Virtue

15

Peter Wellby saw them first. "Damme, Carrington, isn't that Lady Carrington?"

"She certainly can handle the ribbons," Francis Tal-lent observed admiringly. "I don't believe I've seen a lady driving such a carriage. Driving 'em tandem, too."

Marcus watched as the vehicle approached at a fast trot, Judith very much at home on her precarious perch, her whip at an impeccable angle. Her brother seemed perfectly at his ease beside her, but what the hell did he think he was doing, permitting his sister to behave in such fashion in public? It was the height of vulgarity for a woman to drive a sporting vehicle. But then perhaps the Davenports didn't realize that, given their unschooled and unlicensed upbringing. Marcus struggled to give them die benefit of the doubt.

"She's driving Grantham's bays," Wellby said. "I had no idea he was selling up."

"Davenport obviously has an ear to the ground," Marcus replied casually.

He moved to the edge of the pathway as Judith drew rein. "You move quickly, Sebastian. Half London was waiting to hear Grantham was selling up."

Sebastian laughed. "Handsome, aren't they?"

"Very." He moved to the side of the phaeton and spoke quietly. "I don't know what you think you're doing, Judith. Give your brother back his reins and get down from there."

Brother and sister were smiling at him with a wicked glimmer in their matching eyes.

"They're not Sebastian's reins, Marcus; they're mine. He procured the carriage and horses for me," Judith said. "I'm taking him for a turn around the park."

For a moment Marcus was speechless. "Yield your place, Davenport," he demanded grimly, laying a hand on the step.

"By all means," Sebastian replied with an obliging smile. He jumped to the ground, laying a hand on his brother-in-law's arm in passing. Marcus turned to meet his eye. That mischievous glint was still there.

"Best not to go head to head with her," Sebastian murmured.

"When I want your advice, I'll ask for it," his brother-in-law declared in a savage undertone.

Sebastian, not in the least offended, merely inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Marcus swung himself up beside his wife. "Give me the reins."

"But I'm perfectly able to handle them myself, as you must have seen," Judith responded with an innocent smile.

"Give them to me. "

Judith shrugged and passed them over, together with the whip. "If you wish to try their paces, be my guest."

Marcus ground his teeth, but was forced to mask his fury as best he could under the eyes of his friends, who still stood on the path beside the carriageway. He cracked the thong of the whip, and the leader sprang forward.

"It's unwise to drive a high-couraged pair when one's in a miff," Judith remarked in tones of earnest solicitude as Marcus took the phaeton through the park gates. "Don't you think you shaved the gate a trifle close?"

"Hold your tongue!"

Judith shrugged and sat back, surveying her husband's handling of the reins with a critical eye. Despite his fury, he was perfectly in control of the bays and she decided her jibe had been unnecessary.

The phaeton turned into Berkeley Square and drew up outside the house. "You'll have to alight unassisted," Marcus snapped.

Judith put her head on one side, narrowing her eyes. "If you mean to drive my horses in my absence, it would be only courteous to ask my permission."

Marcus inhaled sharply, his jaw clenched. He kept his eyes straight ahead and spoke almost without expression. "You will go into the house, go to my book room, and wait for me. I will join you there shortly."

Judith alighted from the awkward vehicle with creditable grace and mounted the steps to the house.

Marcus waited until she'd been admitted, then drove around to the mews at the back of the house to leave the carriage and horses. He understood that Judith was once again demonstrating to him that she lived by her own rules. But she was his wife, and if she didn't understand that her disreputable past and unknown lineage made it all the more imperative for her to behave impeccably,

then he was going to have to demonstrate that fact once and for all.

In the hall, Judith paused. She had no intention of obediently going to Marcus's book room like a naughty schoolgirl.

"Gregson, I have a headache. I'm going to rest in my bedchamber. Would you send Millie to me… and I'd like a glass of Madeira."

"Yes, my lady." The butler bowed. "I'll have it sent up immediately."

"Thank you." Judith ran upstairs to her own apartment, where the morning sun poured brilliantly through the long windows, dimming the fire's glow. She went to the window and stared down at the square, tapping her teeth with a fingernail. She was rather looking forward to the next few minutes. It was high time Marcus learned a few things about the wife he had taken on.

