Sarah turned, but Lady Victoria stared dead ahead, her back to him, as if she had not heard him enter. Drake smiled to himself. The little minx. There was no doubt that she was the woman from the inn.
He greeted his father, Lady Phoebe and her niece, James, Wendover, and left Fox and Lady Victoria for last. Even from the back, the lady was quite beautiful, but beauty would not save her now. He reminded himself about his dead wife and the pain that he endured from Honoria's disloyalty, especially her unseemly disregard for his money. His father deserved to know all.
Fox finally turned to him. "Drake, let me introduce you to Lady Victoria, niece to Lady Phoebe."
The duke and Lady Phoebe chattered on, oblivious to the tension in the box.
"Lady Victoria." Drake took her hand and leaned over to peer into a pair of huge turquoise eyes.
She gave a slight curtsy. She knew exactly who he was. There was a challenge in her gaze as well as fear. "Good evening, my lord."
"Delighted." He gave her hand a slight squeeze and let it go. "Have we met somewhere before?"
Her lips parted in surprise.
She was more enchanting than he remembered. No wonder Nightham had gone mad. But it was the angry flash in those cerulean eyes that caused him notice. She was daring him to expose her. How very interesting.
"Met before?" Her voice was as sweet as honey.
Drake swallowed a laugh at her pluck and watched in silence as she flicked a glance toward her aunt, then toward Sarah. The instant those big blue eyes softened, Drake felt a slap to his heart. This woman cared deeply for her family, and she was afraid for them, not herself. Had he been wrong about her?
No, his mind whispered. She could not be that virtuous. Not a beauty with a heart. However, honor would not let him divulge her secret to his father without him knowing her ulterior motives.
"Drake, have a care." Fox stepped in and physically jerked Drake away from Victoria, showing the lady back to her seat.
Drake would have thought he imagined the glaring threat from his friend, but the lasting scowl on Fox's face confirmed the man's declaration of war.
Drake flashed a brilliant set of white teeth, turning Fox's face a fiery red.
Victoria felt ill. The staring continued between the two men and the uneasiness mounted. It seemed that besides the viscount and the marquess, only she and Sarah, to whom she had confirmed about the duke's eldest son being the intruder at the inn, were aware of the tension escalating in the box. Two silver gray eyes were embedded in her brain. There was no denying that the marquess had planned his attack well.
She knew without a doubt that Lord Drakefield had been about to unveil her entire escapade with Nightham, but something had stopped him. Had it been the viscount's presence, or something else?
She quickly turned to glance about the crowd. The noise seemed to lower to a murmur now, and all the faces seemed to blur. She felt herself growing warmer by the minute. The marquess was just behind her, staring at the viscount. She fanned her face as tears burned the back of her eyes. She was doomed. He was going to spill her secret and poor Phoebe would be devastated when she lost her duke.
A heavy pressure on her chest made it hard to breathe. But she would rather have it all out now, than wait like a frightened rabbit, burrowing in its hole, waiting for the kill.
Oh, the detestable, hateful man.
Sarah leaned over, her expression worried. "Would you like to walk out for some fresh air, dearest? Lord James would be only too happy to escort you outside."
James rose from his seat and whispered to his brother, "I hold you totally responsible for this evening, Drake. I should have known you had some dealings with Lady Victoria after so many questions this afternoon. You only have to look at the lady's pallor to know she might swoon at any moment. What hold do you have on her?"
Victoria heard the heated exchange and the blood rushed from her face. She cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder at Lord Foxcroft. She was not as brave as she thought. The marquess had won. "My lord," she said, giving the viscount a weak smile, "I fear I am not feeling well. Would you mind taking me home?"
Foxcroft frowned, taking hold of her arm. She swayed slightly in her seat.
"Oh, my." Phoebe grabbed the duke's arm. "Victoria. Why, she never has had a case of the vapors. She must be ill."
Perplexed at the odd turn of events, the suave-looking duke moved to Victoria's side. "My dear, let me help you."
