My Wicked Marquess

by Gaelen Foley

  “Did you see a man run through here?”

  “Aside from you?” the beefy, aproned merchant demanded, hands on hips. Bloody aristocrats, his pugnacious glower seemed to say.

  “Sorry,” Max muttered, but he walked away from the man all the same and climbed up onto the wall.

  “I’m going to call for the constable if you don’t get off my property. You got no right to be here.”

  “Fine.” Max jumped down on the other side and continued the hunt, just as Warrington and Falconridge rushed into the merchant’s garden.

  “Max!”

  “Who the hell are you?” the merchant cried angrily.

  “Sorry, we’re trying to find our friend.”

  “He went that way.”

  “What, over the wall?”

  “I’m right here,” Max called back in disgust, finding no sign of Drake. He climbed back over the shopkeeper’s wall and rejoined his friends.

  “The three of you move along or I’m sending for the constable. I don’t want your money!” he retorted when Warrington tried to offer him a fiver for his pains.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jordan murmured.

  They left the shop.

  “I saw Drake.”

  “What?”

  Max glanced grimly at them as they put some distance between themselves and the indignant shopkeeper, who was still standing in his shop doorway making sure they were not coming back.

  “Here?”

  “Alive?”

  “I could swear it was he.”

  “You must be mistaken.”

  “It can’t be!”

  “I know. After all, if Drake were alive, why wouldn’t he make himself known to us? But I’m telling you, I know what I saw. I chased him as far as here, then he got away.”

  “We’ll look for him. Which way did he go?”

  “He disappeared! Just the way we’ve all been taught to do,” Max added grimly. “At this point—” He glanced around, then shook his head. “He could be anywhere.”

  “Well, if Drake is alive, then we’ve bloody well got to find him. Fast.”

  “I know. I don’t understand it.” Max shook his head, bewildered. “Am I seeing things?”

  “Couldn’t have been a trick of the mind, could it? Nostalgia, a remembrance of old friends?” Jordan suggested.

  “Or his ghost?” Rohan added.

  They just looked at him.

  “I grew up in a haunted castle, boys. If you’ve never had a ghost try to push you down the stairs, you’ve never lived.”

  “Not helpful, Rohan,” Jordan said, then rested a brotherly hand on Max’s shoulder. “Maybe it was just the guilt that you made it back and he didn’t. I know we have all felt our share of that. And now you’ve got this lovely girl, this wonderful new life ahead of you—”

  “I’m not seeing things, Jordan.” Max dragged his hand through his hair. “At least—I don’t think I am.”

  “Listen, let us worry about this,” Rohan murmured. “We’ll look for Drake, ghost or man. You’ve got better things to do.”

  “Make sure you talk to the hackney driver,” he said. “I don’t think he really knew anything, but he would have seen him and could describe him and where he picked him up. Whatever you can find out.”

  Jordan nodded, but then his two friends exchanged a hesitant glance.

  “I think we’d better tell him,” Rohan said to Jordan in a low voice.

  “Tell me what?” Something in the duke’s tone made Max’s blood run cold foreknowingly.

  “Jordan spotted Dresden Bloodwell at the End of Summer Ball.”

  “Dresden Bloodwell…the assassin? What the hell is he doing in London?”

  “No idea.”

  “Where did you see him?”

  “Inside the house. He must’ve come in with one of the guests. He was leaning on the wall in the ballroom and seemed to be taking stock of things. I was in the middle of dancing with some woman, and by the time I got away from her, he had disappeared.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Max snarled.

  “You were already gone. It was after you left, after that whole debacle with Carew.”

  “That was weeks ago!”

  “We’ve been working on it ourselves. Don’t worry. Come on, man, we did not want to ruin this time for you. You’ve been madly in love and preparing for your wedding,” Rohan said. “And for that matter, you had better get back to it. You caused quite a stir with your disappearing act.”

  “Bloody hell, what am I going to tell them?”

  “You saw a cutpurse rob an old lady and took matters in your own hands,” Jordan informed him matter-of-factly. “Now, go and get your hero’s glory. Don’t worry. We’ll back you up.”

  “Right.” Max shook his head with an angry sigh and a deep uneasiness in his soul. “That’s just perfect,” he muttered under his breath. “My first bloody day as a married man and I’ve already got to lie to her.”

  It did not bode well.

  He knew me.

  Drake’s heart was still pounding as he slipped back into the Pulteney Hotel, stealing back up to the balcony by which he had climbed down. He had to get back before James returned from his errand. He’d been told that Talon would not return for a few days, thankfully, but he did not know where the eye-patch man had gone.

  It had been strange to be free out in the world, but Drake had become disoriented. He could see no good reason why he should go back to his captors, except that something deep inside him told him that he should.

  Maybe he had truly come to believe the Prometheans when they said they were his friends. All Drake knew was that out in the world, especially after that frightening chase, he did not feel secure in this strange city without James. He needed the benevolent structure given him by his aged protector.

