Page 31 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
“Good.Catch.” There was the plinkof his thumbnail striking metal, and the coin sailed through the air toward her.
On reflex she stretched out her hand, closed her fingers around the coin, and felt the warm metal press against her palm.
“Well? Give us a look, then.”
Trepidation settling in the pit of her stomach, Lizzie peeled back her fingers one at a time to expose the coin lying flat upon her palm. George III’s face was revealed; his head crowned in a wreath of laurels.
Something of her disappointment must have shown on her face, for he snickered as he retrieved the coin from her palm and tucked it away back inside his coin purse. “I hope I may rely upon you to honor the terms of our bargain,” he said, and to his credit there was only atouchof smug satisfaction in his voice. “I shall expect the carriage to be readied for me in no more than half an hour.”
∞∞∞
By the thunderous slam of the door and Willie’s hoarse chortling, Lizzie guessed that Luke’s expedition to town had gone about as well as she had expected it to. The furious stomp of boots upon the floor was sharp enough that each footfall could have struck a spark from a flint.
“Lizzie!”
She rolled her eyes as she pulled a fresh loaf of bread from the oven, setting the pan upon the stove. “In the kitchen. You needn’t bellow.”
He burst in through the door, his jaw clenched tight with strain as he cast a glare over his shoulder at Willie, who had not even remotely concluded his bout of laughter. She fancied she could hear Luke’s teeth grinding as he bit back every foul thing he clearly wished to say.
“I take it your visit to town was…unsatisfactory,” she said, as tactfully as she was able.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “The bailiff—”
“Laughed at him, Miss Lizzie,” Willie guffawed, pantomiming swiping a tear from his eye. “Laughed! Oh, it did my poor old heart glad.”
Lizzie pressed her lips together and turned back toward the cooling pan of bread—but not quite quickly enough.
“Youknew,” Luke accused, stabbing a finger at her; a gesture of condemnation. “Youknewwhat would happen. Youknewhe would not believe me!”
“How could I have done?” she said lightly. “I only guessed. But you might have, too, my lord, if only you could peer out from behind your inflated ego for a moment.” She gave a bland wave, which encompassed his attire. “You’re dressed largely in Father’s clothing, which is several years out of date. You arrived in our carriage, which is desperately in need of repair. Ofcoursehe did not believe you are who you claim to be.”
“Who Iam.” This was issued in a snarl, filled with mortal offense.
“Probably,” she said, “he thought you were an actor hired to scare him into payment.”
“He will learn better,” he said in a hiss.
Likely it was only wounded pride talking, but still she could take just the tiniest bit of pleasure in the words—because despite the fact that he would doubtless soon become bored of rusticating here, that very blow to his ego portended some very uncomfortable consequences for the bailiff.
“And you—youletme make a fool of myself,” he added, his eyes narrowing.
“I?” One hand fluttered to her chest. “My lord, if you’ll recall, I advised you not to go. Itoldyou it wouldn’t happen.”
He seemed to have no argument for that, and still he fairly vibrated with offended dignity. His face had gone nearly purple with it, though she suspected that was owed mostly to Willie’s ill-contained laughter. At last he gritted out, “Call me for dinner. I expect to be very busy for the next few hours.”
“Oh?” What could possibly keep him occupied?
As he turned on his heel, he shot her poisonous glance. “I feel a sudden urge to compile a list of my complaints, which I expect to be many and varied. Andyoushall be obliged to listen to them.”
∞∞∞
Dusk had begun to settle over the horizon when the clatter of wheels rolling across the drive split the silence. Luke had been attempting to concentrate upon his list of complaints—which had remained stubbornly and suspiciouslyblank—when there came a sharp knock upon the door, followed by the sudden intrusion of the children.
“There’s a carriage come for you,” said Jo without preamble as she slipped through the door, nearly bowling over her poor brother in the process. The tilt of her chin suggested she was eager enough to be rid of him.
“Is there?” Luke set the pen down, grateful for the interruption despite from whom it had come. “And how do you know it’s for me?”
“It’s got a great big crest upon the door,” Georgie crowed. “All done in gold paint. Never seen anything like it in Hatfield.”