Millie helped her out of her clothes and into a particularly retching peignoir of jonquil silk, lavishly, trimmed with lace. She poured Judith a glass of Madeira and hovered solicitously with a vinegar-soaked cloth and smelling salts for the supposed headache.

"No, I need nothing further, Millie. I'll rest quietly by the fire; it'll pass soon."

After Millie curtsied and left, Judith sat in a low chair in front of the chess board by the fire. Sipping her wine, she began to reconstruct a game she had played with Sebastian several days earlier. The concentration required in remembering the moves cleared her head of emotional turmoil, and kept her from watching the clock as she waited for her husband.

She knew the exact moment when he entered the house. Despite her conviction that he had neither right nor cause for complaint, her heart speeded and she tried to cool her palms, clutching the smooth marble of a pair of pawns. She heard his step in the passage outside and swiftly bent her head to the board, feigning complete absorption as the door opened behind her.

Marcus was inconveniently struck by how deliciously desirable she looked. The copper ringlets tumbled around her bent head, exposing the slender column of her neck. His eye traveled over her body, clad in the filmy peignoir that gave her an almost insubstantial air. One narrow, bare, white foot peeped from beneath the hem, and he knew with a jolt to his belly that she was naked beneath the delicate garment.

He stood for a second in the open door, waiting for her to acknowledge him. When she didn't, he closed the door with,a snap.

Judith looked up. "Ah, there you are, my lord. How did you find my horses?" She returned her attention to the chess board.

Marcus, having been informed by Gregson that her ladyship had retired to her bedroom with a headache, had decided to ignore her disobedience over the book room rather than be sidetracked from the main issue. He had also intended to keep his temper, but at this blatant provocation all good resolutions flew out of the window. He strode to the fireplace. "I will not have my wife behaving like a vulgar hoyden!"

She looked up again, brushing a wisp of hair from her brow, where a slight, puzzled frown marred the smooth expanse. "There's nothing vulgar about driving oneself in the park, Marcus."

"Damn you, Judith! Don't play the innocent with me. You know quite well that driving a high-perch phaeton is as shameless and fast as Letty Lade. You're the Marchioness of Carrington, and it's time you learned to behave properly."

Judith shook her head, and her mouth took a distinctly stubborn turn. "You're so stufly, Marcus. I know it's an unusual carriage for a woman, but unusual doesn't necessarily mean bad… vulgar… shameless… fast."

"Where you're concerned, it does," he snapped. "Oh? Why so?"

"Because, my obtuse wife, someone of your dubious origins cannot get away with things that someone of impeccable family and background might. And as my wife you have a duty to uphold the honor of my family."

Judith paled. How had she thought this would be a simple confrontation, about a simple matter? "My family and my 'dubious' background have nothing to do with this. No one here knows anything about me, good or bad, and I'm perfectly capable of setting my own style without damaging your family's honor. I tell you straight, Carrington, that I will drive what I choose to drive." Breathless, she subsided to rearm.

"Madam, you've forgotten one essential fact." His voice was dangerously quiet. "You are my wife, and you owe me your obedience. You took a most solemn vow to that intent, as I recall."

And it wasn 't worth a groat in a court of law. "I have a greater right to my own freedom. I can't be expected to obey unreasonable commands that trespass upon my right to make my own choices."

"You have no such right. Obviously you don't understand the nature of marriage," he said, white-faced, his voice cold and level. "You should have thought of its uncomfortable aspects before you decided to become my wife."

"But I didn't decide to become your wife," Judith objected.

"Didn't you?" Marcus's eyes drilled into her.

Judith's lips were dry and she wished with all her heart that she'd never started this. "This isn't about our marriage," she said desperately. "Or not really. It's about something much more simple. I want you to trust me. My judgment has served me well all these years, and what I choose to drive is no concern of yours. I employed my brother as my agent-"

"I must remember to express my gratitude to him." The caustic interruption was delivered in the same cold, level tones. "As for you, ma'am. If your brother doesn't want those horses, then I'll send them to the block at Tattersalls first thing tomorrow." He turned away, as if the subject were closed.

"No! I won't tolerate such a thing."

"My dear wife, you have no choice."

