Free The Dutiful Rake by Elizabeth Rolls Page B

dictatorial management of her future. His little Meg hadn’t wasted time on arguing with him, she had just quietly gone ahead with her plans as though he had nothing to do with them. In which she was completely and utterly mistaken, of course, but that did not cancel the determination and courage.
    As for the physical side of things…no problems there. He would positively enjoy undertaking Meg’s education in her marital duties. Her beauty was not the obvious sort, but rather a subtle elegance tempered with an engaging innocence. Her face had character with its deep blue-grey eyes and the strongly marked brows. She dressed appallingly, but that was doubtless due to necessity not inclination and could be remedied easily enough. Marcus knew enough of women to be tolerably certain that she would be only too happy to be let loose amongst the fashionable modistes and milliners of London. The thought of Meg sheathed in shimmering, clinging silk had a very definite appeal to what he freely admitted to be his base masculine sensibilities.
    He spared a brief thought for Lady Hartleigh and shrugged as he helped himself to apple pie. No doubt she would be a trifle disappointed, but it was not as though she needed to marry or fancied herself in love with him. Theirs would have been a marriage of convenience.
    As would, of course, his marriage to Meg.
    The fact that he did not know her terribly well did not concern him. Except for his mother and sister, he had never known any woman terribly well, apart from in the biblical sense, and he did not intend to start with his wife. No, a marriage of convenience, in which they would pursue their fashionable, separate lives, would suit the Earl of Rutherford to a nicety.
    There was little point in pretending that he was in love. She would never believe it even if he did know how to counterfeit an emotion he was not entirely sure he had ever indulged in. No, she was an intelligent girl, to judge by the varied reading matter he had found beside her bed. Better just to put it before her as a businesstransaction. In return for heirs and her discretion he would give her the protection of his name and all the indulgence she had so far been denied in her barren existence. Viewed logically it seemed a fair enough bargain to him, with no danger of hurt for either of them. In addition to Fenby House, which he didn’t need, it looked as though he had also inherited a bride, which he most assuredly did need.
    He ignored the niggling little voice that suggested the Earl of Rutherford might be biting off rather more than he could comfortably chew, and that Marc had better look out for himself.
     
    Later that night Meg lay on her stomach in her battered tester bed, trying very hard to cry silently into the pillow. She did not wish to disturb Agnes, snoring comfortably on the other side of the bed, did not wish to acknowledge to anyone the depth of despair and hopelessness to which she had now plummeted. Desperately she buried her face in the lumpy old pillow with its worn and darned slip. Her slight shoulders shuddered with the effort to muffle her sobs.
    In the morning she would have to go to the Vicar and ask for his help in finding a job, but if Mrs Garsby’s self-righteous attitude was anything to go by she thought that she might as well enter the workhouse in York immediately. Granted his lordship had offered assistance, but that was before he knew who she was. Besides, she had refused his offer and could hardly turn around now, expecting it to remain open.
    The future stretched out remorselessly before her, bleak and terrifying. Now even the prospect of earning a living looked grim. Fear rose before her in the darkness, black and threatening. She fought it down beforeit could take control. Above all, when she saw Lord Rutherford on the morrow, he must not see how frightened she was. No one must know what a coward Meg Fellowes really was.
    Except Marc, she thought as she finally drifted towards sleep.