Earls Just Want to Have Fun (8 page)

Marlowe frowned. “What did I do wrong now?”

“The list is too extensive at this point,” Dane said. “Do sit and eat, Miss Marlowe.”

The countess's eyebrows rose higher, if that were possible. They would recede into her hairline once she saw the chit eat. “Do you speak to her so familiarly?”

“She has no surname,” he said, pulling Marlowe's chair out for her. She sat, and he tried to push it in, but she gave him a potent scowl.

“I can pull my own chair to the table.”

“Do not speak to the earl in that tone of voice,” his mother said. Dane recognized the tone as the one she typically used to lecture. He and Brook had heard it often enough. Poor Susanna still did. “And when you enter a room, you should curtsy, not stand with your mouth open. And when you address me—”

But Marlowe was not listening. She'd looked down and was now all but drooling at the food he'd heaped on her plate. “Is all of this for me?”

“And there's more if you want it.”

Marlowe's blue eyes opened wide, as though she had found a pirate's treasure of precious gems and gold coins.

“I am still speaking!” his mother said, but Marlowe ignored her, lifting a slab of ham and cramming the entire piece into her mouth. His mother let out a small cry of alarm, and even Dane was impressed. She chewed, her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's, and then she looked about. Dane wondered what she sought, until she grabbed his cup and downed half of his tea.

“This is awful,” she said, her mouth still full and her words garbled. “Where's my chocolate?”

Dane signaled to the footman, who came forward with the pot of chocolate. He poured it in the cup before Marlowe, and she lifted it as a man lost in a desert might a cup of water. “It's hot,” he warned.

She ignored him, took a large swig, and promptly spit half of it back out. His mother jumped to her feet, threw her napkin down, and said, “Enough! I will not stand for this!” She marched to the exit, the footman opening the door with perfect timing so she might stomp out. She reached the vestibule, then turned on her heel and said, “I want…that…that—”

“Harridan?” Dane supplied at the same time Marlowe said “Bundle-tail?” He shot her a grin, though he knew it would only anger his mother further.

“
Person
,” his mother said, her voice high-pitched with anger, “out of my house before the end of the hour.”

The door slammed on her words, and Dane let out a sigh. “You should have eaten with the servants,” he said. She crammed a scone into her mouth and then a kipper, all washed down with another healthy swig of chocolate. “But why inflict this punishment on them?” he muttered to himself. Trying to ignore the girl's atrocious eating habits, he ate a few bites of his own breakfast before Crawford entered, carrying a silver tray with a note in the center.

Marlowe barely looked up as she devoured a spoonful of cream, but Dane wiped his mouth with a napkin and took the card. “Thank you, Crawford.” He opened it and recognized Brook's hand immediately.

D—

Unavoidably detained. Do not let Lady Elizabeth out of your sight until I return.

Yours,

Brook

Dane swore and, rising, threw his napkin on the chair. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, pacing the room behind Marlowe. She'd paid very little attention to anything besides her food for the last several moments, but now she turned slightly to keep a watchful eye on him. She was obviously used to protecting her back and didn't like that he walked behind her. She was going to like being his guest even less.

Dane couldn't say the missive from his brother surprised him. Last summer Brook had used his investigative skills to locate the lost brother of Viscount Chesham. The boy had been missing for a decade or two, and Brook had found him in an opium den in Bath, of all places. The story had been reported in all of the papers, and now Brook had his hands full with requests to locate missing persons. Undoubtedly, that was why Lord and Lady Lyndon had sought him out. Dane cut his eyes to Marlowe, who was watching him, mouth still full to bursting.

He should let the girl go and save her parents the heartache. He did not know the greater tragedy—if she proved to be their daughter or she proved not.

“Wot's it?” she asked before she took another bite. Dane threw the note on the table before her, and she lifted it with her bacon-stained fingers and studied it. Upside down.

“You can't read?” he said, taking it from her.

“Only a little.”

“Brook is detained—that means he won't be home—”

“I know what it means,” she interrupted.

He gave her a dubious look. “And that means you cannot leave yet.”