By this time, even Wendover had offered her his arm. "Lady Victoria, lean on me."
Lord Foxcroft argued that it was his duty to take her outside. But Wendover insisted, he was her cousin, distant or not, and he ought to be the one to help her.
"Not likely," was the marquess's retort when he maneuvered his way to take hold of Victoria and spoke in Wendover's ear.
Victoria had no idea what was happening. All she knew was that her head was roaring something horrid, and she felt ill.
In no time, Drake had pushed the hovering gentlemen aside, including his father. He reached out and scooped Victoria into his arms. "I have her now. Make way, gentlemen. Make way." He pressed the woman's body close to his chest, grabbed his hat, and stepped out of the box as Foxcroft reluctantly gave up his spot.
Phoebe swayed. "Goodness gracious."
The duke's arms circled Lady Phoebe's waist, using the situation to his advantage. "Have no worry, my dear, she is in good hands with my son."
Lord Foxcroft took a menacing step forward. "Exactly. Good hands, indeed!"
Victoria sank back against the cold seat of the marquess's carriage and took a deep breath, forcing her gaze on the man entering beside her. The marquess looked at her in silence.
She lifted her chin, daring him to do his worst. Though his presence was overwhelming, there was also a strength about him that sent a tingling warmth to the pit of her stomach. But it was the mocking amusement in his silver gaze that sent her rage mounting. How dare he pull her from her family!
A biting silence filled the air, and her teeth began to clatter. She threw her hands around her shivering body, her thoughts scampering. He may hold power over her and her secrets, but she was furious at his high-handed behavior.
To her surprise, he whipped off his black jacket, placing it about her shoulders. When his fingers brushed her neck, the amusement died in his eyes, and his lips pressed together into a tight line. "You don't need to catch cold on top of everything else. My father would never forgive me if something happened to you. Neither would James or your aunt or your cousin."
He let out an amusing snort. "Or Fox. No, I suppose Fox would not be too pleased with me whatever happened to you."
He handed her the wool carriage blanket beneath the seat and positioned her feet over the hot bricks on the floorboard.
"Warmer?" he asked with a concern that Victoria did not expect.
"Quite," she replied with a shrug, avoiding his steadfast gaze. What was this man's game? Why did he not tell the duke of her flight? Was it because he wanted to keep Lord Nightham's name clear of any gossip? Or was it truly something else?
She wanted to hate him. He was overbearing, dictatorial, and positively the most arrogant man she had ever met. But when she peered up at him, the tenderness in his gaze shocked her.
She tilted her head away from him toward the window, her heart skipping a beat. "You may take me home now."
He said nothing, and she knew he was studying her. She glanced over her shoulder and faced him. "I wish to go home."
The corners of his lips lifted slightly. "That reddish tint in your hair seems to go well with your temper, my lady."
Her teeth rattled as she lifted her head higher. "You ... you are insufferable."
His reaction was to frown as he leaned toward her and tucked the blanket tighter around her. "Better?"
His touch was oddly sweet, sending a quivering through her veins. But better? Was he trying to suffocate her with his nearness? His overbearing manner, combined with his devilish good
looks, sent her heart soaring into uncharted territory.
He glared at her, angling his chin toward her apparel. "If you had worn something a bit warmer, you might not be so chilled."
Her mouth dropped open in shock, just as he tapped the top of the carriage, stood up, said something to the driver, then sat down, pulling her to his side.
Victoria stiffened as his arm snaked firmly around her waist. "Oh, how dare you."
"I dare anything I want, especially when a lady is wearing my jacket."
"This ... this is insufferable, my lord."
He laughed, but he would not let her pull away. "I am not ready to tell your secrets just yet. So you may rest easy."
Rest easy? Victoria gritted her teeth, feeling the strength of his fingers pressing into her back. Why, this man could ruin her.
It took her a few tense minutes before she realized the carriage was stopping at her home. She hated to move lest the man believed she was making an advance of some sort. His ego had already eclipsed even her imagination.
