My Wicked Marquess

by Gaelen Foley

  His black lashes, short and thick, rimmed his gray-green eyes. Albert stared for a second into those piercing eyes and seemed to forget all about his indignation, as though falling under the stranger’s unfathomable spell, much as Daphne had experienced a few moments earlier.

  “Come, think back,” the stranger intoned in silken menace, as though his brooding eyes and soft voice and his slight, dark smile could mesmerize any unsuspecting victim. “We were only boys then.”

  “It can’t be,” Albert whispered. “Max…Rotherstone? Is it you?”

  The stranger nodded slowly while Daphne committed his name to memory.

  Perhaps it was due to drink, but Albert now appeared quite entranced. He shook his head vaguely. “I don’t believe it,” he uttered while “Max Rotherstone” continued to control him, rather like a snake charmer. “You have been gone for as many years as I can remember, you just…vanished.”

  “Yes,” he said. “But now I have returned.”

  “Why?” Albert demanded at once, suspiciously.

  “I have done and seen all that I wished to do or see.” He tilted his head intently. “And what have you been doing, Albert, with your life all this time?”

  Albert’s sculpted countenance went blank.

  Nothing. The sorry truth was written all over his face. Daphne almost pitied him when he could not find an answer, but the pointed reminder of his lack of purpose in life seemed to jar the leading dandy from the spell.

  Albert changed the subject, suddenly eager to be rid of his old acquaintance, it seemed, this long-lost friend who had posed such an uncomfortable question. “Well, Max, you said you were off to meet someone. Don’t let us keep you.”

  “Ah, yes. The Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg.” The handsome smile he flashed made Daphne catch her breath.

  “Grand Duchess?” Albert echoed in a dubious tone.

  “Mm, yes, charming lady. I met her in the course of my travels on the Continent.”

  “I say!” Richard Carew mumbled with reluctant admiration.

  Max Rotherstone folded his hands politely behind his back. “Shall I introduce you?”

  Albert seemed to remember himself then. He shot Daphne a gloating look past the stranger’s shoulder. “Meet a Grand Duchess? I’m sure any man would fancy that.”

  “Indeed.” Rotherstone sent Daphne the merest, dismissive glance over his shoulder, barely paying her any mind. “Of course, I don’t wish to interrupt—”

  “Not at all,” Albert cut him off, sending an icy look her way. “We were finished here, believe me.”

  “Good, then! Come with me,” he commanded, clapping Albert on the shoulder. “Her Highness is seated this way. After you, old boy.” With his other hand, he gestured toward the far end of the room; his brawny arm rose like a turnpike before Daphne’s face. None of the men paid her any further attention. She might as well have been invisible.

  “I am a frequent guest among the highest circles myself, you know,” Albert remarked to Rotherstone, unable to resist one last, self-congratulating look in Daphne’s direction. “I hear I’m quite a favorite with the Regent.”

  “Fascinating. You must tell me all about it.”

  “Well, His Royal Highness first complimented the cut of my coat one day…” As Albert eagerly obliged his utterly insincere inquiry, he walked ahead of the stranger, as obediently as you please.

  Daphne stared after them in amazement, not quite sure what in blazes had just transpired.

  But as “Max Rotherstone” deftly steered the Carew brothers away, all three neatly under his control, he glanced back oh-so-casually over his shoulder at her, a discreet glimmer of deviltry in his eyes.

  Daphne shook her at head at him in bewilderment.

  His wicked smile in answer and his slight, private nod merely seemed to say to her, You’re welcome…again.

  Chapter 4

  Well, I never,” Daphne breathed. She could not decide if she was delighted, intrigued, or irked that he had spirited Albert away and stolen her thunder before she could give the cad the tongue-lashing he deserved.

  But one thing was clear: This Rotherstone man was as bold as brass and as slick as they came. He had interfered twice now in her affairs, and though she had overheard his name, she still had no idea who in blazes he actually was.

  Strange, for she usually knew everyone. She stood on her tiptoes in riveted curiosity, trying to peer over the crowd to keep him in view.

