How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal) Read online

  Incredulity filled his tawny gaze. “And?”

  “Surely you see that was what has society agog.”

  He scowled. “I dance with you upon occasion, and there are no rumors of such a nature.”

  She gave an indelicate shrug. “Yes, but all of society knows we are particular friends when they are of a mind to recall it, and to not paint our friendship in a deprecatory fashion with ridiculous drawings in the scandal sheets. I daresay we have been in each other’s company for years, so if there had been something deeper than friendship it would have made itself evident, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Good heavens, Lord, forgive my unruly tongue. Evie braced herself for rejection, her heart hammering in her chest. She had never spoken in a fashion that would hint at the tender feelings he roused in her. She hurried to him and pressed three of her fingers against his lips. “I spoke hastily. There is no need to address my outburst.”

  He remained silent, but his eyes held a thousand questions. He encircled her wrist gently and shifted her hand. “Shouldn’t I?”

  Surely he did not want to speak of tender sentiments between them? “No, there is no need.”

  He contemplated her with an enigmatic half smile. “What are you afraid of?”

  Evie stiffened under his probing regard. “I assure you I am not anxious.”

  “Honesty between us has always been the foundation of our friendship.”

  Dratted man. “I could not bear to hear you admit you require nothing more than friendship between us, ever,” she admitted softly.

  He faltered into complete stillness, and she wanted to die from mortification.

  Then something shifted in his eyes, raw and provocative. Was it desire? Her breath trembled on her lips, an unknown sensation erupted in her stomach and overwhelming weakness quivered through her. Oh! She dropped her hand from his mouth as if she had been burned. “Richard?”

  His expression was decidedly sensual. “I won’t pounce, despite the temptation.”

  She was suddenly breathless and utterly dispossessed of all rational thought. “You’ve thought of pouncing on me?” Though she hardly understood what he meant, the notion seemed frightfully exhilarating.

  “From the first time I met you,” he said, rueful amusement twisting his lips. “You were sixteen, and I was a cad for having thoughts of kissing you senseless.”

  Evie was disconcerted by that unexpected admission and the ease with which he’d made it. They’d always been honest with each other, but this…dear Lord, her heart was a beating mess.

  “I…” Unable to form a coherent thought, Evie chuckled nervously. Why was he so frank now? “I…I truly believe you have rendered me speechless.”

  His gaze dropped to her lips, and it was with evident reluctance he shifted his regard. She moved closer to him, irresistibly drawn by the sensuality etched on his face. How had she not known he was similarly attracted to her? She’d always thought the kiss they had shared an aberration, a wonderful comfort she had provided when he had been in such need. An inexplicable desire to touch him welled within her, and Evie stood on tiptoes, then brought her hands to his jaw, cupping his cheeks. “How I’ve missed you…”

  He stroked his thumb back and forth along her cheek. “You’ve always tempted me to be foolish, Evie, and once again you are doing so.”

  Always? She was filled with delight.

  Richard lowered his hand but remained scandalously close so the hem of her ball gown spread over his shoes. She felt tied to him by an invisible thread, unable to care at this moment about duty to her mother’s expectations and propriety. “Why have you not acted upon your feelings?”

  He frowned and the shadows of his face became saturnine as his mouth curled almost in derision. “I would ruin you, Evie.” One long finger reached toward her and touched tenderly behind her ear, the finger caressed with a featherlike touch, moving down her neck and across her collarbone.

  “So ruin me,” she breathed, desperate to step free of the cage she lived within, if only for a few precious stolen moments. It was also hard to resist someone so delightfully wicked and appealing.