"Oh, but I most certainly do. I shall simply keep the horses in my brother's stable and drive them whenever I please."

The gloves were well and truly off. Marcus, a white shade around his thinned mouth, advanced on her. "By God, ma'am, I am going to have to teach you that I mean what I say."

"You lay hands on me, Carrington, and so help me I'll shoot you!"

Judith sprang to her feet. Her knees caught the edge of the low table, sending it flying. Chess pieces tumbled and the massive marble board fell heavily across Marcus's feet. He yelled in pain, hopping from foot to foot.

"Oh, now look what you made me do," Judith said, anger forgotten in her consternation. "I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"No, you only meant to shoot me," Marcus muttered, standing on one leg as he bent to rub his left foot. "Make up your mind, woman."

"You know I wouldn't do such a thing," she said, wringing her hands. "Oh, dear, are you very hurt?"

"Abominably." He lowered his foot gingerly to the carpet and ministered to the right one.

"I am very sorry," Judith said wretchedly. "But you made me so very cross. I didn't do it deliberately."

"God only knows what pain you'd cause if you were trying." He lowered the right foot and straightened. His eyes narrowed abruptly. In her agitation, the silk wrapper had loosened at the neck, exposing the soft, creamy swell of her breast, lifting rapidly with the raging emotions of the last half hour. The golden eyes contained anxiety and the residue of her anger; her lips were parted in dismay.

"I think," Marcus stated deliberately, "that you will conduct the remainder of this heated discussion on your back. I'll feel safer that way." Reaching across the fallen table, he caught her under the arms and lifted her clear across the debris.

"What the devil are you doing?" Judith kicked her legs as he held her with relative ease.

"What do you think I'm doing?" He lowered her to the floor, his hands sliding to her waist, his eyes still narrowed, a predatory light in their ebony depths.

"No!" Judith turned her head aside just as he was about to lower his mouth to hers. "I will not permit you to make love to me when we're quarreling."

His lips, missing her mouth, found instead the soft spot behind her ear. His tongue darted suddenly, wickedly, and she squirmed as the hot lance probed her ear.

"I haven't asked your permission," he responded against her ear.

"Damn you, Marcus, no! You don't want to do this!" She pushed against him with her hands, turning and twisting in his hold.

"I'll be the judge of that." He bore her inexorably backward until she felt the edge of the bed behind her knees. Her arms flailing wildly, she fell back on the bed,twisting her body against him, pouring forth a string of expletives in every language she knew.

Marcus hooked a finger beneath the thin silk tie at her waist and pulled it loose. He caught her thrashing arms and pulled them above her head, gazing down into her flushed face, reading in her eyes the unbidden excitement that warred with her determination not to give in to him.

He looped the tie around her wrists. Judith craned her neck sideways, gasping with a mixture of anger and excitement as he fastened the tie to the carved cher-rywood pillar behind her head.

"Now," he said cheerfully, "you may fight me with your tongue, my lynx, but nothing else. However, I'm willing to wager twenty guineas that I can defeat you handsomely with the same weapon."

Judith abruptly ceased her struggles. "Twenty guineas?"

For answer, he plucked the sides of her peignoir apart. Bending his head, he drew a tongue stroke down between her breasts and over her belly. "Unless you wish to make it fifty?" He parted her thighs, holding them wide with flat palms. His breath whispered cool yet warm over the secret sensitivity of her core.

Judith lost all interest in conflict. "I'm not fool enough to defy these odds," she managed to articulate, before coherent speech was denied her under the grazing mouth, the hot, sweet strokes of his tongue.

He should have listened to his brother-in-law, Marcus thought dreamily, as he fed upon the pleasure growing within her. Direct confrontation was a crude and exhausting tactic, doomed to failure. Defeating her with delight was an infinitely more subtle strategy for achieving mastery.

Her whimpers of pleasure were building to a crescendo, her thighs tautening as the spiral coiled ever tighter in her belly, until with a shuddering cry her body arced, taut as a bow string, and then she fell back on the bed, her breath swift and shallow.

Marcus moved up her body, dropping a light kiss on her mouth, brushing her closed eyelids with his lips, and she opened her eyes, giving him a dazed smile.

"You work miracles, sir."