  So, he fixed his sights on sneaking back into the Pulteney Hotel. His body seemed to know what it was doing, even if his brain did not. It seemed to have a plan. Maybe his reasons for returning were something else entirely.

  Maybe that lost continent submerged within him knew exactly what he was doing. Drake could not say.

  But deep in his bones, he knew better than to tell James what he had done. At least not yet, not until he figured out if Rotherstone was friend or foe.

  He was still at a loss to explain where the ability to evade capture like that had come from. To be sure, he had not expected to be seen, but when Rotherstone started chasing him, his escape reactions had come without forethought, as if by instinct.

  It left him wondering how he had managed to get caught in Bavaria. Why could he not remember? He was feeling rattled again as he slipped back into the window of the room he’d been assigned.

  With shaking hands, he poured himself a drink of water from the pitcher, then sat down on his bed, trying to catch his breath. He steadied his shaking hands and clung to this single shred of recognition for all he was worth.

  Rotherstone knew him. The painted woman last night had known him, too—Ginger. And now he had managed to escape and to get back in again undetected. These were all promising signs. He let out a quiet exhalation as his trembling finally eased.

  Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for him.

  Chapter 15

  The long day had ended, and Daphne sat before the mirrored vanity, brushing her hair until it gleamed. Free at last of stockings and stays, all she wore under her blue satin dressing gown was a white linen shift. It felt wonderful to relax after the strain of having to be the center of attention for so many hours.

  With each soothing stroke of her brush, she enjoyed the wink of the candlelight on the gold band on her finger.

  She tried to ignore her nervous awareness that Max would be joining her at any moment for their first night in what would be their bedchamber. Of course, it would take some time to get used to her new life, as well as her new home. She had to keep reminding herself that she was now the lady of his opulent Town palace, with its splendid portr
ait gallery and ornate dining room and all the rest.

  It was so much bigger and grander and more formal than Papa’s cozy villa that it made her feel as if she should be on her best behavior. Even here in the large, imposing bedchamber, the feeble glow of the candelabra could not penetrate the shadowed heights of the fifteen-foot ceiling.

  Such a large house ought to have been chilly, too, but the fire burning in the hearth had made the sprawling chamber rather toasty, and considering that she would soon be asked to remove all her clothes, she supposed she ought to be grateful for that. Tomorrow they would set out for his estate, but tonight…

  Acutely aware of the large canopied bed a few feet away, she reached for another swallow of wine and continued trying to talk herself out of another attack of virginal nerves.

  Obviously, their first night together was going to produce some anxiety, since she really did not know what she was in for beyond the basic facts. But she had made up her mind to enter into this marriage wholeheartedly, and besides, she was sure her chivalrous husband would do all in his power to make it as easy as possible on her.

  She wondered if she would conceive on their very first night together—but this was such an overwhelming prospect that she turned her attention humorously to the thought of her bridegroom dashing out of their wedding reception and through the streets of London to chase a cutpurse.

  Ever the hero, she thought, smiling into the mirror with pride in him. He couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to his courageous brand of gallantry. It was, she mused, one of his more adorable qualities.

  She heard the door click from her seat on the other end of the immense, dimly lit chamber. She turned around and steadied herself against a frisson of awareness as the door creaked open, and Max stepped into the room.

  He smiled at her as he closed the door behind him. She smiled back, still gripping her hairbrush. Her heart beat faster as he crossed the room, gazing at her in open admiration. “There’s my treasure,” he greeted her in a low, fond, husky murmur.

  She blushed at his flattering stare and lowered her head as he came to stand beside her.

  “Are you really mine?” he whispered, running a knuckle gently over the now-gleaming gold of her hair.

  She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes, nodding. “You know I am.”

  He bent and pressed a worshipful kiss to her lips. “I am the luckiest of men.”

  Her mouth curved under his. She reached for his hand as he straightened up again. Letting her hand rest between both of his, he held her gaze warmly for a long moment.

  Daphne’s heart glowed in the silence with him.

  “How are you?” he asked softly.

  “Good! Happy.”

  “Good,” he whispered.

  “You?”

  “Happy,” he echoed with measured caution, as though tasting the word warily, letting her lead him into it.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not sure?”

  “I’m not used to this.”

  She held on to his hand a little more tightly. “You will be before long.”

  “So, we’re married then,” he said in a mildly businesslike tone.

  “That we are,” she answered with a grin. “Imagine that! You got your way.”

  He frowned with a crestfallen look. “Don’t say that. It must be mutual, Daphne.”

  “I’m only teasing. Of course it is. Still, what hope did I ever have with the likes of you chasing me? But I do wonder one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  She stood up from the vanity and slid her arms around his neck. “Now that you’ve caught me, Rotherstone, what are you going to do with me?”

  He let out a low laugh full of gusto, lowered his head, and kissed her hungrily. When the fire popped loudly in the hearth, she betrayed her nervousness with her slight, startled jump at the sound.

  Max ended the kiss and gave her a compassionate little frown, realizing she was having a case of the nerves.