However, the stunning thought that she might want him to hold her a bit longer lingered in the back of her mind like a prickly thorn. She let out a distasteful shudder. It was the cold night air making her daft. It had to be.
When he escorted her up the steps and to the door, she handed him his jacket just as Winston appeared. She murmured a hurried goodnight, but was surprised when he stepped in after her.
"Cozy little place your aunt has," he said, walking further into the hall.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed.
Smirking, the marquess peered at the butler and gave Winston his hat. "Bring some brandy into the library, my good man, and be quick about it."
Winston stayed put, his questioning brows narrowing into the middle of his forehead. Victoria glanced back at the pirate.
"Oh, good heavens, be reasonable, Lord Drakefield."
The man had the insolence to smile at her, refusing to budge. "Brandy." He paused, raising a brow to the butler. "Winston, is it not?"
Victoria gasped. Of all the unmitigated gall. The wretched man was not going to leave until he had his brandy. She wished she could just give him the entire bottle and shove him out the door. But the way he was staring down her butler and checking that pocket watch of his, it was obvious he was not about to leave until he decided to.
She gave a wary glance at Winston. The older man clenched his hands at his sides. Oh, good grief, not him too! She scooted between the two men, dread filling the pit of her stomach. "It's quite all right, Winston. Bring the brandy into the library."
The butler stood for another second, nodded grimly and left, only to return to the library later with a crystal decanter of brandy and one glass. He placed the tray on the mahogany end table and planted his feet on the carpet as though he were rooted to the room like an oak.
A fire crackled in the hearth, sounding more like booming thunder against the silence that swallowed the room. The marquess glared at Winston. Winston glared back at the marquess. No one moved. Victoria grew more uncomfortable by the minute. Surely, Lord Drakefield would not touch the older man.
Smiling, she nodded for Winston to leave. To his credit, the butler took his leave, keeping the doors wide open. But the blood drained from her face when the marquess took three long strides toward the doors, sealing the room closed with a thud. He turned, folded his arms across his chest, and glared at her.
Her heart thumped madly as she fought the anxiety spurting through her veins. No doubt the man would like to skewer her with the fire poker.
"Well, what is it you want?" Her head, perhaps?
Gray eyes locked with hers. "Now, my little runaway, if I knew the answer to that question, we would not be here, would we?"
Chapter Eight
Victoria watched with misgiving as Lord Drakefield took the brandy decanter off the tray and splashed the amber liquid into the glass. He peered up, his steel gray eyes surveying her with a glint of amusement.
"To warm you." He walked toward her and handed her the glass.
Her lips thinned. "No, thank you."
Still shivering from the cold, she spared a glance at the door. She needed a wrap, and she needed him gone.
"Ah," he replied, following her gaze. "Going to be that way, is it?" He lowered the drink onto the tray, and before she knew it, he had her in his arms, depositing her on a soft-tufted chair near the glowing hearth. "Warmer now?"
Victoria gasped. "You take your liberties too far, Lord Drakefield."
She narrowed her eyes as she followed his long purposeful strides back toward the brandy glass. Then he laughed and started toward her. "At least we're getting somewhere by calling me by name."
"That is debatable." She pressed her lips together and glared at him.
But as he closed the distance between them, the devilish gleam in his eye unnerved her so much that she jumped out of the chair and accidentally knocked the brandy all over his cravat. She threw her hands to her face in horror as the liquid dripped down the white fabric and his waistcoat.
"Direct hit, my dear." He dabbed at his clothes with a white handkerchief, stuffing the cloth back into his waistcoat pocket.
Victoria stood, staring in shock at what she had done.
He peered up at her, his gray eyes gleaming with challenge. "Does that mean you are daring to refuse the drink, or is it me you abhor?"
You, of course.
"Very well then," he said with a narrowed gaze, as if hearing her very thoughts. "You are going to freeze to death in that... that flimsy gown. Your shoulders are quivering and your teeth are rattling. I will not have you ill. Confound it, woman! You led me on a merry chase after Nightham's death, and now you can hardly stand or speak without shaking!"
