My Wicked Marquess (14 page)

He lifted his chin and awaited her jubilation.

Her cobalt eyes had grown huge while he talked, but her face had paled. He waited another long moment for her response.

She brought her hand weakly to her brow. “I think I'm going to faint.”

Max frowned and stepped into action, determined to prove he was indeed husband material. “Come, sit down, my dear,” he ordered gently, taking her elbow and leading her over to the leather couch before the bookshelves.

Once he had safely placed his prize there, he crouched down before her and scanned her face in worry. “Is there anything that I can do for you?”

“No—it's just—forgive me, but—I fear I'm at a loss. I don't even understand how all this came about!”

“Surely you were aware that I noticed you, Miss Starling.”

“Yes, but after the Edgecombe ball, you never returned to Society—and now this! I thought you had forgotten all about me.”

He shook his head with a lusty look. “Hardly.”

She gave him a doe-eyed blink.

“My dear lady, within twenty-four hours of speaking to you, I was in negotiations with your father.”

“Really?” she breathed.

“Yes.”

“Oh. But, my lord, I do not understand. Why didn't you come to me before going to my father? That is what has me so confused. Did you not think it prudent to consult my feelings first?”

“How, now, Miss Starling?” he countered, feigning perfect innocence. “I went out of my way to show the proper respect for your father and for you. I proceeded by the book, according to tradition. Besides,” he admitted in a more delicate tone, “with the state of my reputation and the recent damage to yours, thanks to Carew, can you imagine the talk if I had begun by pursuing you first, without going through the proper channels, or making it crystal clear that my intentions were fully honorable?”

“Oh…I suppose you have a point.”

Max gazed into her eyes, intrigued. “Am I to understand that you are not at all pleased by my offer?”

“It isn't that.” She stared at him with a torn expression, then dropped her gaze, blushing slightly. “Of course, I am extremely flattered, my lord. It's just, it's very sudden. And I-I can't help feeling that I have been chosen almost at random!”

“Nothing could be further from the truth.”

“But…you don't even know me.”

“I know more about you than you think.”

She absorbed this with only a small ripple of uncomfortable suspicion passing behind her eyes. Then she seemed to
recall that, of course, any peer of his standing in the world would make sure that all prospective brides for him had been fully vetted.

She lowered her head. “Doesn't the gossip about me bother you?”

He laughed. “Not one jot, especially considering the source. Believe me, I know all about Carew's kind of malice. I am not about to stand by and watch him attempt to destroy an innocent person. If you marry me,” he continued, “you will share in my rank, and believe me, the gossips won't trifle with the reputation of a marchioness.”

“So, you feel sorry for me and that's why you're offering marriage?”

“It's not that. To be honest, Miss Starling, this alliance is to both our advantage.”

“Is that right? How does it benefit you?”

For a long moment, he studied her with wary interest. Some parts of his explanation were not going to be easy to say. “The reputation of the Rotherstone family has been darkened by the bad behavior of a few in recent generations, I'm afraid. My father, you see, was a gambler, just like his father before him.” He eyed her, searching for signs of contempt. But he read none. “Personally, I detest the cards and will not touch the dice,” he said. “I saw what these games did to my father, and what that, in turn, did to my mother, my sister, and me. We were the ones who paid the price.”

More than she'd ever know.

He turned away and forged on. “By the time I was born, our proud lineage had sunk into a state of…lack.” He paused, not at all accustomed to being so open with anyone. “I hated it,” he admitted in low-toned vehemence. “The humiliation of it. And I swore I would not make
my
children live that way when I grew up. So, when the title came to me, I made it my mission to restore our family's fortunes. That was the goal of my travels abroad,” he added, having readied this half truth for his case. “I won't bore you with the details, but the war brought many rich prospects for investment throughout Europe.”

That much was true. At the Order's castle in Scotland, Max had applied himself zealously to his studies on the art and science of spotting opportunities others had missed, turning them into gold like a modern-day alchemist.

By his twenties, he had proved his particular talents in this area so well that he had been put in charge of managing great sums for the Order to keep their coffers full for their operations. In exchange for his services, he had been permitted to keep a certain percent for himself.

“Over a decade or so, I succeeded in restoring my family's wealth. I paid off my father's gambling debts. Tore down the old manor at home and built a new one in its place. I also bought my London house, among my other holdings, and now that all that's done, the next step, naturally, is to settle down and start a family. There is no point in fortune, after all, if one has got no one to share it with.” He offered her a cautious smile.

She answered with a small nod, perhaps warming up to him by one degree or two.

“But, you see, Miss Starling, here is where I run into more difficulty that my cursed father left me, as yet another charming part of my inheritance.”

“What's that?”

“Society's disapproval.” He looked at her again. “You are the patron saint of newcomers. I told you at the Edgecombe ball that I might throw myself on your mercy, and now, here I am. I need your help, as much as you need mine. You
belong
in Society. People listen to you, respect you—”

“Oh, I'm not so sure of that at all anymore.”

“It's true. That's why Carew went after you so hard, first as a conquest, and then, when he could not have you, as his victim. I need a marchioness who can help me to ensure that whatever sons and daughters I am blessed with won't be treated as outsiders, the way I was. You and I are perfectly suited to help each other.”

“Pardon me, but that doesn't make any sense.” She was shaking her head in confusion, her brow furrowed. “To me, it sounds like we are both in the same boat, though admittedly, your case is a good deal more severe than mine. How,
then, can we help each other?”

“Consider human nature, Miss Starling. What is the source of our common problem? Ton gossip. The very weapon that Albert and your stepmother both have used against you. And what do the gossips hunger for? A drama. So, let's give them one. I assure you, they'll be so intrigued, they'll forget all about Carew's accusations.”

