looks as though Reese forgot to instruct his staff about the true purpose of house parties,"

he said, heading to the washstand.

Cece propped herself on her elbows and watched him. She would never grow tired of looking at his naked body, his lean muscles, the perfect curve of his backside, his manly bits hanging down in front, looking thoroughly used. The whole thing brought a smile to her face.

"Don't think I don't see you gloating over there,"

he said as he splashed water on his face and briefly rubbed his important parts with one of the towels on the washstand.

"I have every right to gloat,"

she said, getting out of bed herself and joining him at the washstand. "I'm going to be the mistress of a handsome and talented man."

Rupert laughed and finished washing, then strode across the room to fetch his robe. They both knew his declaration from the night before was nothing but silliness and that marriage was inevitable for them. The flash of teasing in his eyes as he threw his robe around his shoulders and tied the sash was proof of that. But Cece liked leaving things unspoken and ambiguous for the time being.

He strode back to the washstand before she could do more than wet a sponge. Part of her wanted to call the maid back to have her draw another bath, but the labor and time involved would be too much. Instead, she let Rupert draw her into his arms for one last, powerful kiss.

"If I had thought things through last night, I would have brought a change of clothes with me,"

he said, then kissed her again before letting her go. "I'm not exactly looking forward to sneaking back through the halls in nothing but a robe."

"It's your own fault,"

Cece said with a pointed look, turning back to her ablutions. "Don't let Lady Claudia see you or it would break her heart."

Rupert had the good humor to laugh at her quip. He stole one last kiss, then crossed to the door. He unlocked it and peeked out into the hall. Cece assumed it was empty when he glanced briefly back at her, winked, then disappeared, shutting the door behind him.

She turned back to her bath with a happy sigh, almost reluctant to wash away the evidence of their passion. The maid returned a short while later and helped her to dress and put up her hair for the day. Though the young woman didn't say anything outright, the grin she couldn't keep off her face was all the proof Cece needed that Reese's staff knew exactly what was going on in his house.

Rupert was right when it came to predicting the guests would be slow to wander down to breakfast as well. More than half of the guests were missing from the long breakfast table by the time Cece took a seat across from Henrietta and smiled at the footman who poured her tea and offered her a selection of pastries. Almost all of the married couples were absent, and quite a few of the single men and ladies as well.

"You had a good night,"

Henrietta said by way of greeting, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"Yes, I did,"

Cece replied. She sent a brief glance farther down the table, to where Lady Claudia was staring blearily at her plate of eggs and toast. "I slept like the dead after exerting myself so much yesterday."

She picked up her tea and flickered one eyebrow at Henrietta before taking a sip.

"That is precisely why ladies should not engage in athletic activity the way you so shamelessly did with Lord Stanhope yesterday,"

Lady Claudia snapped, proving that she'd been listening in and that Cece had been wise to choose her words with Henrietta. Lady Claudia tilted her chin up imperiously and went on with, "I would think you would want to be more careful, considering how Lord Stanhope's attentions have all but left you."

It was all Cece could do to keep herself from laughing. Her lips twitched in spite of her efforts and she asked, "Whatever do you mean?"

A superior look spread over Lady Claudia's face. "Lord Stanhope wasn't in his room last night."

"He wasn't?"

Cece asked, blinking. She was a fair actress when she wanted to be.

"No, he wasn't."

Lady Claudia's gloating look deepened. "And you know what that means. House parties are notorious, after all."

"What does it mean?"

Cece went on, playing innocent.

Lady Claudia blushed and peeked around the table to be sure that none of the others were listening. She leaned closer to Cece and Henrietta and whispered, "It means that he clearly spent the night in someone else's room, in someone else's bed."

The smile she sent Cece was so triumphant that if Cece hadn't known better, she would have thought Lady Claudia was admitting to spending the night with Rupert herself.

Henrietta must have drawn the same conclusion. "How do you know that Lord Stanhope wasn't in his room last night?"

she asked with an expression that implied the answer and accused Lady Claudia.

Sure enough, Lady Claudia's cheeks flushed deep pink and her shoulders stiffened. "I—"

She glanced around the table with a guilty, hunted look. "I heard one of the maids say,"

she rushed on, fumbling her words.

"Did you?"

Henrietta asked, arching one eyebrow.

"He wasn't there,"

she snapped. "His bed was made. There was no sign of him."

Lady Claudia swallowed. "The maid said so."

"Well, if the maid said so,"

Cece said with as much innocence as she could muster, which wasn't much. She and Henrietta exchanged a look, and Cece came so close to bursting into laughter that her eyes watered.

Lady Claudia huffed and faced her breakfast with a stiff back and bright red cheeks.

