How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal)

by Reid, Stacy

  “Lord Muir is full of pride and importance, with little thought of anyone but himself and his horses. I assure you I will never marry such a man.”

  Was it her imagination or did relief glow in his golden eyes?

  “I must take my leave.”

  “Be safe,” she whispered.

  A rare smile lit his face, and he leaned in and cupped her cheeks between his long, elegant, but so very warm and comforting hands. He brushed his lips against her forehead in farewell, then over her cheek, then lower to where he inexplicably lingered over her lips. “I will call upon you when I’ve located my daughter. If you have need of me before then, send word to my townhouse, and my man will find me.”

  A shocked gasp came from the doorway. Evie lurched back and spun around, her hand fluttering to her chest. “Mamma! Upon my word, you gave me a fright.”

  The countess’s eyes gleamed with triumph before she lowered her lashes. When she met Richard’s regard, her composure was serene. “My husband and I shall expect you tomorrow before noon, Lord Westfall.”

  “Mamma!” Evie hurried to her and pulled her farther into the room, gently closing the door. “Please stop this nonsense. Lord Westfall simply wished me farewell.”

  He strolled over, a curious frown on his face as he regarded the countess. Richard was quite aware Mamma had always disapproved of their friendship. Her turnabout now was revealing. In his eyes, Evie spied the knowledge and the contempt.

  “Lady Gladstone,” he murmured with a curt bow. “Lady Evie. I bid you both good evening.”

  She swallowed her protest and allowed him to leave the room. He closed the door with a decisive snick.

  Her mother started to wield her silk fan with enthusiasm. “I will summon your father. Lord Westfall will do the honorable thing after your father speaks with him.”

  “Mamma, please, it was only a fleeting kiss,” Evie said, blushing furiously. “I am certain our lips did not touch.” It was so mortifying to be caught in such an illicit embrace with Richard. “I will not have Rich…Lord Westfall pressured into marriage for a brotherly embrace that lasted but a few seconds.”

  Her mother folded her fan with a snap and glared at her. “Do not be silly. He is now in line for the dukedom. He is eminently suitable to be pressured.”

  “Oh, Mamma.” Evie sighed. “A few weeks ago you forbade our friendship, and now you wish for us to marry?”

  “Several weeks past he was not the Marquess of Westfall. Do not be obtuse, my dear.”

  Evie rubbed her temple, hoping to ease the throb she could feel forming. “He does not have the time or temperament for any inconsequential distractions now. He has a daughter, and he must locate her at once. Any meddling with this process with a ridiculous demand for him to declare any intentions toward me would be unconscionable.” Her admittance to her mother was an acknowledgment how much Richard’s revelation had unsettled Evie.

  Her mother paled. “He has a bastard?”

  Evie flinched. “Do not refer to her in such a degrading manner. It is unbecoming, Mamma.”

  Her mother visibly composed herself. “Upon my word, he cannot be thinking to claim her?”

  A sudden fierce pride burst inside her chest, though it warred just as strongly with anxiety. Life would not be kind to his daughter if he tried to raise her within their society. She would be a pariah. Never to experience the joy of attending balls, routs, and musicales. She would always be a curious bug under the searing reproachful gaze of society. “He is, Mamma.”

  “If he does, I most assuredly will no longer invite him to our balls and house parties. How can Lord Westfall think to taint his estimable family name with such an undesirable connection? He is the future Duke of Salop and surely must see how ill-judged such a decision would be!”

  Dear Lord. “Mamma, please—”

  A whisper in the air alerted Evie, and she glanced up. Richard was frozen in the doorway, his eyes hard chips of ice. Her heart sang in elation that he had returned, then sank at an alarming rate at the cold fury darkening his gaze. Surely he did not believe she would share her mother’s sentiments?

  “You are being unfeeling, Mamma.”

  “A continued friendship will not advance this family if he claims his bastard,” the countess said, unaware Richard was behind her.

