To Marry a Marquess (10 page)

If those men had worn their hair any longer, in a deeper shade of black, and if she exchanged slate gray eyes for their brown, and added a few inches in height, they would have resembled her pirate from the inn.

Clasping her hands about her reticule, Victoria stared out the window. The lamps, carriages, and buildings passed by in a blur of shadows as Nightham's death haunted her.

"His Grace was most kind tonight, was he not, my dears?" Phoebe asked, her words glowing with love.

Victoria gave her aunt a genuine smile. "I do hope the duke knows what he's up against. The man may have three boys, but that fact does not stack up against one William."

Sarah's eyes held a teasing glint. "Do you dare think he should be warned of the pirate that lurks in our family?"

Phoebe fidgeted with her gloves. "I daresay, George has seen William at work. Besides, he has plenty of that in his own household, too." Phoebe looked up and gave Victoria a wink. "The oldest son is hideously handsome they say. Though I have not had the pleasure of his acquaintance as of yet."

Victoria smiled at her aunt, but inwardly grimaced.

Minutes later, Sarah elbowed Victoria in the ribs as they entered the townhouse. "You should have seen the black spider that fell into the duke's soup back at Percy Hall. Mama about had a fit."

Victoria frowned. "What did the duke say?"

"Not a word," Sarah said with a straight face. "But his glaring gaze said more than words ever could. Even William turned quite red in the face."

As Sarah made her way to her chambers, Victoria found herself alone in the hall with her aunt.

"What is it, my dear?" Phoebe frowned, slipping her hand into Victoria's. "Is it about that viscount? I saw Lord Foxcroft kiss you, my dear, and I have it on the best authority that he is every bit of the gentleman, most of the time. You need not worry." Her eyes sparkled with a faraway expression.

Victoria blinked. Goodness. Aunt Phoebe had seen the viscount's stolen kiss? It had been an innocent peck on the cheek, but still...

"Have no worry." Aunt Phoebe gently tapped her hand. "The viscount is like one of the duke's own sons. George had a word with him in the library. I won't let anyone harm one strand of that beautiful hair of yours, and neither will His Grace. Now sleep tight, and remember that tomorrow is a new day."

The duke had spoken to Lord Foxcroft? How humiliating.

"Aunt Phoebe?"

"Yes, dearest?"

"What exactly did you mean when you said that the duke mentioned he had plenty of that in his own household?"

"Oh, that." Phoebe clasped her hands together in amusement. "I was referring to his eldest son, you know, the pirate. I had mentioned him before."

Victoria's knees slowly began to buckle, and she leaned against her bedchamber door for support. So, it was true then. "The pirate?"

"Oh, I am not suggesting a real pirate. I thought I made it clear. He only looks like one. Drake, that is George's first born, is the Marquess of Drakefield, you know. They say his hair is to his shoulders, jet-black like James, but even darker and tied back in a silly tail behind his head. They also say his demeanor is anything but docile. But George loves him, and I imagine I will as well. And by the way," she whispered ever so softly as she walked toward her room, "they say he is by far the most handsome man on the face of the earth. Of course, I think his father a rather good-looking specimen myself."

With those profound words, Phoebe let out a girlish giggle and stepped down the hall into her chambers.

Victoria dragged herself into her room, her heart banging against her ribs. But it took only three seconds for her to snap out of her doldrums when she felt a slimy creature slide across her feet.

"WILLIAM!"

Her voice jolted the entire household, especially the snickering blond boy who quickly retrieved his slimy friend from his cousin's bedchamber, then hid under his own bed, along with his second in command, and a nice soft blanket.

It was just before noon the following day when Victoria awoke. As she dressed for the day, she was informed that Lord Foxcroft was waiting in the drawing room. She drew in an unsteady breath. Tiny footsteps padded in the hall.  She guessed it was William with his pile of creatures planning his next move. If that were her only trouble, she could handle the situation.

Phoebe had received the viscount in the drawing room, but as soon as Victoria entered, her aunt suddenly remembered she had something she needed to do.

Alone with Lord Foxcroft, Victoria tried to relax, hoping he was every bit the gentleman her aunt had assured her he was. When he asked her forgiveness concerning his behavior the night before, she was amused.

"I should slap you for the way you behaved," she said lightly. "As I hear it, perhaps the duke has already done the deed."

He quickly moved to show her one side of his face. "If it makes you feel any better, Lady Victoria, please do. Slap me senseless. His Grace is like a father to me, and I can tell you the man gave me the tongue-lashing of my life." He sent her a mischievous grin. "Yes, I know. I deserved it."

She chuckled. "You are impossible, my lord." She separated herself by walking to the other side of the room, her skirt swishing against her ankles, oblivious to the viscount's bold gaze attached to her backside.

"Lady Victoria?"

She turned, raising a questioning brow.

"Do I dare ask for your company tonight at the opera? I am offered a place in the duke's box."

"And am I safe there?" she asked, mischief dancing in her eyes.