She wrapped her arms around her chest. The thought of Lord Nightham and that horrid night brought tears to her eyes. "If you will take your leave, I will take the drink."
"The devil, I will. The drink is nothing more than a medicinal beverage to warm you. I daresay, it is not a ploy to have you foxed. Take it now, so we can have our little talk."
He pushed the brandy beneath her nose, but she refused by twisting her head aside.
"Minx," he chided, wrapping one hand around her waist and pulling her to him. "Warmer?"
Victoria shook her head no. But in fact, she felt much warmer than she ever wanted to be. He smelled of fine soap and brandy, sending her senses soaring.
"Your teeth are still clacking like horses' hooves." His voice whispered along her neck as he rubbed her quivering shoulders. "I assure you it is in your best interest to stay warm."
The mere touch of his fingers sent a smoldering shiver through her veins. "I am feeling much better," she said softly. "Thank you."
He paused, then pulled her closer to the fire. "I'm not going to tell my father about your flight with Nightham, if that's what's worrying you."
Warily, she looked up to find his gaze intent upon her face. At that precise moment, she felt a subtle, but fragile thread begin to grow between them.
"That is, unless you give me pause to do otherwise."
He took hold of her shoulders, and her breath came to a screeching halt. He seemed to recognize her reaction to him, and his lips curved upward into an unconscious smile. "You must trust me on this. Can you do that?"
"Trust you?" she repeated in a suffocating whisper. To put her family's future totally in this man's hands? She shook her head. "No, I can't do that."
He lifted her chin with the tip of his fingers. "Yes, you can," he said in a silky voice and lowered his head, capturing her lips with his. The kiss was oddly gentle, shooting a fiery heat along her skin. He leaned his head back and stared at her.
"I have wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you at the inn." His warm breath fanned her cheeks as he gently took her face in his hands. "You must have driven Nightham mad."
The tenderness of his touch began to crack her protective shield. His dark gaze searched her fac
e, and he kissed her again. Her mind said no, but her heart said yes. She did not want to resist him. Like a magical spell, she felt herself sway into him while the room seemed to tilt and spin beneath her.
"What the blazes is going on here?"
"William!" Victoria jumped back and turned toward the open doors. Reality abruptly set in. Shocked at her response to Lord Drakefield's kiss, she groaned out loud.
"Why, ye are the bloomin' pirate!"
William stood at the doors, holding his stick in one hand, flying it in the air like a sword in battle. His white nightshirt flapped about wildly as he circled the marquess.
His black pirate hat hit the ground as if in challenge. "Ye are not supposed to kiss the princess, not unless ye are married!"
The boy pulled his second in command for a look. The furry creature squirmed about William's fingers and emitted a restless squeak.
"Well, well." The marquess's eyes lit up with amusement.
"What do ye think ye are doing?" William stood his ground.
Lord Drakefield's chest began to rumble with laughter.
Victoria looked on in horror, humiliation filling her. The pirate had kissed her, but more mortifying than that, she had kissed him back! And trust him? He must be daft!
William interrupted the tense moment with another slice of his sword. "If you are going to marry her, then I will not have to call you out." The sword fingered back to Drakefield's belly.
"An interesting prospect," the marquess said coolly. "Is it not, Lady Victoria?"
Victoria's eyes widened at the implication. "William, what are you doing up at this time of night?"
"I was watching for that villain, of course!" The boy stomped his foot. "And I saw him! Out there!" His sword flew past the smirking marquess's mouth, toward the tall windows.
Victoria's anger was mounting, toward her cousin and the marquess. She could never trust this man. What in the world had she been thinking?
She patted William's bottom, hurrying him along. "To bed with you, young man."
"Wait just a minute, me brother pirate." Drakefield stepped forward and touched the boy's shoulder. "What villain?"
To Marry A Marquess (A Regency Romance) Page 8