  When she spied him across the ballroom introducing the Carew brothers to the Grand Duchess of Mecklenberg, as promised, she couldn’t help grinning. The look on Albert’s face was priceless as Rotherstone presented him to a very stern-looking old lady with a sour frown. Her Highness eyed the Carew brothers in thorough disapproval.

  Well, he is full of tricks, isn’t he? Daphne’s mind was still awhirl with questions about him when she heard her father’s voice.

  “Ah, daughter, there you are!” She turned as Lord Starling ambled over to her, his gray eyes beaming with fondness. “Did you hear the announcement? They’re serving the supper now. Would you like to come and eat with us?”

  She smiled at him. “I would never turn down your company, Papa.” Doing her best to shake off her distraction, she hooked her wrist through the crook of his offered arm. “Do you mind if Jonathon joins us? He went to fetch me some punch.”

  “If he must.” Her father harrumphed. It was no secret that Papa considered Jono a very silly young man.

  “Papa?” As they made their way, arm in arm, toward the grand dining room where the light repast was being served, she leaned closer to murmur in his ear so they would not be overheard. “There is a gentleman, Papa—he is most mysterious. I wonder if you know him.”

  “Hm. Where?”

  Daphne glanced around, then scowled. “Oh, dash, I do not see him anymore! He seems to have a talent for vanishing into thin air…I heard someone address him as Max Rotherstone.”

  “Lord Rotherstone?” Her father stopped and turned to her in surprise. “The Demon Marquess?”

  Daphne furrowed her brow at his answer, then burst out laughing. “Demon Marquess?”

  “My, you’re brave, aren’t you?” Papa teased. “Dance with him, my sweet Persephone, and he’ll whisk you off to Hades, and I only shall see you but half the year.”

  “Oh, Papa!” she chided, laughing, still holding on to his arm. “Why do they call him that, I wonder?”

  “I know not, but he probably deserves it.” He winked at her. “Maybe you should ask the rogue.”

  “George!” They were interrupted as Penelope blasted into their presence, whirling out from amid the crowd, and waving her fan at top speed. “George, George! Oh, George, for heaven’s sake, there you are! I’ve been looking for you here, there, and everywhere! Where on earth did you wander off to?”

  “I am right here, darling,” he said in a soothing tone, retreating back into his amiable fog.

  “It was very wrong of you to leave me, George!” Penelope bustled over to Lord Starling and claimed his other arm, fully prepared to play a hard game of tug-of-war with Daphne over the poor man, or indeed, to break him in two as though he were a wishbone.

  “I only went to fetch Daphne to dine with us, as you can see, my dear.”

  “But George, it’s quite impossible! I’ve already secured two places for us at Lord and Lady Edgecombe’s table—only two!”

  “Can we not make room for the girl?”

  “Demand a third chair at the hosts’ table? I could never be so rude! Lord and Lady Edgecombe would think us thoroughgoing barbarians!”

  Daphne suppressed a polite cough. “I’m sure they could never think that, ma’am,” she murmured.

  Her father gave her a stern look askance.

  “It’s enough of an honor, surely, that they have invited us at all, George!”

  Daphne had no doubt that her stepmother had invited herself. “It’s all right,” she spoke up. “I will just sit with my friends.”

&nb
sp; “Yes, let her sit with the young people, George. That is as it should be. Come, we must not keep the Edgecombes waiting!” Without further discussion, Penelope dragged him away.

  Daphne was left standing there, but thankfully, Jono returned just then with the punch.

  “Your father’s a saint,” he remarked as he handed her the goblet, apparently having overheard their exchange.

  “I’m not sure that’s what you call it,” she said in a wry, philosophical tone. “Why does he let her run roughshod over him like that, do you suppose?”

  Jono shrugged. “She is a woman of mighty will.”

  “Well, fortunately, so am I. Otherwise, right now, I’d be engaged to Albert Carew.” She shuddered. “If that domestic tyranny is marriage, I want no truck with it.”

