To Marry a Marquess (3 page)

After receiving directions, Nightham hurried down the stairs the way he came, only to find the vicar and the old man long gone. He spent a few agitated minutes looking for them while a niggling suspicion began to gnaw at his brain.

He had no marriage certificate and no vicar. He needed that piece of paper. Dash it all. It was his future.

The sound of clamoring feet snapped his gaze toward the stairs. The servant who was to stay with Victoria had bolted through the private dining room and out the back of the inn. An ugly thought suddenly occurred to him. Mayhap the vicar was not a man of the cloth at all, but a swindler pocketing his money. Nightham knew he was not the smartest of men, but by Jove, he thought he knew a vicar when he saw one.

Clenching his fists against his sides, he hastened outside to go after the woman. "You there! Stop, I say!" But the earl never saw the man coming up behind him. Pain seared Nightham's back, sending him falling against the inn with a thud.

"Take that, your lordship. It won't be a wedding night for you, but a funeral march."

Chapter Two

I
t took only a few seconds for Victoria to realize that she was in a strange bed with only her shift for clothes. She vaguely remembered being carried up some stairs and given something for her nerves. Laudanum? A round-faced woman had offered her a drink and then fled from the room. She had been the same woman who had served as one of the witnesses.

Victoria lifted a hand to her brow. Her head felt fuzzy from the medicine, yet the past few hours flashed through her mind with a distinct clarity.

Dear heaven, what had she done?

She slowly turned her head, spying a small engraving on the nightstand beside her. Narrowing her eyes, she read the words etched on the porcelain pitcher.
Boxing Boar Inn.

She glanced beyond the nightstand, noticing her gown thrown over the top of the changing screen.  Her throat tightened with dread. Had Lord Nightham removed her clothing, or had it been the servant woman?

Panicking, she fumbled beneath the covers and felt the ruby ring circling her finger. Where was Lord Nightham? Would he return? Of course, what a ninny she was. Nightham would surely come to her, demanding his husbandly rights now. She cringed at the very thought of him touching her. Though his few kisses were not unpleasant, she had no love for the man, at least not like the love Aunt Phoebe had for Uncle Henry.

Her bottom lip trembled as she tilted her head toward the small window at her side. A pair of white curtains floated in the afternoon breeze, letting the soft rays of the sun spill onto her bed. How many hours had passed since the wedding ceremony?

"You are awake, madam?"

Victoria gasped and felt the blood drain from her face as she shifted her gaze to the corner of the room. She fought back the urge to scream at the sight of a man stepping toward her. His shoulders filled the room with such arrogance, her throat ran dry. Slick tan breeches molded to long muscled legs and narrowed hips, accentuating his powerful strength. Glossy hair, black as midnight, fell behind his back in a queue, leaving a small lock hanging loosely about his left temple.

Why, he... he looked like a pirate!

"Who are you?" she finally asked in a haughty tone after she gathered her wits, or at least a modicum of sanity.

He seemed to ignore her question, and as if he were having tea with Prinny, the man flipped open a gold watch, scowled, snapped it closed, and returned it to his pocket.

His black-silver gaze pinned her to the bed. "I believe the real question is, where is Nightham?"

Victoria's eyes flashed. She would not, could not, show any weakness, even though she felt like a cornered mouse. "You insufferable lout! I demand you leave here at once!"

The intruder gave a slight bow. "Forgive me, madam, I had no thought that I would be attending a ball with a princess or I would have worn my most expensive silk and velvet."

Humiliated, Victoria jerked the covers to her chin. Where was Nightham? And what was this man doing here? "Leave my chambers. This is insufferable."

"Insufferable?" The man glared at her as if she were a pesky fly in his ale. "Why,
my lady, if indeed that is what you are, this is not insufferable. This is intolerable."

Victoria gasped, feeling violated and stripped of more than her dignity. Did he not know that she was married to the earl?

"I need to see Nightham." His voice boomed above her thoughts, making her bite back a hasty retort. "Where is he?"

His face moved so close to hers that she could see her reflection in what seemed to be a canvas of steel gray, the foreboding color of an approaching storm that she had no wish to encounter.

"Where—is—Lord—Nightham?" he repeated.

Her blood froze in her veins when the thought suddenly occurred to her that this was one of the men Lord Nightham had warned her about. Although Charles had mentioned that he had placed a few vowels here and there, he assured her that he would pay them off as soon as he returned to London. However, he had distinctly informed her that some men, even some unseemly lords, would claim that he owed them absurd amounts of money, when he did not. But because of Nightham's title and wealth, the leeches of the world would continue to plague him.

Well, this insufferable rogue was not about to obtain a single guinea from Lord Nightham or her. He may be undeniably handsome, but his arrogance crushed any hope of an agreeable conversation.

She lifted her brow in disdain. "I have not the faintest idea where he is."

The man shot her a disbelieving glare.

She forced her lips to plunge into a cool, stiff smile. Oh, she saw the flash of sarcasm in that piercing gaze. His steel gray eyes said everything that words did not. She was a tramp, a jade, a hoyden. He had no idea she was Lady Nightham. But it was his snort of disgust that sent her anger climbing.

"Do you deny your own status in life?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

She sat up. Did he know about her family's monetary situation? Impossible. He wanted Lord Nightham's coin and she would set him straight on that account. "Now see here, sir, you have no right to come barging into my chambers demanding answers that do not concern you. I must insist that you leave."