"Honestly,"

Henrietta went on, her expression stern while her eyes danced with mirth. "I don't understand the shocking laxity of morals in young ladies these days."

Cece hummed in agreement, selecting a croissant from the plate the footman had left near her place. "They never would have gotten away with it in our mothers' time."

"Certainly not,"

Henrietta agreed. "I think it shows a distinct lack of character. Why, I would be tempted to curtail the involvement of such women in the May Flowers if accusations of impropriety could be proven."

"Really,"

Lady Claudia huffed, her embarrassment switching to anger. "You act as though you and you alone rule the May Flowers."

The breakfast room was slowly filling. A few of the new arrivals glanced their way with interest.

"I was elected to serve as Head,"

Henrietta reminded her.

"Well, perhaps it's time for another election,"

Lady Claudia said in a tight voice. "Some of us aren't at all satisfied with the leadership."

"Are we talking about elections?"

Lord O'Shea asked as he strode into the room, Rupert at his side.

"It seems inevitable at this point,"

Rupert answered. "Gladstone has been having increasing difficulty holding things together, what with all the Irish Home Rule problems."

"Not to mention The Third Reform Act passing last year,"

Lord O'Shea went on. "I, for one, am desperately interested to see how extending the vote to Irish farmers and extending the franchise in general changes election results."

They passed where Cece and Henrietta were sitting. Rupert sent a rakish grin Cece's way, but beyond that, he pretended not to notice her. "The Conservatives are shaking in their boots, of course,"

he said as he and Lord O'Shea took seats at the other end of the table.

"Men,"

Henrietta muttered, though her expression brimmed with good humor. "They assume everything anyone talks about is directly related to them."

Cece hummed in agreement, sipping her tea. "I do think there will be a general election soon, and I am interested in seeing how last year's reforms change things."

The conversation settled into a harmless buzz as more people came down to breakfast. The seats between Cece and Henrietta and Lady Claudia were filled, blocking Lady Claudia from sticking her oar in where it wasn't wanted again. Cece was far happier to talk to Reese about the previous night's rain's effect on his gardens. She noted several looks from Rupert as she and Reese talked, but unlike the day before, there wasn't a hint of jealousy from Rupert.

Cece was just getting around to asking Reese what sort of entertainments he had planned for the day when Lord Denbigh marched into the room, his face pale with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Claudia,"

he barked, striding up to her place at the table. "Pack your things. We're leaving at once."

"But…but I didn't do anything,"

Lady Claudia insisted, cowering.

Cece was too startled to gloat, and as it turned out, she would have been wrong to.

"I've had a telegram from Father,"

he went on. "We're needed back in London immediately. The steward of his Irish lands, Mr. Murtaugh, has been brutally murdered by those savage tenants of his."

He practically spit the words.

A ripple of shock passed over the table. Cece put down her teacup to keep from dropping it. "Dear Lord, I'm so sorry," she said.

Most of the rest of the guests at the table said similar things.

"Terrible luck."

Rupert added his condolences to the others'.

"Luck?"

Lord Denbigh bellowed, glaring at him. "It's not luck, it's a crime. A crime perpetrated by sub-humans who have been encouraged by your separatist clap-trap."

Reese rose from his chair and stepped to Lord Denbigh's side with a placating gesture. "Let's keep calm heads,"

he said. "The trouble in Ireland isn't going to resolve itself at the breakfast table."

"Your Mr. Murtaugh is one of too many land managers who have been attacked recently,"

Harrison added, though whether he was saying it as a concession or to lessen Lord Denbigh's rage was debatable.

"It's the fault of the managers that they're murdered in the first place,"

Lord O'Shea grumbled at the other end of the table, rising from his seat and glaring at Lord Denbigh.

Cece gulped and pressed a hand to her stomach. It was a blessing that the breakfast table separated Lord O'Shea and Lord Denbigh, but that didn't stop a war of words.

"It doesn't surprise me at all that a dog like you would applaud murderers,"

Lord Denbigh growled.

"And it doesn't surprise me that you would make a hero and a martyr out of a man who probably starved, beat, and raped his way to what he called land management,"

Lord O'Shea replied.

Several of the ladies at the table gasped. One or two got up from the table and fled the room. Cece's stomach roiled, but she was ready to jump to the defense of the Irish if she had to.

"You support upsetting the natural order of things?"

Lord Denbigh shouted. "You champion those who would strike back at their betters and fly in the face of the role in society that God has ordained for them?"

"I doubt the Almighty ever intended for men to be treated like cattle,"

Lord O'Shea fired back. "I believe He would weep if He saw the oppression that persists in His name."