  His eyes flamed bright gold with something akin to predatory anticipation. His fingers paused at the scooped neckline of her ball gown and followed the single line of lace down to where it ended in a point, revealing the barest glimpse of the shadow between her breasts. Evie tried to stay still, to appear unaffected, but as his finger lingered between her breasts, a twisting sensation spiraled through her stomach. Her breasts felt peculiar, suddenly heavy and full, her nipples tautening into almost painful sensitivity. “Richard…”

  The fierce intensity with which his brilliant golden eyes raked her frame had dual needs of wariness and yearning throbbing through her. His supercilious mien had vanished and within his eyes was something far warmer—longing, admiration, perhaps even need. Time became frozen, her breathing suspended as anticipation of something, anything, scythed through her veins, but then she found a breath and time moved on.

  His finger moved to one of her steepling nipples, circling the silk puckered by her arousal, the pressure gentle. Her knees wobbled, and she rested her forehead on his shoulder, and the familiar scent of him filled her with pain. A shocking surge of heat quivered through her. Nothing had ever felt as needed to her as Richard’s touch. Hunger clawed through her with greedy force and speared down to her most intimate secret place. She ached. Shaken by a response that she couldn’t control, Evie shivered.

  What are we doing?

  As if she had spoken aloud, he lowered his hand.

  “I ache to take everything you are so naively offering and damn the consequences. But I won’t be responsible for ruining you, Evie. I’ll always be a gentleman, despite the powerful need to succumb to your delightful charms.”

  He stood up straight, before sweeping her a graceful bow and depositing a terse kiss upon her gloved fingers. Then he turned and walked out of the conservatory, leaving her alone and bereft.

  Chapter Four

  The dark corners and alleyways of London’s East End held many secrets and dangers, but Richard strolled through the alleys confident in his skills to keep the most undesirable elements at bay if they should attack. He had become more comfortable amongst the wicked and the depraved than he felt with his own society. A notion that had been first bandied about by all the scandal sheets, but one he had long embraced. These days he hardly spared a thought for those of his society, though perhaps he would make an exception for Evie.

  “Evie…” His whisper of her name carried on the cold night air. “With so little effort you tempt my restraint.”

  He was losing the battle he had been fighting for six long years. The desire he felt for her was becoming stronger, continuously slicing at his self-control. The hunger for her never seemed to sleep, always waiting for a crack in his control for him to devour and take everything she so innocently offered. Tonight, she’d looked so pure and untouchable that the wickedness in him had roared to the surface, desperate to corrupt her. He’d wanted to twine his fingers in her perfect golden tresses, urge her to her knees, and demand she wrap those succulent lips around his cock and suck him to completion, if only to see the shocked expression on her face for his vulgarity. For a moment, he thought she might even agree to oblige him. She had high, luscious breasts, sensual rounded hips, and long legs that would deliciously wrap around his back and hold him deep inside her as he took them on the ride he had been longing for.

  So ruin me…

  Good God, if she had any notion of the lurid thoughts she evoked, she would slap him silly. He was so damned happy he had walked away with his honor and willpower intact. Evie was not for him, she never had been, and now with their social standings so opposing, she never would be. He trusted no woman as he did her, and even then, he could not give her his absolute confidence. She had become such a darling of society, a reigning queen of their fickleness and hard-heartedness. She belonged to the world he could no longer see himself a
part of. It had become intolerable to be part of the ton’s cruelty and hypocrisy.

  Though of the same society, Evie would never fit into the life he had shaped for himself. He mingled with lowborn men and women the world thought of as less than the dirt under their boots, and he’d slit the throats of the men who’d thought to consign his daughter to a life of hell and others who followed similar trades. Worse…he’d felt no remorse at his lack of mercy. What he did now when he met with those with influence was not for his benefit but for the poor and the underclass citizens he and his good friends, the Duke of Wolverton and the Earl of Blade, fought for.

  “Ah, Evie, what shall I do about our peculiar friendship?” He had to decide soon. The state of need he existed in for her, and the vow to never act upon that desire, could no longer be endured. Either he withdrew from her completely, or he seduced the charming beauty. His mouth dried and his cock stirred at the latter temptation.

  If he were to act on his licentious thoughts, surely then he would be the worst blackguard possible. A discordant sound echoed in the dark. The click and clack of boots upon shingled roofs.