  Unable to hold her silence, she stepped around her mother toward him. “Please forgive Mamma, my lord. She… I have no excuse,” she said.

  His eyes as they pierced her mother were so cold that discomfort twisted through Evie. Without acknowledging her mother’s harsh words, he turned and walked away, leaving the door ajar. She had the sudden impression her mother had made an enemy, and their friendship had suffered a blow.

  Oh, Richard.

  Chapter Three

  1818, Present day…

  Mayfair, London

  “There now, that is just right,” Emily Rose Maitland said, a pleased smile curving her lips. Eyes a perfect golden replica of Richard’s glowed with happiness. Tilting her head to his hovering valet, she grinned. “Ain’t it perfect, Mr. Colby?” his daughter asked, tugging at the mess she had made of the cravat. His valet scowled, no doubt wanting to chuck her from the chambers so he could complete the finishing touches of Richard’s evening attire.

  “I wish to be at this ball, Papa. Are you sure little girls cannot go?” she queried, her eyes hopeful but so alive with merriment.

  Acting quickly, he grabbed her and tossed her into the air, enjoying her fake squeal of terror and chortling. It was a little over two years since he’d found her in the heart of London, in one of the nastier and most dangerous areas—St. Giles. That was the first time he had been truly grateful for the exacting and ruthless skills he had acquired from scouting for the army. The baby farm had sold her to men who routinely hunted for the most vulnerable children of society and pressed them to work as pickpockets, chimneysweepers, and even in brothels. It had taken him a few weeks to find her, and he had been relentless in his search, threatening many and hurting several men before he’d found her in a hovel, huddled with several more children, thin blankets attempting to cover thinner shoulders.

  He lowered her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Yes, I am certain.”

  She pouted prettily. “Will you miss me?”

  “Always.”

  Her face lit with pleasure. “I’ll wait up for you.”

  He arched a brow. “You’ll be in bed by nine.”

  Mischief danced in her eyes, and somehow, he knew no matter what time he came in, she’d be up, waiting or sleeping in the center of his bed.

  Her eyes widened in apparent guile. “I love you, Papa.”

  He smiled. Never could he have imagined the intensity of emotion he had for his daughter. He scooped her into his arms and strolled past his disgruntled valet from his room and down the hallway leading to the stairs. Richard held her securely as they descended. “I love you, too, but you’ll still be in bed.”

  She giggled and pressed her nose into his neck. Richard rarely left her for long bouts of time, having even taken her with him to London instead of leaving her in the country with governesses. But tonight, his presence was needed at Lady Beaufort’s ball. The first such invitation he was accepting this season.

  It was time he seriously considered taking a wife. His Emily needed a mother. After two years of trying to fulfill all her wants, he had concluded he was not providing for all her needs. The wistful way she stared at the ladies when he took her to Hyde Park or the botanical gardens was informative and heartrending. Whatever his daughter lacked, it was his duty and pleasure to provide it, despite his serious reservations about marrying any woman. His reputation and the world he moved within would hardly inspire a lady to want an alliance with him, even if he was the heir to a dukedom. The idea of marriage also left him cold and uninspired.

  Tonight, he would try dancing with a few ladies to see who desired his attention despite his notorious reputation. Though, the most appealing aspect of
tonight was that he was certain to see her—Evie.

  Richard held himself at a distance because of how popular and admired she had become in society. In a perverse quirk of fate, the darker and more dangerous his reputation got, the more Evie’s presence at balls and drawing rooms was sought after. She was a diamond of the ton, and it offended their sensibilities whenever he socialized with her. He’d seen enough of the scandal sheets, where cartoon caricatures were drawn of him as a scarred beast absconding and ravishing their fair beauty. But once several weeks passed without him seeing her, an irresistible pull would draw him to her, causing him to watch her from a distance, or endure some society event, just so he could see her and perhaps pass some trivial pleasantries with her.

