Page 27 of Her Wicked Marquess

“She’ll not decide about my future for me.” Drake’s incisive tone seemed to convince his friends.

“I can’t blame you when you have that delectable actress hidden in your dressing room.” Harris Darroch jested.

That made the blood boil in his veins for no apparent reason. He directed a threatening glare to the Scott. “Watch your tongue, Darroch, or I’ll call you out.” He spat. Harris was almost as tall as he and would offer very satisfying fisticuffs.

Thornton and Darroch looked at each other but said nothing. And Drake didn't like what passed between them.

“What?” he asked the other men.

"You seem a tad…attached," Thornton replied carefully.

Drake scoffed. "Don't worry about that." He expected to have delivered it nonchalantly but doubted it. "She left me because of my intended.”

“You don’t say.” Darroch marvelled.

“A mistress with a twist.” Ventured Edmund.

The daggers Drake cast with his eyes made the earl lift his hands in a sign of peace. “All right, I take it back.”

“That’s better,” Drake said darkly.

The Earl of Thornton was the one man who couldn't mock Drake. He'd tried to coax Otilia into a mistress position. A move that backfired spectacularly when she left him for employment. Having learned his lesson, the earl married her.

After the mood dispersed, they went on a lengthy discussion about politics and parliament bills.

On his way out, Drake crossed paths with Haddington coming in. The duke’s expression dripped with rage as he halted before Worcester.

“Your vulgar soiree is in everybody’s mouth.” He hurled.

Drake was not about to show he would trouble himself with it. “You don’t strike me as someone who listens to hearsay.” A sarcastic comment since the duke had bought in the rumours about his daughter’s intended.

“My daughter and your mistress in the same house are nothing short of a provocation, Worcester.”

Drake shrugged as though he had no worries in this world. “You should take it with my mother in this case. She chaperoned Lady Millicent.”

“You dragged my daughter into a scandal.” Haddington accused without minding to even answer Drake’s information.

“I don’t think so.” He refuted. “You’ve been dragging her from scandal to scandal since she was a little girl.”

The older man distilled such hate it might poison the whole of Europe. “You fix this, Worcester. Or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“After you fix yours, Haddington.” Drake rebuked.

The duke’s glare burned on Drake for long seconds before he turned and entered the club.

“You must come and stay at Worcester House for a few days.” Drake stood before Hester’s open front door.

As soon as he left his club, he headed here, something squeezing his guts with emotions he had no name for. The simple notion of Hester being harmed erupted a tangled mixture of fury, fear, and protectiveness he was having a hard time dealing with.

If Haddington had targeted her before, now that he was fuming with the stories about the soiree, Drake was absolutely sure the other man would direct his ire at Hester, the weaker part, coward that he was. And Drake preferred to die than to allow anything to happen to her.

Her delicate brows pleated, her green eyes gleaming with refusal. “Of course not!” The diminutive woman posted in front of him wouldn’t make this easy.

He’d sent Bruce to a nearby tavern to fetch something to eat while he talked to her. “That is serious, Hester.” He said with a hint of urgency.

Her green orbs widened on him. “What happened?”

With crumpled features, he asked, “Can I come in?”

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