Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(94)

And yes, he had wanted to see his mark upon her, to see the red imprint of his hand upon that pale flesh, to know that she would walk for the next hours belonging to him.

He felt himself thicken again as he remembered the feel of the sting as his hand had met her tender skin.

But would he ever have risked truly hurting her?

No.

The answer was truly that simple. He would never hurt Louisa.

He would rather cut out his own heart than cause her harm.

Picking up the cool glass, he took a great gulp of the fiery liquid, letting it burn down his throat.

He swung his boots off the chair on which he had set them, stood, and strode over to look out on sunlit gardens. Would he change what had happened if he could?

No.

That answer formed strong and clear.

No.

He was happy with who he was. Perhaps he would have prepared Louisa more—he’d felt her surprise at that first swat—but he would not change things beyond that.

In fact, he looked forward to leaving his mark upon her again.



She was back where it had all begun. That thought circled again and again through Louisa’s mind as she stared across the street at Madame Rouge’s. It was late in the day for her to be visiting. There had, as of yet, been no sign of clients—or indeed anyone else—entering the building, but she knew it would not be long. Dark came quite late during the summer months, but she did not think it would be that long before visitors began to appear.

She hoped Madame would see her regardless of when she arrived. Pulling her dark veils more closely about her face, she prepared herself, clenching and releasing her hands. Hopefully, the veils and light cloak would hide her from prying eyes. It could not be that unusual for women to be seen entering—or could it? It was one more item on that long list of things she did not know. Did Madame’s girls use the servants’ entrance? Did other women ever come here?

Leveling her shoulders, she marched across the street. Madame would talk to her. She would not consider any other possibility.

“Excuse me, my lady. May I have a moment of your time?” The voice came from behind her just as she stepped up to the curb.

Turning, Louisa found herself gazing up at a large, heavyset man. He was dressed in a jacket and trousers, but still gave the impression of a man used to heavy labor.

“I am sorry, sir, but I have an appointment to keep,” she answered politely, and did not stop.

She stepped forward quickly, and almost collided with another man, one who could have been the twin of the first.

“I am afraid you need to come with us,” he said, blocking her way.

“Please let me by, I do not wish to be late.” She tried to sidestep.

Two arms grabbed her tight from behind, wrenching her arms, pulling her back into the street and toward the yawning door of a dark carriage. Opening her mouth to scream, she found it stuffed with a not very clean rag, her veils forced back against her throat. She struggled harder, confused by what was happening. Why would anyone abduct her? Did they think she was someone else?

She fought harder, kicking out at the man in front, but to no avail. Before she could even try to spit the foul rag out, she found herself flung into the carriage and across one of the bench seats. One of the large men followed her, placing his weight upon her back. There would be no escape.

The first deep prickle of fear ate its way from her belly.





Chapter Twenty-eight





“Have you seen my wife?” Swanston inquired as a footman brought in a tray of tea and sliced meats and breads.

The man placed the tray upon the desk. “I believe Lady Swanston said that she was making some calls and would be gone several hours. She did tell Marie, her maid, that she would be home in time to dress for dinner.”

Picking up a roll and a slice of beef, Swanston nodded his thanks to the footman. He had hoped to talk to Louisa before that. It did seem that the more they talked, the more they needed to. It was not the way he was used to operating. He never explained. He stated how things would be, and then they were. Even with his own family he took this approach.

But with Louisa everything was different. For the first time, he wanted somebody to understand why he did things—to understand him.

He turned to the window. Clouds blocked out the sun. No rain had yet fallen, but the threat hovered, a near physical thing. It was not a good day to be out.

He called back the footman. “Did my wife take the carriage?”

“I don’t believe so, my lord.”

“And yet, you implied that her maid is still here.”

“Yes, my lord. I just saw Marie taking some coats down to the laundry for a good brushing.”

“Check and be sure she did not take the coach. And ask Marie if she knows where her ladyship was headed. I would not like her ladyship to be trapped by the rain.”

“Yes, my lord.” Taking his dismissal, the footman once again slipped away.

It was odd of Louisa to go out without the carriage and unaccompanied, but perhaps she was used to doing things differently. He had not paid enough attention to her daily schedule. She ran her life in such an orderly fashion it had never seemed necessary. Still, he would have to discuss with her the changes in her life that being a marchioness made.

Discuss, not order. He was changing.

And he didn’t mind it, which was perhaps the biggest change of all—and sometimes, the most upsetting.