"If you ever have need of a protector, you have one in the duke." Lord Foxcroft grinned and strode toward her. "Of course, the duke is not here now." He took another step, and her eyes widened.

She was saved from scolding the man when her butler Winston interrupted the cozy scene with a stern face directed toward the viscount. "My lady."

"Yes, Winston." Victoria glanced up and fought back a laugh. Sometimes Winston acted as if he were her guard dog.

Her butler spared another stern glance at the viscount, then shifted a firm glare toward her. The duke was not her only protector.

"Lord Wendover is visiting," Winston added. "Are you receiving, my lady?"

Victoria felt as if Winston had stolen the breath from her lungs. Lord Wendover? What would that man want after all these years? He was the heir to her father's earldom and had literally thrown her out of her home when her parents had died. But how could she deny the man entrance with the viscount standing right beside her?

"Show the gentleman in," she said coolly, missing Foxcroft's frown as he eyed the butler.

Lady Phoebe entered the drawing room at the exact moment Victoria's second cousin, the Earl of Wendover, entered. The man was clad in a black cloak from head to toe, except for his perfectly folded cravat and crisp white shirt.

The introductions were made.

Some would say Lord Wendover was a handsome man with his light blue eyes and fair hair, but to Victoria, a sneering arrogance hid in that beady gaze, something the others didn't seem to notice, but something she remembered since she was a child.

Lord Wendover took Phoebe's hand. "Lady Phoebe, my sincere apologies that I have neglected you all these years, but I wish to make it up to you. I admit I have been quite lax in my duties."

Aunt Phoebe's face lit up with pleasure. "Think nothing about it, my lord. We are all busy with our own lives."

Victoria's jaw dropped. How could her aunt be so friendly to the man? But then again, her aunt did not have a malicious bone in her body, something Victoria could not say for herself. Wendover was horrid, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

"And Lady Victoria, you have grown into a beautiful woman, dear cousin."

Victoria forced the corners of her lips to curve upward when the man moved to take her gloved hand in his. His clasp was as cold as his heart. "You are too kind, my lord."

Phoebe took Wendover's arm as if they were old friends. "You will join us tonight at the opera, will you not? We must become more acquainted. I fear I have not been on my best behavior since my brother died. It was so good of you to come here and mend the bridge between us."

Victoria almost fainted on the Aubusson rug beneath her.

"I would be delighted, dear lady. It would be a pleasure to venture out with such beautiful women as yourselves."

Victoria felt Lord Foxcroft stiffen beside her.

Minutes later, after the two men left, Victoria climbed the stairs, overwhelmed at the way her life was changing. She knew full well that she might see the pirate at the opera because she would be sitting in the duke's private box. And then there was Wendover who had appeared like a long lost son. The impudence of the man to show his face after all these years.

There was a knock at the front door, but she didn't think twice as Winston answered it. She began to review what plans she would have to make for the evening. One, how could she avoid Wendover? And two, how could she avoid the pirate?

She stumbled on the stairs when a familiar voice floated up to her. "Good afternoon, I am here to see Lady Phoebe. Please convey to her that Lord Drakefield has come to visit."

Victoria's blood turned to ice. She barely heard the rest of the words spoken between Winston and the man. Her grip on the banister tightened. She dared not look back. But because she wanted to live, she scampered up the last few steps and flattened herself against the wall. It was the duke's son. But not only that, it was the pirate from the inn!

Chapter Six

D
rake stood, patiently waiting inside Lady Phoebe's drawing room, still feeling the brunt of his father's rebuke, and all because he had missed being introduced to the new
duchess-to-be.
He had not recalled a tongue-lashing from his father like the one he’d received that morning since he had been fifteen and was caught in the stables with the cook's daughter.

The duke did more than boil the morning eggs with his anger. He scorched Drake's ears with words Drake had never heard his father use before. Though the duke's command was never enough to make Drake do anything he did not want to do—at least not at his age—in the end, Drake believed it harder to avoid Lady Phoebe than to meet her, so he chose the latter.

Drake heard the running steps behind him and spun on his heels just as a blond-haired boy rammed into his leg.

Stifling his laughter, Drake caught the child's two small shoulders, steadying him and proceeded to
lift
the wide-eyed boy high into the air, ready to inspect him nose to nose. "Well, what have we here?"

The child wore a black hat that rested sideways on his head making him look like a pirate. To Drake's amazement, two bright blue eyes stared back at him, and it seemed as if the boy were inspecting every crack and crevice in his face. But the color of those eyes looked all too familiar.

Drake's heart picked up a beat. Not just an ordinary blue, but aquamarine. Or was it turquoise?

He tried to keep a straight face, but felt the corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile when the boy began to tug at his queued hair. "Find anything of interest, lad?"

"A pirate," the boy said in awe, squinting at him.

Drake gave the boy a solemn stare, hiding his smile. "Looking for a sword perhaps? Ah, matie, I left that on me ship with me bottle of rum."

The boy smiled. "Oh, I know all about rum."