"This
very well concerns me," he snapped.

She watched as he pulled out that infernal pocket watch again and checked the time. Daft as King George, he was. She would not hand over a single coin to this blathering nitwit.

"You will not obtain anything from me," she said sharply. "If you do not take your person from this room, I'll... well, I'll scream."

To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. "Be my guest, madam." He stepped back and sent her a mocking bow. "Scream and we shall see who comes running. Who will look foolish then? What would your dear Nightham say?"

Her breath caught at the insolence of the man.

Yes, what would Lord Nightham say when he returned and saw her with this ... this pirate? The scandal would be unbearable for her and her family. The rushed marriage was one thing, a compromising position with another man was quite another. Perhaps this man was not as stupid as she thought. Undoubtedly his looks had women swooning at his feet. Moreover, there was an air of command about him that even Victoria could not dismiss.

"About the coin ... I believe you will see the light once you have heard my offer."

Goodness, did he believe she would swindle her own husband? He was mad. "I think not."

He threw his hands to his hips, looking more the pirate than ever. "Confound it, you will or I'll force you from here myself."

Force her? She stiffened her spine. By heavens, she would not give him anything. No small wonder why Nightham had warned her. She was about to open her mouth when she jumped at the knock on the chamber door.

With a muffled curse, the man stomped across the room and threw open the door. "What is it?"

A quivering urchin was slumped against the threshold, breathing heavily. "The gent's dying," the boy said as he slipped past the pirate, handing Victoria a red-stained handkerchief, pointing toward the back of the inn. "Told me to give it to you. You have that reddish-brown hair all right. You're the one."

Victoria stared at the bloody handkerchief, her heart hammering in her chest. The cloth had the Nightham crest embroidered on the comer. "W-what happened?"

Without warning, the man beside her grabbed the piece of cloth in her hands and studied it with a dangerous scowl marring his perfect features.

Victoria stared back in shocked silence.

The boy retreated, his wide gaze switching between the pirate and her. "Gent's been out there a good while. But I ain't knowing who did it. I ain't. And ain't told nobody either."

The hair prickled at the back of Victoria's neck. This boy seemed to be telling the truth. An icy chill of doom swept through her.

"I believe you," she said calmly as she slowly swung her feet over the side of the bed, trying to keep the boy from bolting. "I won't harm you. Just take me to him."

"Stay here."

Victoria froze at the command. She looked back at her intruder. A pair of dark gray eyes shot her a firm warning. She lifted her chin. As if she would listen to him. "I most certainly am not staying here. Nightham needs me."

One black brow rose in challenge. "I will return with the information, but you will stay here." It was not only a command, it was a threat.

Victoria's gaze fell on his taut expression, and she pressed her lips together in frustration. A second later the intruder left with the boy.

At the sound of the door slamming behind them, guilt sliced through her like a white-hot sword. If she had only objected to this quick wedding, Nightham would not be hurt.

After waiting like some dumb, anxious animal, for who knows how long, she finally threw back the sheets from the bed and decided to inspect the scene herself. She would dress and follow them. Nightham needed her.

What had she been thinking staying in the room under that man's orders? She had stayed in the room far too long already. Who did he think he was?

Panic like she had never known gathered in her breast as she hurried across the room. Her hands shook as she grabbed her gown, telling herself that Nightham would be fine. It was probably just a little scratch. However, deep down inside, she didn't believe it at all. Something told her that she would never see Nightham alive again.

Kneeling down in the alley behind the inn, Drake closed his eyes as he held Nightham's hand. Pain swept through him at the sight of his dying friend. There was nothing to be done. He had pressed a cloth against the wound to stop the bleeding, but the knife had cut deep, and the doctor was nowhere to be found.

"Drake." Nightham's voice was so weak that Drake barely heard him.

Drake angled his head toward his friend. "Save your breath, old boy."

"No hope ... m-must take care of her."

Drake grimaced, knowing Nightham was speaking of the woman. "She wants to marry for money. Can you not see that?" The words burst forth without thought, and he regretted it instantly.

"No ... failed her... m-must compensate." Nightham's face was white and his lips were turning blue. "P-promise me, Drake. T-take care of her."

Drake's stomach clenched. A death bed promise. How could he refuse? "You are ever vexing me, friend. Did you love her so?"

"Remember... the pig?" Nightham's pale blue eyes held a twinkle of mischief as he ignored the question.

Drake's smile widened. "Ah, the time you let it in the master's living quarters and blamed it on me? You were always a sneaky devil."

"Never... d-dull moment... eh?"

Drake swallowed hard. He and Nightham had grown up together. As boys, it was Nightham who had painted Lord Roxey's pew with brown paint an hour before church service because the baron had taken him to task the day before. It had been Nightham who had showered the ladies' punch bowl with whiskey at the Winter Ball because the hostess had shaken a finger at him.

Drake shook his head at the bittersweet memories. In each incident, Drake had been blamed, but Nightham's devilish humor seemed to make up for his vice. But it was that devious streak that had always placed Nightham apart from the others. There had always been a bit of selfishness in his ploys, but they always seemed so harmless, it mattered not to Drake.

Drake pushed the blond hair out of Nightham's eyes. "No, never a dull moment, not with a scoundrel like you."