  At times, the weakness was abhorrent to him, at others, he simply accepted Evie would always own a piece of his heart, and she would always be his friend. It was a pity he could not take her to be his wife. The irony was that he cared for her too much to embroil her in the scandalously dangerous life he led, especially when her position in society was so important to her. Most in the ton hated his presence and the ideals he advocated. Ever since the world learned of his daughter, doors that had once been open to him had closed with alarming speed. He had been blackballed from clubs, pushed out from investments, and had been given the cut direct many times because he dared to love his daughter.

  “Jack,” Emily called out, stirring in Richard’s arms. The small boy strolling down the hallway faltered and turned. He smiled in genuine delight, a reaction only Emily seemed to provoke. Jack had been there the night Richard found her, a fierce protective force of all the beaten and starved children, though Jack was only eight at the time, and he himself bruised and bloodied.

  She wriggled, and Richard lowered her. After bestowing a careless wave in his direction, she dashed toward Jack, clasped his hand, and resumed walking. Richard watched until they entered the smaller and more intimate parlor. Voices spilled toward him as the other children rambunctiously greeted their arrival. No doubt they would partake in their nightly reading, and then play whist or chess.

  With a smile, he swiveled and slowed his steps as a familiar veiled lady came into view, his butler preceding her.

  “My lord, you have a visitor,” Mr. Powell murmured.

  Why would his sister visit him at this hour? “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Certainly, my lord.”

  In silence, he escorted his sister, Phoebe, to the library. As he closed the door, she threw up her veil, her soft brown eyes glowing their happiness to see him. His sister was slightly above average height and slender, with a fair complexion, dark ringleted hair, classic features, and a stubborn mouth that was now curved in the sweetest smile. “It’s been a while, brother.”

  “Did you come alone?”

  She sobered at his abrupt tone. “I promise you I was careful. I did everything you taught me to check if I am being followed.”

  His sister was a few months shy of eighteen, and he hated the risks she took when she slid away to visit him. “I’ve missed you, poppet. Your last visit was three months ago.”

  “I’ve missed you dreadfully, too.” There was the slightest hesitation before she lifted her chin. “It’s Father. He is ill, and he won’t send for you,” she blurted.

  Richard’s heart iced over. “That does not explain your presence, Phoebe.”

  Frustration flashed in her eyes. “You know Father is stubborn. Please, won’t you make amends?”

  “You know why we are estranged.”

  She blushed. “Yes, everyone knows. But if you would take the first step—”

  He smiled grimly. “The night I found Emily, I appeared on Father’s doorstep with blood pouring from my face, my half-starved and beaten daughter and her friends with me. He was furious and worried about our reputations instead of their lives. Even if such an atrocity could be overlooked, he knew my daughter, his granddaughter had been placed in a baby farm to suffer. He saw her as nothing but an unpleasantness that must be buried. Tell me, sister, why should I give a damn if he is now feeling poorly?”

  When he’d refused to abandon his daughter and the five children found with her, his father had cut off his allowance and severed their connection. But what Richard had found unforgivable was that his father had known of her fate. His father was a powerful and influential man in society. A duke. He could have found another home for Emily, ensured that she had been taken care of as was her due. That night, as he walked away from his father’s command to return her to an orphanage, he’d felt the strings of his former life snapping and reforming into something harder, more filled with purpose.

  “I’m so sorry,” Phoebe said hoarsely. “I…I never realized Father had been so harsh.”

  “It’s fine. When he is dead, the solicitors will know where to find me.”

  Her eyes widened in horror at his callousness. Suppressing his sigh, he strolled over to her and cupped her cheeks. “You must return home before your disappearance is noted.”

  “I hate this,” she cried fiercely. “I hate that we do not see each other. I hate that when we see you at balls, I have to pretend you are unknown to me. Mother and Father act as if you were never born, and Mother has even said she wished it was you and not Francis…” Phoebe closed her eyes, unable to continue. “I want us to be a family again,” she whispered, her voice shaking with the force of her emotions. “You are my brother, and I miss you dreadfully.”

