A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement #2)(23)

"You are truly happy?" Mariah asked.

"Yes." Lydia smiled. "Blissfully, euphorically, rapturously happy."

"I am incredulous. When you departed London, you were hardly speaking to him."

"Sometimes, dear cousin, words only get in the way." Lydia tossed herself onto the bed with a giggle. "Marcus will expect me to be ready for him. Can you help me to undress, or shall I ring for Sally?"

"Of course I can help you," Mariah said. "Are you not nervous, Lyddie?" she asked, desperate to know more of what had transpired but afraid to ask directly.

"Anxious mayhap, but not the least bit nervous," Lydia replied with a knowing smile stretching her lips.

Suddenly, Mariah understood Lydia's breathless exuberance and radiant visage. Had she not also experienced a similar giddy glow when she'd returned from her garden tryst with Nicolas? "Lyddie," she began tentatively, "are you saying that you and he have already . . ."

Lydia giggled again. "I have given myself away, haven't I? Yes, Mariah, we are united in every sense of the word. And it is the most heavenly experience imaginable."

"So you have achieved your dream of a love match after all?"

"Yes. I love Marcus and he adores me, and we will be blissfully happy the rest of our days. I was a fool ever to consider anything else." Lydia sat up and clasped Mariah's hand. And now that I know the difference, I beg that you also will never settle for any man you cannot fully give your heart to."





CHAPTER SEVEN





"Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are."-John Dryden





AS WAS HER HABIT, Mariah awoke to the teasing first rays of the sun. She'd always been an early riser and relished the first hours of the morning. One of her few remaining pleasures since her father's illness was a brisk morning walk.

She rose and began her own toilet, choosing to spare the duchess's overworked staff. They already had their hands full with all of the guests to attend. It was her custom at home anyway. She rarely called a maid to assist her unless it was a formal occasion. After performing quick ablutions with cold water, she donned front-lacing stays, a simple linen walking gown, and half boots. She eschewed hoops, dressing purely for comfort, figuring she was unlikely to encounter anyone but servants at this hour. She then pinned her plaited hair into a neat bun that she topped with a lace cap and straw bonnet.

She exited her room with a buoyant step, pausing briefly as she passed by Lydia's chamber. Then she remembered that Lydia was not in her room, but with Lord Marcus. She wondered how her cousin fared this morning. She had seemed ecstatic the night before, and Mariah was happy for her. Lydia's exuberance gave her hope that she could also experience the full joys of marriage with a man that she could both respect and love. Nick's loyalty to Marcus and dedication to his duty had already won her respect, but it was his sense of honor she most admired. Perhaps he didn't bear a noble title, but he had proven he possessed a noble heart, the heart she hoped would be hers alone, just as he had already claimed hers.

Feeling lost in the vast house, she retraced her steps to the same ballroom terrace she had exited the night before. She paused briefly on the steps to breathe in the crisp, moist spring air and then set out briskly with skirts raised to protect her hem from trailing in the dew that glistened on the closely cropped grass. She traversed the length of the parterre gardens that opened onto an expansive green whose wickets identified it as the duke's cricket grounds. She halted abruptly at the sight of a lone man in the distance with a bat in one hand and a basket at his feet. Her breath caught at the realization that it was Nick.

He hadn't seen her. His attention appeared fixed on the basket. He reached into it and retrieved a ball, bouncing it in his hand a few times as if testing its weight. He then produced a long white object that she recognized as a stocking. He placed the ball inside it and tied it off. He was so engrossed he didn't seem to hear her approach. "Nick? What are you doing?"

He looked up in surprise. "Mariah? You are an early riser. After the events of last night, I hardly expected to see you until the afternoon. I doubt the rest of the duke's guests will emerge from their chambers before then."

She grinned. "I know it's not fashionable to confess, but I follow the habits of most country dwellers and always rise with the sun. What are you doing? Why did you put a ball inside a stocking?"

"I'm practicing my batting, albeit not in the most ideal manner. Marcus was supposed to have come and bowled for me, but the blighter can't seem to pull himself from his conjugal bed."

Mariah flushed but ignored the intimation. "Is there no one else to bowl for you?"

"In truth, I would rather no one else sees me until I am certain I can still hit a bloody ball," he replied dryly.

"Then how will you do it? I didn't know one could practice batting without a bowler."

"I will suspend the ball from a tree branch. It's what I did as a boy."

He proceeded to tie a long section of rope around the stocking and then looped it over a low-hanging branch of a nearby chestnut tree until the ball hung at mid-thigh level. He gave his handiwork a nod of approval and then shrugged out of his coat, tossing it carelessly to the ground. His waistcoat followed. He then stripped off his cravat and rolled back his shirtsleeves to expose his very masculine forearms. They were muscular and covered with a light dusting of dark hair.