"The Irish are no better than cattle, and acts of violence like this only serve to prove it."

Before Lord O'Shea or anyone else in the room could contradict him, he snapped. "Come along, Claudia. We're leaving. Now."

He pulled Lady Claudia's chair back so fast she almost spilled to the floor. Without a word, fear in her eyes, Lady Claudia scrambled to her feet and scurried out of the room without a look at anyone.

"We can delay the cricket match, if you'd like,"

Rupert called from the end of the table as Lord Denbigh marched after her.

Lord Denbigh stopped as though Rupert's words were an arrow that had struck him in the back. He whipped around, glaring at Rupert. "The match is still on,"

he growled. "I wouldn't pass up the opportunity to crush you all for anything, especially now."

He didn't wait for a reply before charging out of the room, radiating fury.

A long, painful silence followed. Cece sat frozen in her chair, not sure if she should say something to diffuse the situation or if she should simply drink her tea and pretend nothing had happened.

"If you will excuse me,"

Reese said at last, breaking the tension. "I must speak to my staff about departures."

Reese's exit relieved some of the tension, and a dozen, whispered conversations started up around the table. Cece wished she were sitting next to Rupert so that they could discuss what had just happened.

"I hate to say it,"

Rupert spoke over the low chatter, "but perhaps this is not the best time for a house party after all."

"You may be right,"

Henrietta said, glancing across the table at her brother. "It might be best if we all head back to London."

"Particularly as this unfortunate event will likely have political consequences,"

Lord Herrington agreed with a nod.

Murmurs of agreement sounded around the table. Cece met Rupert's eyes across the distance and nodded. It would be best for them to be in London if the murder of Lord Denbigh's father's steward led to bigger trouble.

Breakfast was finished in a hurry. Reese had more than just a quick talk with his staff to deal with as the majority of his guests requested their things be packed and brought down for departure right away. Cece packed her own trunk, since she was perfectly capable of doing it and felt the maids could be used elsewhere. She did it with a heavy heart, though, and by the time she gathered with the rest of the guests on Albany Court's front steps, waiting for the carriages to be brought around, she had the distinct feeling as though someone had died.

"Of course, someone has died,"

Reese told her when she confided as much in him. "We might not have known Mr. Murtaugh, but I fear his death will affect us all."

"I fear you're right,"

Cece told him, glad that the two of them were friends.

That sense of gloom stayed with her all the way to the station, while Rupert exchanged their return tickets for the next train to depart, and as the two of them settled into a first-class compartment together.

Which was why, when the train rolled forward and Rupert moved to sit on the seat beside her, circling his arm around her shoulders and grinning at her like a schoolboy with a sweet, she recoiled.

"Rupert, what are you doing?"

she demanded, pushing away from him and moving to the opposing seat when he tried to kiss her.

Rupert blinked in surprise. "We're alone in a train compartment once again,"

he said, a hint of offense in his voice. "Since we enjoyed each other's company so much last night, I figured?—"

"You figured what?"

she snapped. "That I would be in an amorous mood after hearing of the violent death of a man? That I would want to engage in wicked activity when the entire political situation in Ireland may be about to explode?"

Rupert clenched his jaw. "If we held ourselves back from love every time the situation in Ireland was about to explode, there would be no love at all."

"Then perhaps there shouldn't be any,"

Cece said, louder than she intended to. A porter passing in the train's narrow hall beside them flinched in his steps and frowned at her through the window.

Rupert reached over and drew the shades to give them some privacy. "I didn't mean to offend your delicate political sensibilities,"

he grumbled. "I withdraw my offer of intimacy."

Cece's eyes snapped wide. "You act as though it were something I requested, not something thrust upon me."

"You didn't complain about things being thrust upon you last night,"

he said in a quiet, sullen voice.

"Rupert Marlowe, you do beat all,"

Cece huffed. She crossed her arms, shook her head, and stared out the window at the passing countryside, as irritated with him now as she had been on the way up to Albany Court.

"Forgive me for wanting to take comfort in the arms of the woman I love during times of distress instead of fretting uselessly about it,"

he said, as put out as she was.

She glared across the compartment at him. "Don't fret about it, then,"

she said. "Don't behave inappropriately to the moment either. Use the power you have as a lord, as a man, to pass laws that will make the situation right. I only wish that I could do the same."

She settled into her seat, writhing with discomfort in a thousand ways. She was miserable that women were so helpless to address the problems of the world, miserable that Rupert seemed to think the answer to everything was sexual congress, and miserable that anyone had to die, or kill, for what they believed in. If things didn't change soon, she might end up doing something rash and causing an even bigger scandal than she already had.