  Ah…my shadow is back.

  He casually twisted to confirm and saw a boy following him, lightly jumping from rooftop to rooftop, never letting Richard out of his sight. This was the third night he’d spotted his follower, and he was certain the boy had been spying on him when he met with his friend Tobias, the Earl of Blade, at Jenny’s Inn earlier. The boy normally gave up once Richard went into his carriage and departed from the slums of the East End. More likely he would be too much of an oddity in Grosvenor Square to follow him there.

  It was improbable the boy was a footpad, but Richard did not underestimate him. He’d seen children as young as twelve slipping a blade between a man’s ribs in St. Giles. The boy could be dangerous, though was unlikely to be an assassin. Richard had made ruthless enemies from his society and from the slums of London for his ideals—men and women were made equal under God, and wealth should be dispersed amongst the masses and not accumulated by a few. He rounded the corner and leaned against the grimy wall of the building. Several shuffles later, and a grunt as the boy allowed himself to fall from the roof, he rounded the corner to where Richard lurked in the shadows.

  The boy jerked with evident surprise.

  “You’ve been dogging my steps. Here I am,” Richard said smoothly, lightly gripping his cane that contained his foil.

  “Wot did ye do with Clara?” the boy asked. “They said ye be the gent who ’ave ’er.”

  Clara. The boy was dressed in threadbare trousers and a coat that had seen better days. His shoes had holes, and Richard could see a big toe peeking out. The boy must have been cold, but he stared him down with something akin to savagery. The boy’s arm twitched, and it was then Richard noted the club he held.

  “I know of a Clara,” Richard said. He indicated a height to his waist. “About this high, brown hair with red highlights and the darkest eyes I’ve ever beheld.”

  The boy’s lower lip quivered, and the blast of hope and relief that filled his gaze was profound. “If ye’ve hurt ’er I’ll gut ye like a stinkin’ fish.”

  “Fair enough, I would do the same to any man who harms a child.”

  The boy seemed perplexed. “Ye a nob,” he sneered. “Ye hurt us.”

  He considered the tears on the boy’s cheeks. “I know of a Clara. She lives at Kencourt Manor, in Hampshire.”

  “That be yer fancy place?”

  “One of them.”

  “She be yer whore?” the boy demanded, his voice rough with rage.

  “No, she is the friend and companion of my daughter, Emily.”

  “Wot’s a companion?”

  “They play together, and they learn the same lessons. At times, they even sleep in the same bed.”

  The boy hardly seemed to know what to do with that revelation. “Yer lying.”

  “Clara often speaks about her brother with fond memories. James was his name, if I recall correctly.”

  The hope that brightened his eyes was so damnably painful to witness. His throat worked furiously, but no sound emerged.

  Richard continued, “She spoke of the days before the loss of their mother, how they roamed the countryside in Suffolk, picking wild berries and catching fish for supper. They would also meet with the local vicar twice a week for letter learning.”

  “It be ’er! ’ee’s my sister.”

  “Would you like to meet with her…live with her?”

  Confusion blanketed James’s face. “Wot do ye mean?”

  “I will take you to her if it is your desire. If you wish to remain, that option will be available to you.”

  “I…” The boy glanced around the dark alley suspiciously. “’ee won’t be your molly.”

  The wealth of pain in those words had rage pumping through Richard’s blood. He’d rescued Clara from a whorehouse in the heart of the St. Giles district. He’d heard a young lord in his cups bragging that Madam Delouse had procured him a tender, sweet morsel. Richard had moved to procure her first, offering the madam of the house several hundred pounds for the two young girls she had. His revulsion after he discovered they were both ten years of age had resulted in him making several more enemies that night. He’d arranged for the burning down of the whorehouse and offered the women alternate employment in his factories with a promise they would be safe. “I have no expectations of you other than for you to succeed.”

  “Succeed at wot?”

  “At whatever you desire to be in life.”