  “There, there, sweeting. There’s no reason to be so much on edge. Come here. Sit with me.” He led her over to the Moroccan leather armchair, sat down, and held out his hand in invitation.

  She smiled sheepishly at him and accepted, arranging herself across his lap, her body perpendicular to his. She smoothed the skirts of her shift and her dressing gown, then draped her arms loosely around his neck.

  “There now, isn’t this cozy?” he teased, tucking her bare feet gently under his thigh to keep them warm.

  She smiled, grateful for his efforts to put her at ease. He held her gaze for a long moment with a mystified look. “You seem different,” he said all of a sudden.

  “I do?”

  “Yes. You’ve got, I don’t know…a twinkle in your eyes. Ever since the wedding ceremony. That kiss you gave me. Whew.”

  She grinned. “Did you like it?”

  “Darling, if I’d liked it any better, I’d have ravished you on the altar and got us both struck by lightning. So? Confess. What is the cause of this devilish twinkle?”

  “You are.” She let out a dreamy sigh and caressed his face for a moment, but then recalled the small weight upon her conscience. She didn’t want any remaining secrets between them before she gave herself to him for the first time. “Max?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have—a confession to make.”

  “Oh, dear. Go on.”

  “Do you promise you won’t get angry?”

  “Absolutely. It is our wedding day. What is the matter, darling?”

  She lowered her gaze. “I pawned the sapphire necklace for the orphanage.” Wincing, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes to gauge his reaction. “You know that building I wanted to buy to house the children? That boarding school for sale?”

  He had raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “Unfortunately, my hopes of doing good then hit a snag.”

  He regarded her intently, but true to his word, did not look angry. “What sort of snag, my dear? The sum was not enough?”

  “No, the money was sufficient to cover the cost when I added it to the donations that we had already accrued.”

  “What then? Did someone else already buy it?”

  “No.” She could not disguise her resentment. “They would not sell me the building because I am a woman.”

  “Ah.” He raised both eyebrows. “Well, my dear Lady Rotherstone,” he replied. “We’ll just have to see about that.” He kissed her nose and started laughing softly. “You nearly had me worried for a second.”

  “You are not cross I sold the necklace? We weren’t getting along too well when I did it. If we had been—”

  “Enough. That I am lucky enough to have married a woman who thinks not of herself but would turn around and spend the proceeds of a gift on a bunch of ragged children…you are an angel, Daphne. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

  She hugged him. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Do you want another necklace?”

  “No. I’d rather have beds and a new set of clothes for all the children.”

  “Done,” he whispered. “It will be my wedding gift.”

  “Oh, Max.”

  “Actually, Daphne, if we’re going to be baring our souls here, there’s something that I need to tell you, too.”

  She furrowed her brow, determined to take his secret, whatever it was, as well as he had taken hers. When he looked at her for a moment, she read a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “What is it, you rogue?” she murmured, studying him in suspicion.

  “You know that day in Bucket Lane, how you saw me coming out of the, er, brothel?”

  She nodded, trying to hide her distaste for that nasty establishment.

  “I wasn’t there for the reason you think,” he informed her. “As a matter of fact, I was only there to have a look at you.”

  “What?”

  “As God is my witness…” He proceeded to tell her the whole astonishing story of how he had ordered his man-of-business to
start researching a list of possible brides for him before he had even returned to England from abroad.

  He had her laughing and exclaiming in wonder at his absurd account, and she didn’t think she would’ve believed him at all, except that he then got up and produced the letter, handing it over for her to read.

  “Hypatia Glendale? This is my competition? Oh, I’m problematical, am I?”

  “Very,” he agreed.

  She laughed heartily at it, because, after all, what else could she do? She was not about to get angry at him on their wedding night.

  In truth, she was delighted to hear that he had not been in that bordello to exploit the women there, but instead to spy on her.

  Of course, it was odd. But she accepted his explanation of why he had done it.

  “You’ve gone about in Society long enough to know that the second a bachelor nobleman shows the slightest interest in any young lady, the gossips immediately began running amok.”

  “Still,” she chided, shaking her head despite her laughter, “I cannot believe you listed all these traits as your requirements! Breeding, beauty, dowry, temperament, what else?”

  “Reputation.”

  “Pshaw! Your poor solicitor! It’s a wonder he found even one girl who could live up to this list of standards, let alone five. Honestly, Rotherstone, I cannot believe you practically ordered me out of a catalogue like a-a farming implement!” He laughed merrily at her reproach. “Oh, you deserve all the trouble I gave you, every jot!”

  “All I know is I’m very happy with my choice.”

  “You really are too much.” Still laughing, she captured his face between her hands and kissed him. “I have a feeling you are going to make my life very interesting.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Well, I’m glad you told me,” she said as she sat down on his lap again and tossed Oliver Smith’s letter aside. “I realize you’ve got a long way to go with learning to be more direct, my love, but this is a definite step in the right direction. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks for not throttling me.”

  “Well, I haven’t had my way with you yet! Maybe after. Max?”

  He gave her a smoldering smile. “Yes, Daphne?”