Page 19 of Daring the Forbidden Earl
It certainly feels promising. Truly, I do not even desire to visit one of my favorite “menageries.”
He could not recall the last time he had been so enamored with one woman. Indeed, it might well have been when Mrs. Carlton was Miss Clevedon.
Whistling a tune to himself, he ate his jam tart and thought of the night to come. With his blood up after Johanna’s visit, and no means of dispersing all of that delightful energy without upsetting the object of his desire, he had decided to resort to an old pastime of his. One he had not indulged in for at least a year or so.
“Do not let me down, you two,” he urged his absent friends. Kenneth and Liam had always pretended not to like this particular pastime, finding it “uncouth and uncivilized,” but they were always cheering and placing wagers by the end of it. Once, Mark had even worried that Kenneth might burst into the fray and take on one of the prizefighters himself. Though he had blamed the mixture of brandy and ale afterwards.
When coupling is firmly off the table, there is nothing quite like watching two men beat one another to a bloody pulp to take the edge away…
“You exquisite tease,” he purred, thinking of Johanna in his lap. The things he would have liked to do to her were myriad, and the fact that she had been the one to leave him longing for more only made him more ravenous for a second taste of her.
He was just crossing the entrance hall toward the library, thinking he might take another private glance over Johanna’s letter, when a knock came at the door. Ordinarily, he would have let Chalke answer it but, seeing as he was right there, he supposed it would not upset the pecking order too much if he were to see to it this once.
“Though you had best not get used to it, Chalke.” He chuckled to himself.
Resuming his whistling, he went to the door and opened it wide. The moment he saw the grizzled older gentleman standing on the top step, however, he very nearly slammed the door straight back into the jamb.
Oh Mercy… no good can come of this. I have seen that expression before.
However, the gentleman seemed to sense Mark’s thoughts and shoved his foot over the threshold. If Mark wanted to slam the door, he would have to break the fellow’s foot first, and he was not in the habit of causing bodily harm.
“Lord Sinclair,” the gentleman rasped, his dark brown eyes burning with the kind of fatherly fury that Mark had witnessed more times than he cared to count. “How humble of you to open your own door.”
Mark cleared his throat. “Lord Dresday, this is an unexpected surprise. I would not normally answer my own door, but my butler and housekeeper are otherwise engaged. Not together, you understand.” He laughed but it echoed hollow as the older gentleman continued to glare at him, as though he fervently wished he could punch him in the face.
“I suppose you find immorality amusing?” Lord Dresday pushed forward into the entrance hall, giving Mark no choice but to step back. He did not like to lose the upper hand, but it appeared Lord Dresday was not about to give him another option.
Mark shook his head. “Not at all, Lord Dresday.” He paused. “I would offer you some refreshment, but this does not appear to be a social call.”
He had encountered the Baron of Dresday a handful of times over the years, at various balls and gatherings. But they were not well acquainted by any means.
“No, I daresay it is not.” Lord Dresday gave the door a hard shove. The vibrations of the slam juddered through the floorboards and up Mark’s spine.
“Might you enlighten me? I do not ordinarily allow gentlemen into my abode when they look as though they intend to do me harm.” As humor was not going to work on this fellow, Mark squared his shoulders to match the intimidating demeanor of Lord Dresday.
The Baron stomped forward, his cheeks streaked a livid scarlet. “I am here to demand that you marry my daughter as soon as propriety and etiquette allows,” he hissed. “I know what you did to her, you vile weasel. You have ruined her with your wickedness, and now you are going to fix what you have broken.”
“Miss Steele?” Mark racked his brain, trying to picture the girl. “I apologize, Lord Dresday, but I do not know that sweet creature in any sort of intimate fashion. I danced with her prior to my departure for France, I confess, but you cannot demand an engagement from a fellow after a few innocent quadrilles.”
The Baron lunged forward to grab at Mark’s collar, but Mark sidestepped the attack. “Do not lie to me, you wretch! She all but told me herself that it was you, and I will not have her destroyed because some young devil thought he could dishonor her and get away with it!” He tried to go for Mark again, but Mark had learned, long ago, how to guess what an angry father might do.
“I am nothing if not honest, Lord Dresday.” Mark kept his eyes on the panting figure, trying to pre-empt his next move. “I would tell you, with some humility and apology, if I had deflowered your daughter. I have not. I say again, I merely danced with her at the Duke of Sedgwick’s ball. Nothing more.”
The Baron lumbered toward him a third time, almost swiping Mark across the cheek with a feeble right-hook. But Mark had only to tilt his head back slightly, in order to avoid a bruise.Hewas not the prizefighter, nor did he want to be, despite his obvious agility for the sport.
“Youwillremedy what you have done!” Lord Dresday stooped to catch his breath. “I will have satisfaction for the havoc you have wreaked upon my daughter. Youmustbe held responsible for your actions, for no gentleman will marry her if they know you have already taken her honor!”
Mark shrugged. “I applaud the ingenuity of the gentleman who has tried to pin this transgression upon me, but I have an excellent memory, Lord Dresday. I can remember, in vivid detail, whom I have shared encounters with.” His voice turned serious. “Miss Steele is not, and never has been, one of them.”
“My Lord!” Chalke came running up the hallway, his face pale. “I heard shout—” His words cut off as he saw the red-cheeked vision of Lord Dresday.
Mark gestured to the disgruntled father. “This gentleman is leveling unfounded accusations at me, Chalke. Please, might you remove him from this residence before I am forced to send for the Bow Street Runners?”
“You will not escape this, as you have done with countless other young ladies,” Lord Dresday growled, evidently spooked by the threat of Bow Street. “I have heard all about you, and Iknowit was you who despoiled my daughter. This will not end here. Indeed, it will not end until you have wed her.”
“Chalke?” Mark said simply.
The manservant, who was far larger and sturdier than the Baron, approached Lord Dresday with a warning expression upon his face.