“Oh, no!” She jumped to her feet, plucking a roll from her plate as she did so. “You promised I could leave after breakfast.”

“I made no such promise. I merely implied your departure might be possible.”

“Implied? Is that a fancy nob word for lie? You can't keep me here, Lord Dane. I have rights!”

He laughed. “What do you know about rights?” He waved a hand. “Never mind. You don't even understand that I'm trying to help you. If you are Lady Elizabeth, you'll be rich. You could eat like this every day. You'd have parents, a home, a bed to sleep in. Don't you want that?”

“No!” she said, putting her hands on her hips. Dane exercised extreme willpower and focused his gaze on her face, not the swell of her breasts he knew were now prominently on display. “I am trying to help you. That's what
you
don't understand!”

“Well,” a feminine voice interrupted, making them both turn. “This is unexpected.”

“Devil take it,” Dane muttered.

“Do not allow me to interrupt,” Susanna said, her brown eyes wide. “I had not expected to be entertained this morning. I rather thought a lecture waited for me, or I would have come down earlier.”

“Mother has retired to her room. You may speak with her there,” Dane told his sister.

“Why would I do that?” Her gaze rested firmly on Marlowe. “But I see why she retired. Dane, do not tell me you brought your paramour here.”

“No!” he said, sounding as appalled as he felt. How could anyone, even his innocent little sister, think this street urchin was his paramour? Come to think of it, how did his sister even know what a
paramour
was? “This is Brook's project.”

“I do wish you'd stop referring to me as a project.”

“Oh, how rude of me,” Susanna said, coming forward. She gave a curtsy and said, “I am Lady Susanna. A pleasure to meet you.”

Marlowe looked at him as if to ask, is this actually happening? Dane ran a hand through his hair, tousling the careful style Crawford had spent so much time on. “It's customary to introduce yourself,” he told the girl.

“I'm Marlowe,” she said, “and I'm leaving.” She grabbed another roll and stuffed it into her mouth.

“Oh, my, the poor dear is starving!” Susanna remarked. “Didn't Brook feed her?”

“I don't even know where Brook is,” Dane said, feeling unaccountably irritated that his sister assumed Marlowe was under Brook's care. God knew he didn't want her, but he should at least receive credit for his part.

“You mustn't leave until after you've finished your breakfast,” Susanna said, taking a seat across from Marlowe. Marlowe glanced at him, then sat too. Dane noted her plate was almost empty, a fact which was, in his opinion, quite astounding, as he did not think two men could have finished all of that food so quickly.

“More?” he asked Marlowe.

She nodded, her mouth full and her gaze on Susanna.

The footman poured Susanna her requisite tea while Dane heaped more food on a plate for Marlowe. He set it before her, and Susanna said, “Would you mind making me a plate?”

Dane raised his brows. Susanna never ate breakfast. Correction: she rarely ate in front of their mother. Dane had long suspected the countess made her daughter too nervous to eat. He placed a scone and clotted cream on a plate and delivered it to her, then turned to the footman. “Anything for you, Lloyd?”

Lloyd reddened. “No, my lord.”

“Perhaps Crawford or Mrs. Barstowe might like some kippers.”

“Do not be ridiculous, Dane,” Susanna said. “The servants have already eaten.” She turned her attention back to Marlowe. “And so you are Brook's paramour.”

“What's a paramour?” Marlowe asked after swallowing. Her hand was beside her plate, and Dane slipped a fork into it. She looked at the implement curiously, then, holding it like a weapon, stabbed another piece of ham. “Is it like a bawd?”

“What is a bawd?”

Dane shook his head. “We are not having this conversation. Marlowe, I'd appreciate it if you did not teach my sister anything. Susanna, do cease asking questions.”

Susanna frowned at him. “I think I am entitled to ask who it is I am dining with.”

“Fine,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Brook thinks she's the missing daughter of Lord and Lady Lyndon.”

“Really?” Susanna's eyes widened, and she seemed to study Marlowe even more closely. “Hmm. She does have Lady Lyndon's eyes and the Lyndon nose.”