  “Nor I.” Jonathon raised his glass. “To the single state, my dear.”

  Daphne nodded at him, clinked her glass against his, and they drank to that, in perfect amiable harmony with each other, as usual.

  When her female best friend, Carissa Portland, joined them, they all three went into the long, rectangular dining hall, which was filled with damask-covered tables for the guests.

  They made their way over to a table ringed by more of their friends, a colorfully garbed array of belles and bucks of the ton. She had noticed a few judgmental looks here and there tonight and had received and few terse, chilly greetings, but here was a fine group of friends that Albert had still failed to turn against her.

  They made up a gay and fashionable company, while various chaperones kept an eye on their female charges from nearby. As the others engaged in brisk repartee, Daphne kept furtively scanning the dining hall for the mysterious Lord Rotherstone. Why did they call him the Demon Marquess? Then again, did she really have to ask, after all that she had seen of him so far? She was actually a little put off to find that he was friends with Albert.

  Just then, she spotted the four of them, Lord Rotherstone, Lord Albert, and the two younger Carew brothers. They were congregating on the threshold of the dining hall, standing in one of the many arched doorways of the adjoining colonnade. They appeared to be catching up on old times while the other guests kept ambling in past them, finding seats at all the various tables.

  Daphne’s expression darkened with worry as she furtively watched their exchange. She froze when she saw Lord Rotherstone point her out discreetly to Albert.

  When they put their heads together, obviously discussing her, she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Lord Rotherstone folded his arms slowly across his chest.

  As he lowered his head, listening intently to Albert’s gossip about her, Daphne felt her heart sink. No! she thought in helpless anger. Don’t believe his lies about me! She looked away, her heart pounding, but that was the moment she had to face up to the fact that she liked this Rotherstone man.

  For the life of her, she could not say why. He visited horrid brothels. He brawled like a wild barbarian. He possessed strange, slippery skill in managing other people, as he had just demonstrated with Albert. And he had looked at her in the ballroom as if he was imagining her naked.

  But she had never before in her life seen anyone like him—the brash, bold grandeur of the man, his quick mind, his unhesitating courage and smooth style.

  He made her quite breathless.

  But now, before they had even been introduced, Albert was going to ruin it for her. Because he couldn’t have her, he spitefully wanted to see her end up alone.

  Her friends chatted on at the table, but Daphne was no longer listening. What could she do? Run over there and tell Albert to shut his big mouth?

  Oh, what did she even care what he told Lord Rotherstone, anyway? If the “Demon Marquess” believed Albert’s lies without hearing her side of the story, then he was a fool.

  Still, it was upsetting, after she had spent the past twenty-four hours thinking of him as her hero.

  Rough-and-tumble he might be, but the man had risked his neck for her. But now, hearing whatever lies his old friend Albert was speaking about her, the intriguing marquess would not want anything to do with her.

  She knew the men were still talking about her, and she felt naked sitting there, an easy target for their mockery.

  In dire need of a moment to compose herself, she excused herself abruptly from her friends’ table. She walked stiffly to a door on the far end of the room in order to avoid going past him.

  She could swear she felt his eyes on her as she walked out of the dining hall. Holding her head high, she was determined to make at least a show of dignity, but as soon as she escaped his line of sight, she picked up her crepe silk skirts and fled the rest of the way to the safety of the ladies’ lounge.

  Hm, Max thought, watching Daphne Starling.

  She had looked a little upset just then. Her sensitive face had paled, almost as if she could hear her former suitor’s unflattering words.

  Carew’s rant continued, but Max had concealed his true sentiments about the blackguard’s words long enough.

  He had wanted to hear firsthand exactly what complaints Carew had been leveling against her so that he could deal with the man appropriately.

  To be sure, the slightest encouragement on this topic had repaid Max with an earful.

  “Top-lofty she is, fickle, narcissistic little tease. She lures men close just to knock them down again. She thinks she’s too good for everyone—”

  “You know, Carew,” Max cut him off in a mild tone, willing self-control. “If you keep talking about her that way, people are going to think it’s just sour grapes.”