  Yet the rift would not end simply because she wished it so. Their father was a severe and exacting man. He had been instrumental in Richard’s exile from polite society, his clubs, and several investments. But Richard was savvy and cunning when needed, and he had found ways around his father’s actions and had grown his wealth to an impressive fortune. In fact, since the fateful night he’d rescued his daughter from her hell, he’d not spoken to the duke, nor had he made any overtures. His allowance had ceased immediately, and his management of a few estates had been terminated. All his fortunes were his through his own sweat, ingenuity, and foresight.

  “I’ll think of it,” he said, knowing it to be an empty promise. The rift could only be solved with his father’s acceptance of Emily’s place in Richard’s life. And that would never happen, for he offended his father’s sensibilities and his assumptions of how their world should be ordered.

  Bastards were an embarrassment. The people Richard associated with were dregs of society, guttersnipes, and trash, and little thought should be spared to them. It had become a scandal that Richard publicly supported reforms of the injustice meted out to women and children in Newgate Prison. His father did not see the disgrace in poverty and injustice, and Richard would forever be his shame.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said, pressing a kiss to Phoebe’s forehead.

  Reluctantly she allowed him to lead her from the library to her waiting carriage outside. The crest had been covered, but the equipage was properly staffed with footmen and a coachman. Still, he would have her followed, to ensure her safe return. After bidding her farewell, he went inside and bid the children a good evening, and then a few minutes later he was off to one of Lady Beaufort’s famous balls to see his own special brand of torment.

  …

  Lady Honoria was a silly girl prone to fainting spells and hysterics, a gossip of the worst order, and the Marquess of Westfall was going to marry her, or so the rumors circulating insisted. Lady Evie buried the swift feeling of shame for having such uncharitable thoughts about Honoria. Evie was no better in her thoughts and character for having judged her in such an unladylike manner.

  Still…what is Richard thinking?

  This was the second season their names had been aligned, to Evie’s distress. Last year, when the rumors had surfaced, she had asked after Richard’s intention, and he had said he was thinking of offering for Lady Honoria. Except, he’d made no offer and Evie had been lulled into a false sense of security. Richard had all but disappeared from society, no doubt shattering seve
ral expectations.

  Blast the man.

  “Will you be attending Lady Brantley’s garden party, my lady?” her current suitor—Viscount Ponsby—asked, smiling, showing two rows of perfect teeth.

  “I cannot recall if Mamma has accepted. I shall, of course, check and inform you on our carriage ride tomorrow.” Though Evie was largely responsible for organizing her own social calendar, of late she had been restless, distracted, and had been ignoring the mountains of invitations and correspondence that required her attention. There were times she felt an irrepressible desire to be herself. To admit her love for baking when asked what her best pastime is. To admit she read the papers for political news and the latest scandals and fashion. She did crave something new, something wonderful in the predictability that was her life.

  She normally had a hectic social schedule during the season. Her life revolved around assisting her mother in ordering the household, planning balls, and other society events, attending more balls, musicales, and picnics. She had looked forward to each season with excitement for all the thrilling events she would attend. The only thing she dreaded was the many suitors she would have to subtly discourage without her mother realizing. Evie had failed to bring anyone up to scratch because she’d thwarted her mother’s matchmaking efforts from the first days of her coming out. But her mother had increased the pressure for her to find a beau tenfold, and Evie was painfully aware her parents might simply decide for her soon, without her approval.

  It wasn’t that she had no desire for matrimony, far from it. In fact, she desperately desired the most particular attentions of a certain marquess. She wanted Richard as her husband, an occasion unlikely to ever happen, but she remained stubbornly hopeful.

  “Would you like me to procure another glass of champagne?” the viscount asked, tipping his chin toward the near empty glass in her hand.

  “Please,” she answered with a smile, eager to be alone with her thoughts, if only for a few moments.