Page 25 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
A strangled laugh drifted up Lizzie’s throat. “A grudge? What grudge couldyouhold against Papa?”
A moment of silence stretched out between them, during which he seemed to avoid her gaze, his brows drawn in concentration—examining the low bed, the dusty chest, the complete lack of decorations or concessions to comfort.
At last he grumbled, “Presently, he has deprived me of my room. I’m certain other sins will make themselves known shortly, though I cannot conceive of any that could possibly prove quite so infuriating.”
Hisroom? The absolute gall! “It’s notyourroom!”
“It’s mine until I decide to surrender it,” he said loftily, turning on his heel as if his delicate sensibilities would not allow him to stay longer within his new accommodations, which he had clearly found to be substandard. “Youoweit to me. I’ll thank you to remember that, my little murderess.”
And he tweaked her nose as he strode past her once more.
Chapter Twelve
Hell and damnation. Where the devil did she put the damned gin?” Luke muttered to himself as he browsed through cabinets and cupboards, drawers and closets. He’d searched what felt like a dozen rooms already and had come up empty handed. He’d found his coin purse tucked away in the pocket of his trousers—for all that they might be aspiring murderers, it seemed at least the Talbots were notthievesas well—but that would do him no service when the closest town was too far for a man in his condition to walkorride.
His arm ached abominably. Perhaps the pain of it had addled his wits. He had had tosearchfor a reason to justify his intention to routdearest Papa Talbot. Because the real reason had had nothing at all to do with being displaced—it had simply been because the man had failed his children.
And against all reason, somehow helikedthem. At least the eldest Talbot. Perhaps more than he should. More than was wise.
In all likelihood he was still feverish. Delirious, even. Perhaps even now he was languishing away in bed, out of his head with illness. There was no other likely explanation for it.
He lifted one hand to massage the sore muscles at the nape of his neck. The mattress Lizzie had provided him with had proved itself to be hard as a stone, full of odd lumps and possessed of a strange, musty smell. Likely it had been stuffed with hay some decades ago, and no one had ever bothered to fill it with fresh. More than once during the night he’d heard an ominous, high-pitched squeaking which suggested that there might have been miceliving within it.
Mice. Inhisbed. Unthinkable. Wycombe—and indeed, Papa Talbot—had much for which to answer.
Luke pinched the bridge of his nose and bit back a sigh. What had possessed him, tostayin this godforsaken place? If he left now, he could be back to London by afternoon. At his club before sunset. In his own bed in the early hours of the morning, as usual.
Yet when he thought of what awaited him there—the balls, the parties, the gaming—it felt so…tedious. Repetitive.Dull.
And Lizzie hadsacrificedfor that tiny jar of marmalade. Though she had not wanted him to stay, still she had culled something from her meager budget and purchased it. Forhim. Because he’d asked for it.
When one considered the state of their finances, it might well have been the most precious gift he had ever received, relative to their worth.
Christ. Perhaps there was something about being shot that provoked a man to maudlin sentimentality. Where thehellhad the gin gone?
A noise from the doorway attracted his attention. The youngest Talbot girl, whose hair seemed to be perpetually woven into plaits, stood there with her eyes narrowed in rank suspicion.
“What are you doing?” she inquired, in a startlingly icy voice, settling her hands upon her hips.
Ah, yes.Childrenexisted in the household. A fact of which he had been made uncomfortably aware at an ungodly hour of the morning, when tiny feet had gone thundering past the closet he presently called a bedchamber with all the grace of a herd of angry elephants.
“Looking for the damned gin,” he muttered.
“In themusic room?” The incredulous retort set his teeth on edge.
“Seemed as likely a place as any.” Most especially when one considered that the only concession to the fact that this room had once been devoted to music was a stack of ancient, yellowed sheet music tucked away in a distant drawer. Whatever instruments might once have been present had likely been sold off long ago. “Haven’t you lessons to be doing?”
“I finished them already. I’mmuchbetter at maths than Georgie.”
With that calculating smirk lingering upon her face, Luke could just guess that she was.
“Surely there’s more to a girl’s education than maths.” Anything that would get the child out of his hair and away fromhim.
“Like what?” She tilted her head in a childish reflection of Lizzie’s impertinence.
“Hell if I know. Embroidery. Watercolors. Deportment.” He bent to glance within a dusty cabinet at the rear of the room.
The child wrinkled her nose. “Sounds dreadful boring. I’d rather learn Latin.”