Dane looked at Marlowe's nose then closed his eyes. What was he doing? He didn't care if she was Lady Elizabeth or not. He simply wanted her gone.

“Has Brook gone to fetch the Lyndons?”

“I don't know where he is.” He tossed the note toward her, and Susanna read it quickly. She looked up at Marlowe. “It appears you are to be our guest for a little while longer.”

“Guest!” Marlowe said, almost choking on her third cup of chocolate. “I'm a prisoner. Your brothers abducted me last night and have been holding me here against my will!”

Susanna's eyes widened to the size of saucers. Dane had never seen them so large. She turned to stare at Dane. “Is this true?”

Dane tried to reply, and then sputtered, “When you put it that way, it sounds horrid.”

“It
was
horrid!” Marlowe said.

He rounded on her. “I gave you the bed!”

Susanna inhaled sharply. “She slept in your bed?”

Dane held his hands up. “Where else was I to put her? Besides, it was perfectly”—well, somewhat—“innocent. I slept on the floor.”

“In front of the door, so I could not escape.”

“Dane!”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I was only doing as Brook asked. He said to keep her here until he returned.”

“But you cannot keep a person here against her will.”

“Exactly!” Marlowe said, pointing her fork at him. Dane scowled, reached down, and swiped the plate away from her.

“No more for you. Besides, she's not really a person—”

Marlowe jumped to her feet. “Why, you bloody cockchafer! How dare—”

Dane pulled her toward him and covered her mouth. “Ow!” He was bitten for his pains, but at least he stopped the curses. Susanna blinked owlishly at them from across the table.

“Oh my,” she said, her face turning red.

“I'm trying to help”—he moved his foot to avoid having his toe smashed and struggled to keep her in his grip—“the girl, but she doesn't think she's really Lady Elizabeth.”

“But Brook does?” Susanna asked over the girl's howling.

“Yes. God knows why. I'm putting my money on the spawn of Satan. Ow!” He thrust her away before she could claw him again. He looked down at the scratches on his hand. “I think you drew blood.”

“Good.”

“That's it!” He grabbed for her, but she jumped out of his reach, and his fist closed on air. “I have endured enough,” he said, stalking after her. But she was quick, darting around chairs and even under the table to escape him.

“Dane,” Susanna cried. “Dane!” She caught his coat and shook him. “Step away before you do something you will regret.”

“The only thing I regret is not having my hands about her throat right now.”

“Dane.” Susanna pushed him back, and he allowed himself to be thrust against the windows. How he wished he could escape through one of them, but he couldn't leave Marlowe with his sister. He needed Brook to take the little hellion away. Then everything could return to the way it had been.

Dull and tedious—no! Civil. Dignified. Comfortable.

“Will you give me leave to speak to her for a few minutes? Perhaps if we two chat alone—”

“Absolutely not. I will not leave you alone with her. She cannot be trusted.”

Susanna sighed. “Very well, but you must promise not to interrupt.”

He grunted. That was the best he could do. Susanna gave him a warning look and crossed to Marlowe, who was holding one of the chairs by the back and looking like she might use it as a weapon at the very first opportunity.

“Now, Marlowe,” Susanna said, going around the table and approaching her. Susanna was dressed in a blue gown the color of sapphires. Her hair had been pinned up in a thick mass on the back of her head. She was taller than Marlowe, and though she was probably slightly younger, she looked quite a bit older when she stood beside the chit. She looked vastly more feminine and elegant. Susanna was a true lady, possessing beauty and poise and grace. Marlowe was…well, best not to think of what she was. Her boys' clothing should have hidden those lush curves, but they seemed only to accentuate them. Dane turned and looked out the window at the carriages driving by and the flowers blooming in the spring sunshine. A brisk walk would be perfect right now, and he could be at his club in a quarter of an hour. That would be even more perfect.

“Do sit, dear,” his sister said. “I promise I will not hurt you.”

Dane chuckled. As though anyone would worry his sister might be a danger.

“I'm not your dear,” Marlowe said. Dane turned with a warning look and noted she'd taken a seat in the chair she'd been clutching.