  Incomprehension glared from James as he stared wordlessly. Richard spun on his heel, moving slowly away from the grime and despair to his waiting carriage, which idled in a much safer area. He did not need to glance behind him, the boy was following, his club gripped in his hands, always on the ready.

  This was a life too far removed from the elegance and ignorance of the ton, a life no lady like Evie could ever comprehend or bear as a part of her life, his life.

  …

  Proper young ladies did not dream of being debauched. Evie had dreamed of Richard kissing her lips and down over the curves of her body, and she’d existed in a state of acute restlessness since she jerked from sleep in the wee hours of the morning. The memory of the way he had touched her sent a dizzying thrill through her. Though Evie acknowledged she had been quite excited with the thought of acting improperly and behaving scandalously, just for a few moments, she knew deep in her heart she would never act in such an unladylike or wanton manner.

  With a soft sigh, she settled herself more comfortably on the sofa in the parlor. With great willpower, she dragged her thoughts from Richard, lest it became evident to their afternoon callers she was flushed.

  “Dearest Evie, it is said that the honorable Percy Sutton has made an offer for Miss Eliza Fairfax. We all thought he would have offered for Miss Henrietta Dawson because of how they had been seen cavorting these past weeks,” Lady Jane said, effectively distracting Evie from her turbulent thoughts.

  Cavorting. She stifled her sigh. Henrietta was her friend, and she was in love with the honorable Percy Sutton, a thing their society seemed to now be aware of, and the gossips would be ribald since he had clearly thrown over her friend for an heiress with an inheritance of twenty thousand pounds. Evie would have to pay Henrietta a visit soon and offer her shoulder for comfort.

  “I’m certain Percy and Miss Dawson were merely friends and had no understanding. She is far too refined in her sensibilities to even have considered him a suitable beau.” Evie hated for their present company, Lady Jane and Miss Trombly, to think Henrietta was shattered by Percy’s dishonorable conduct.

  They had already received three different sets of callers. Today she had wanted to make some time to be alone with her thoughts, but her mother had been beside herself. Nothing must deviate from receiving callers. Evie was dreadfully bored and was now startled to realize it was a state she had existed in since the start of the season. Normally, she ant
icipated her days of having callers, calling upon her friends, planning her life of pleasure and amusement. However, the days had been stretching endlessly in front of her, and all the social events were utterly uninspiring. Not even stealing to the kitchens and baking with their cook, Mrs. Collins, relieved her boredom. Truly, when had it all become so humdrum? Perhaps she should visit Adel. Surely her spirits would be lifted then.

  “We will follow the news with keen attention and inform you as we are updated,” Lady Jane replied.

  Evie sipped her tea, forcing a smile to her lips as Mother harrumphed her approval.

  “And can we expect any announcement soon from you, Lady Evie?” Miss Trombly asked with a sly smile, reaching for a bilberry tart.

  “Oh no, I’ve no such expectations at this time.”

  Her mother’s face pinched, and the ladies exchanged speculative glances.

  “Oh, my dear, we thought you had brought young Lord Ponsby up to scratch,” Lady Jane murmured. “We were all so certain of it.”

  “He has over fifty thousand pounds a year,” Miss Trombly added. “And was quite taken with you from his marked attention. It would be a great pity if the alliance were to fall through.”

  Evie suppressed her groan. “There is no alliance—”

  “We do expect an offer any day,” her mother said with a tight-lipped smile. “Any day now. More tea, ladies?”

  She’d already endured a severe lecture from her mother this morning and had stood by helplessly as her mother wrote the viscount a note of apology. He’d responded within the hour, and their carriage ride had been rescheduled.

  “These tarts are delightful. My compliments to your cook, Lady Gladstone. I positively must have this recipe for my cook.”

  Her mother’s lips pinched even tighter, and a flush worked itself along her elegant cheekbones. Drat. That meant she knew her daughter was the one who’d baked their current edibles. After several more minutes of inane chatter, Evie almost cheered when their callers bade them farewell and departed.