Page 24 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
“It’s a trundle bed. I grant you, it’s not been used in quite a while”—perhaps not since well before Lizzie had even been born—“but itisa bed. The only one we have got to offer you at the moment.”
In fact, it had taken a great deal of effort even to source it for him. It had been tucked away into the attic for so long that Lizzie had almost forgotten about it entirely—and then it had taken more effort than she cared to own to for her to bring it down in pieces and reassemble it within the confines of the tiny room. She supposed it had been meant as a bed for a valet or a ladies’ maid, but it had been at least ten years since they’d had either, and back then they had had the space to house them elsewhere.
Now, Jo and Georgie occupied the nursery, and Imogen would have an unholy tantrum if she were removed from her own room, or expected to share hers with Lizzie. Willie occupied the last of the largest rooms, and Lizzie was not inclined to ask him to move from his comfortable space in the service of providing a larger room to a lord who could, in her opinion, use a bit of humility.
“You’recertainyou’ve got nothing more…suitable?”
To alord, he meant. To a man whose title and position in life he felt entitled him to more than had been offered to him.
“Nothing,” she said. “You’re lucky we had a bed going spare at all.”Andthat the mattress had not been too moth-eaten, and that she had found spare linens for it.
“Fine,” he muttered, and it sounded as if he had chewed the word thoroughly between his clenched teeth before he had at last spit it out. “I’ll agree to...this. Provided that I may have the use of the master’s chamber once your father has vacated it. Out of curiosity, how long does he usually stay?”
Lizzie swallowed down the mad rush of aggravation and helplessness that rose up from the pit of her stomach. “Never more than a few days at a time.”
“And do you often hide your valuables from him?” He edged one toe into the room, delicately, as if he suspected that the heavy oaken chest that dominated one corner of the room might spring to life and bite him.
Humiliation swept over her in a grand rush. She felt it burning in her cheeks, down her throat. But he would doubtless learn it all eventually—and it didn’t matter whathethought of them. “He only comes when he’s low on funds,” she said, keeping her voice as flat and bland as possible. And then, after a moment of hesitation, she corrected herself. “He only comesbecausehe’s low on funds. Anything that might fetch more than a few shillings is vulnerable. He’d sell the clothes off our backs if he could.”
She felt the gaze that raked over her like the sweep of a hand, and she knew he was assessing the drab brown of her dress. “I do not intend to offend, but I doubt very much whether your clothes would fetch that much.”
“Which is why I have more clothing than Imogen. She’ll hide all but her oldest gowns while Papa is home. Not to worry; I’ve already hidden your clothing in the attic.”
His brows lifted. “Myclothes are ruined. What is the purpose of hiding them?”
“The buttons are valuable. He’ll snip them clean off if he sees them.”
“Christ.” Those icy eyes rolled heavenward. “I’ll have to do something abouthim, too, I suppose.”
“And whatcouldyou do?” she scoffed.
“Talk to him. Encourage him to do his duty by you.” He leaned down and gingerly pressed one hand into the mattress, pulling a face when it failed to give to his satisfaction.
“That’s…generous of you,” she allowed, baffled by the offer. “However, Papa’s idea ofdutyis more trouble than it is worth. We’d just as soon he left us alone entirely.”
“Then I shall encourage him to leave, and not to return.”
He said it so simply, as if it were already a done thing. Lizzie folded her arms over her chest, uncertain whether he was that confident—or simply thatdeluded. “How do you intend to manage that?”
At that, a corner of his mouth kicked up in amusement. “I am a marquess. When I talk, people tend to listen.” And then, lower, with just a hint of a threat in his voice, “If they are wise.”
For a moment, she could almost imagine it—imagine Papa quailing from the undeniable menace laden in his voice. Even though it had not been meant for her, still the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck lifted, and chill bumps broke out along her skin. He might have been stripped of the earthly trappings of his title, but still he exuded power and lordly arrogance; the attitude of a man whoexpectedobedience and deference.
“Papa doesn’t listen to anyone.” She blurted out the truth of it before she could stop herself, as if she had been compelled into speech.
“I suppose it must run in the family, then,” he muttered beneath his breath.
“Ibegyour pardon.”
“As you damned well ought.” A harsh sigh followed the grumbled chastisement. “He’ll listen to me.”
Her arms tightened, fingernails scraping across the rough fabric of the sleeves of her gown. “He won’t, though. He never has, not even—”
“Lizzie.” It was a stern, decisive interjection; the sort designed to quell all argument. And it hadworked, blast him. “He’ll listen to me.”
Her tongue unknotted itself. “You—you—you can’tpromisethat.”
“I can make life exceedingly difficult for him should he fail to fall in line,” he said, his voice nonchalant. “He wouldn’t be the first to fall into my poor graces, and it’s been some time since I’ve had a good grudge for which to claim vengeance.”