"One of my minor talents," he said with a smug grin, holding himself over her on an elbow, while fumbling one-handed with the waistband of his britches, pushing them off his hips. Reaching above her, he pulled loose the silk tie that bound her wrists. "I think you're sufficiently tamed now to have your hands back. You might need them for the next stage."

"I might," Judith agreed. She brought her hands down, slipping them around him, grasping his buttocks, as he eased himself into her. "Ah, that feels wonderful."

Marcus sighed in agreement, moving with gentle rhythm within the smooth, warm quiver of her body. "Sometimes," he murmured, "I think you were made to hold me as I was made to fill you."

"You only think it sometimes?" She laughed up at him, an exultant spark in her eyes as she tightened around him, glorying in the feel of him, in the light in his eye, in the absolute knowledge of the pleasure they found in each other. She lifted her hips to meet him.

"Ah, Judith, don't move again unless you're ready to be with me."

"I'm ready," she said breathlessly.

She touched his lips fleetingly, then with wicked intent moved her hand to his belly. The muscles jumped against her flattened palm and he surged against her. Their cries mingled, redolent of a primitive exultation,

and his body fell heavily upon hers, sweat-slick skin melding with sweat-slick skin.

They lay for long minutes in deep, satiated silence, before Judith stirred beneath Marcus. Her legs were still sprawled around him, her arms spread out as they had fallen in the aftermath of that climactic explosion.

"Was I crushing you?" Marcus murmured, rolling away from her. He propped himself on one elbow, looking down at her, smiling at the wanton sprawl of her body.

"Only pleasurably." Her eyes opened lazily.

"Now," he said, trailing a finger down between her breasts, "to return to the vexed question of perch phaetons…"

Judith pushed his hand away, sat cross-legged on the bed, and regarded him. "Now, listen to me," she said calmly. "You are an old stick-in-the-mud, Marcus Devlin… No, don't interrupt. When, since we've been married, have I ever caused you the slightest embarrassment?"

"Never, to my knowledge," he conceded. "And you'd better not."

Judith patted his knee. "I'm not about to. I'm going to set a new trend. I'm not about to race at Epsom, or charge down the London-to-Brighton post road at full gallop. I'm simply going to do something different-a little daring, perhaps. But you just see… In a week, I'll wager any odds that there'll be quite a few others driving perch phaetons. And," she added, "you'll see that none of them exhibits anything like my style and expertise."

"Conceited baggage," he said.

"Just wait and see," she responded stoutly.

Marcus didn't immediately answer, his thoughts having taken a new direction. "How did you learn to drive so well, Judith?"

"Oh," she said vaguely, "a friend taught me two years ago."

"A friend?".

"Yes, in Vienna. He drove a team of magnificent grays and was most obliging as to teach me."

"In exchange for what?"

"Why, for my company," she said, as if it were self-explanatory.

"One of your flirts, in other words."

"I suppose you could say that. He was a very respectable flirt, though. An Austrian count of some wealth."

"Of which you and your brother relieved him, I assume."

"A few thousand," she said with cheerful insouciance. "He could well afford it, and he enjoyed my company as compensation."

"And you wonder why I sometimes question your judgment."

Judith bit her lip hard. "This is different. Why do you always throw my past in my face?" She turned her head away, blinking back tears.

Why did he? He looked at her averted profile, saw the shimmer of a teardrop on her cheek. Perhaps he wasn't being fair to her. No matter how their marriage had come about, he couldn't help but take pride in his beautiful, elegant, intelligent wife. Maybe it was time to bury the past.

He leaned forward and smudged the tear on her cheek with his finger. "If you can satisfy me that you can handle in every contingency a spirited pair between the shafts of such a vehicle, then you may keep your perch phaeton."

She swallowed her tears and swung out of bed.

"We'll put the matter to the test immediately." Bending over, she playfully tugged at the coverlet. "Come along, lazy, get up. We'll drive to Richmond in your curricle with your grays and I'll show you how I can handle a four-in-hand. I promise you I'll prove to you that I can drive to an inch."

"Yes, I rather imagine you will." He stood up, then said consideringly, "By the way, I believe you owe me twenty guineas."

"Why, yes, sir, I believe I do," Judith replied in dulcet tones.