“How do we do that?” she asked with a fascinated stare.

“Why, we change the story.”

“To what?”

“A romance,” he murmured wickedly. “They will not be able to resist. The lost soul Rotherstone returns to rescue the leading belle from Carew. You reform me from my wild ways. They'll fall in love with the both of us. Then we both get what we want—for all this to go away. Once they're satisfied, then we can get on with our lives.”

She stared into his eyes with a look of half-scandalized astonishment. “You actually think you can manipulate the entire ton?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“You are rather an expert at creating ruses…”

“Well?”

“I barely know what to say!”

“You doubt it could work?”

“It isn't that.”

“What, then? You have to admit it sounds like fun.”

“Fun, yes, and somehow slightly repulsive at the same time.”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“This is your proposal? A charade? We're talking about marriage here, Lord Rotherstone!”

“Well, obviously. I'm trying to help you. As I said, the alliance would be to both of our advantage.”

“Indeed, but what makes you think I ever intended to marry for advantage?” she demanded.

Max gazed at her intently. “What
did
you want to marry for, Miss Starling?”

She tensed, blushed, and looked away abruptly without answering the question.

She did not have to. It was written all over her face.

Oh, dear
, Max thought.

“My lord,” she ground out after a moment, carefully avoiding his gaze, “you say you want to improve your reputation, but the first time I saw you, you were staggering out of a brothel.”

She shot him a look of reproach over her shoulder.

“That kind of behavior does not accord with your plan. Nor would I ever accept it as your wife. A gentleman does not partake in the exploitation of women.”

Max's eyes widened slightly at her stern tone, though he had rather known he had this coming.
Hm
. He lowered his head with a show of contrition, also to hide his amusement. Perfect lady that she was, he understood this brothel business could prove a real obstacle between them. The disapproval in her stare made that clear.

Telling her the real reason he had been there that day, however, would surely make it worse. What was normal field craft for him would no doubt sound bizarre in the extreme to a civilian. Besides, if he had not been there doing surveillance on her, then the Bucket Street gang would've got her. Max had no regrets. Instead, he sighed and chose the lesser of two evils. “Well, you know, my dear, I'm afraid I never said I was a saint. I admit, I enjoyed my bachelorhood to the full, with its appropriate pursuits. Likewise, I intend to enjoy my married life in the correct manner.”

“So, you mean to change?”

“I do. And I think you could be a wonderful influence on me,” he said with winning earnestness.

“Really,” she replied.

“I swear to you, once we are wed, I will never visit such places again. You have my word.”

“Dashed right you won't,” she muttered. “And what about that wicked club that you belong to—what is it called, the Inferno Club? Would you give that up if I were to marry you?”

He stared at her, taken off guard. But then he shook his head and set his jaw with all the stubbornness in his lineage.
“I cannot.”

“Why?”

“Daphne—those men are like brothers to me. They're the only true friends I have.” He warded off a stab of guilt, but he was not about to drop his cover.

Not even his own sister knew the truth. Max realized he was asking a lot of Daphne, but telling her about the Order was out of the question. She was just going to have to accept his dealings at Dante House and leave it at that.

“I ask you to trust me.” He chose his words with care, his conscience smarting with the irony of the request in the midst of the lies he had no choice but to tell. “Things are not always…what they seem to be, Miss Starling.”

Something in his eyes must have warned her not to press, or perhaps she remembered that he had passed her father's interviews.

Max had told Lord Starling only the barest sketch of the truth, that his travels involved secret work for the good of England.

He had also forbidden the viscount to tell any living soul, including Daphne, for the girl's own safety.

She gazed at him for a long moment, reading him as best she could, but at length, she shook her head and looked away. “I do not know.”

“Daphne.” He longed to touch her, just to caress her cheek and let her know that though he could not make all the promises in the world to her, his desire for her was genuine. But he kept his hand by his side, restrained from reaching toward her. He must not scare her away.

Her head was down; she twisted her fingers in her lap, as though carefully pondering each word before she spoke. “I grant you, my lord, you have been much in my thoughts since you first saved my life in Bucket Lane. But I cannot like the way you've gone about this.”

“Why?” he asked softly.

“It all feels a little—underhanded.” She looked at him in distress. “I saw how you got Albert and his brothers under control at the ball, and now, apparently, you've also worked your influence over my father. If you have the ability to ma
nipulate the whole ton, it only makes me wonder what you'd do to me if I were yours!”

“Miss Starling, I never use my powers for evil,” he said in gentle irony.

“So you claim, and yet they call you the Demon Marquess! I want to be happy in my marriage, my lord, with someone who respects me, someone I can trust. If this is how you undertake the mere proposal, arranging things without giving me any say, then I can only surmise that you'll run roughshod over me for the rest of our lives.”

“That is not so. I hold you in the highest regard, Miss Starling.”

“Well, it feels like you are determined to take over control of my life, and I don't appreciate that.”

Max said nothing, mulling her words. Why was control so important to her? he began to wonder. Was the need for it the real reason she had refused every suitor before him?

Didn't she dare entrust herself and future into any man's hands?

He began slowly scanning the room, assessing the place, as though he were analyzing the home of some Promethean target. What might it reveal about her?

“What are you holding out for, Daphne? Perfection?” he asked in a musing tone.

“Of course not!” she said defensively.

“Good. Otherwise you'd end up very lonely if that were the case.” His gaze homed in on a piece of embroidery work preserved in a small picture frame on the wall across from him.

Sewn in a messy, childish hand, it had an awkward pink flower in the middle, with an inscription above, and a painstaking needlework signature below. A simple gift, costing nothing, but ever-so-lovingly crafted.