Page 1 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
Chapter One
Enfield, England
August, 1824
To be perfectly honest, I always suspected I would die at the point of a pistol,” Luke said, sliding his hands behind his head. “And yet, somehow, I still find myself surprised.”
“Oh,shut up, you—you bloviatingdandy.” The woman at the other end of the pistol seemed to be struggling with it, uncomfortable with the weight of the weapon held in her hands. She was attractive enough, he supposed, though she fell somewhat short of beauty. Small chin, pert nose, large eyes, and what was likely a great deal of dark hair hiding beneath the wretched bonnet festooned with far too many silk flowers. Daft, of course. She’d haveto be, considering she was pointing a pistol at him. But still—prettyenough.
Not precisely his sort, but he was willing to make allowances for a chit that promised to be appealing enough, once she’d been shucked of her hideous garments. “If you wanted a tumble, darling, you had only to ask.”
That soft, rosebud mouth dropped agape. “You think I want tobedyou?” A bright burn of color seared her cheeks, and the true horror that came over her face was, frankly, insulting. “You—you infernaljackanapes!”
“Jackanapes? Dear God, you can do better than that, surely.” Luke wiggled his fingers. “Might I let my arms down? I have an itch.”
“Anitch?”
“In an unmentionable area. You’d best not look.”
Her mouth snapped shut. “Restrain yourself,” she uttered through gritted teeth, firming her shoulders and tilting that pugnacious little chin upwards as she jerked the weapon to the right. “Get into the carriage, if you please, sir.”
Ah—so therewasa carriage, just there, waiting in the darkness at the twist in the drive which led down into the main road. Had Luke had his wits about him, he might’ve noticed. But he had not had his wits about him in quite a long time. “I do notplease, in fact.”
A shrug. “If youdon’t, then.”
Briefly, Luke considered shouting for help, but given the revelry currently underway within the house from which he had recently emerged, he counted it unlikely anyone would pay him much attention. Shouting had been rather the order of the evening thus far. What would be one more shout when added to the others? And—God, she reallywouldshoot him. He could see it there in the ferocity of her dark eyes, glowing a sheening gold with the reflected light from the windows of the manor house behind him. Reluctantly, he put one foot in front of the other, and his boots crunched over the gravel scattered across the drive. “Do you frequently go about abducting men from house parties, Miss…?”
“Talbot,” she said. “As if you didn’t know.”
“Ididn’t,” he growled. “How could I have done?” Another step, and another. He’d gotten past her now, and he might have a moment to turn, to disarm her—
The point of the pistol pressed into the small of his back. “I wouldn’t,” she advised, and Luke had the rather unpleasant sensation that she had seen straight into his mind and divined his intentions.
Christ. “I really don’t know what this is about,” he said, and there was the carriage justthere, and he was inexorably heading toward it still. “I haven’t reneged on any bets. I have not failed to pay any creditors.”
“It’s not aboutmoney,” she hissed. “Youruinedmy sister, you cretin!”
His mind screeched to a halt—and so did the rest of him, his feet freezing upon the ground. “I most certainly did not!”
The barrel pressed harder; a firm reminder of his role in this farce. “You attend a party like thisone,” she sneered, and of course there was a perfectly punctuated roll of laughter that pierced the quiet of the night from within the house, followed by a resoundingcrash, as of something very heavy and extremely expensive meeting an untimely demise, “and you expect me to believe you arenota rake of the first order?”
Luke ground his teeth together, placed his hand upon the carriage door, and hefted himself within. “I didn’t say that,” he said. “But I have no particular taste for despoiling innocents, so it would be impossible for me to have ruined your sister.” Talbot, he thought, searching the dark recesses of his memory. Talbot? He didn’t know any Talbots whatsoever. Nary a one.
“She iswith child!”
“My felicitations on her forthcoming blessed event.”
“Withyourchild!”
“Impossible. Your sister tells you tales, Miss Talbot.” The squabs shrieked beneath his weight, an obvious sign of a carriage which hadn’t seen a recent repair. It was too shadowy to see much, but he imagined there would be other such signs. Perhaps upholstery that had faded, or peeling paint. The little harridan scuttled in after him, somehow managing to keep the weapon trained upon him as she did.
“You will not,” she said, in that tight, malicious voice, “call my sister aliar.”
Itwasan ill-advised action, given that every bit of evidence suggested she would relish the chance to fire that weapon. Twitchy trigger finger if ever he’d seen one.
Luke chose his words carefully, with that in mind. “Perhaps she was merely…mistaken,” he suggested. “I’ll admit my reputation is not the most—savory, we’ll say. But I content myself with merry widows and courtesans, and I always take precautions to ensure I haven’t left my bastards littered the length and breadth of England.”
In the silky glow of the moon through the windows, he saw the confusion flicker across her face. She hefted the pistol to her right hand, thumped upon the roof of the carriage with her left, and said, “Drive, Willie.” And then that serious dark gaze fell upon him once more. “What do you mean, precautions?”