  “What do you mean?” Albert retorted, taken aback.

  “It looks bad, man. Petty,” Max said idly, exerting all his rigid discipline to keep his anger in check. “I don’t know, it rather makes it sound as if you merely want to damage her in others’ eyes, just because you couldn’t manage to win her for yourself.”

  “That’s not the case!” Albert snorted. “My only interest is in finally letting the truth be known about everyone’s precious Miss Starling. Maybe then the next man won’t get burned!”

  “Oh, so you are only acting from benevolence. I see.”

  “Of course!”

  “Well,” Max said slowly, meaningfully, staring into his eyes, “all the same, I’d shut my mouth if I were you.”

  Albert paused, registering the menace behind Max’s low-toned words and cool, polite stare.

  The other two Carew brothers exchanged a startled glance. They seemed to remember that this was how it always used to start.

  Albert scoffed and looked away, shaking his head with a mocking smile. “Well, you’re not me, are you, Rotherstone? You only wish you were.”

  “You listen to me, you preening piece of mediocrity.” Max stepped closer, staring more fiercely into Albert’s eyes. “Leave Daphne Starling to someone better suited to manage a lady of her quality.”

  “And who might that be? Jonathon White? He’s a bigger pansy than my brother Hayden. Wait—you?” Albert suddenly narrowed his eyes. “You’re interested in her?”

  “Utter one more word against her, if you care to find out.”

  Albert let out a short bark of laughter. “Are you threatening me, Max?” he challenged, not quite realizing the danger he was in.

  Max leaned closer with an icy look and whispered, “I’m merely giving you fair warning—Alby.”

  Finally, the message seemed to sink in.

  Albert stiffened, easing back a step, but still, he clung to his trademark arrogance. “You think you can win her where I failed? Good luck, Max,” he said in disgust, giving him a dismissive, once-over glance. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

  “Well, well, isn’t this just like old times? You boys are at it again already, I see.”

  They both glanced over as Albert’s frail elder brother, Hayden, joined them. The easygoing young Duke of Holyfield had the delicate look of a poet. He glanced from Max to Albert with a rueful smile. “Come now, gentlemen, we’re all grown up here, a
ren’t we?”

  Albert rolled his eyes, but Max knew he was right. They had begun reverting into churlish juveniles.

  It did not at all surprise him that Albert had openly thrown down the gauntlet, challenging Max to prove himself the better man if he thought he could succeed where Albert had failed. What surprised Max was that it would work. Now that he had an inkling of Daphne Starling’s goodness and compassion, he was unhappy with the stirrings of his own competitive nature, that would almost rise to the bait of making her some sort of trophy between them. Max knew full well it was wrong and idiotic to make a contest of it, but, damn, the Carew bastards had always brought out the worst in him.

  Albert snorted in contempt and then turned to his two younger siblings. “Let’s get out of here.” He eyed Max and Hayden with renewed hauteur. “This is a very dull company. The Edgecombes must be lowering their standards.”

  Max smiled menacingly at him, but was hardly sorry to see the bastard go. Now perhaps Miss Starling could enjoy the ball. Quietly exhaling his churning irritation, he turned to greet the eldest Carew brother with a more adult smile. “Holyfield.”

  “Rotherstone. Nice to see you again! I thought I recognized you. God, it has been years! I was sorry to hear about your father,” Hayden added, jarring Max from his seething distraction.

  “What? Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you. Same to you.”

  “Say, Max—all that traveling you’ve done, any tips on what to see in Paris? My wife wants to go before she enters her confinement.”

  “Confinement? Hayden!” Max stared at him in shock. “You’re going to be a father?”

  The young duke beamed. “Our first.”

  “Congratulations!”

  “Scared to death of it, actually.”

  “Ah, it’s all the mother’s worry,” he said with a cheeky grin, as if he would know. “So, you’re taking her to Paris?”

  “Mariah wants to see the place while she’s still able to travel. Once the babe comes, I don’t suppose we’ll have many holidays for a while.”