A Marquis to Marry

T
HE
R
OGUES
’ D
YNASTY

A
Marquis
TO
Marry

A
MELIA
G
REY

Copyright © 2009 by Amelia Grey
Cover and internal design © 2009 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Anne Cain
Cover images © Yuri Acurs/Dreamstime.com; Speedfighter/
Fotolia.com; Khrizmo/Dreamstime.com; puellakas/stock.xchng

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410
(630) 961–3900
FAX: (630) 961–2168
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Printed and bound in the United States of America.
QW 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my husband, Floyd, who is an unending source of
encouragement by helping me in ways he never suspects.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

About the Author

One

My Dearest Grandson Alexander,

I am confident you will agree with these wise words from Lord
Chesterfield: “At all events, a man had better talk too much
to women, than too little.”

Your loving Grandmother,
Lady Elder

A
LEXANDER
M
ITCHELL
R
ACEWORTH,
THE FOURTH
Marquis of Raceworth, stared at the cards in his hands, but his mind was on the surprisingly bold, albeit beautiful Miss Maryann Mayflower. She sat beside him, slowly rubbing her foot up and down his leg. It was her second Season, and the talk around the clubs was that she would do anything to make a match before it ended.

That rumor gave Race pause, even though the invitation she issued under the table was tempting. He never minded a tryst in the garden from a willing miss, but he wasn’t interested in getting caught in a parson’s mouse trap.

For the past three years, Race had held an afternoon card party in his garden during the Season. Only this year, the coveted outdoor event had to be moved inside because of a hellish rainstorm. The social gathering was so well attended, he had to move the furniture out of his drawing room and the dining room and place it in other areas of the house so that he could accommodate the more than three dozen guests who had come to play whist, cribbage and speculation.

“Excuse me, your lordship.”

Race looked up at his housekeeper. “Yes, Mrs. Frost?”

“Could I have a word with you in private?”

The stocky-built woman was well-trained. She wouldn’t interrupt him unless it was something important. “Of course, I’ll be right with you.”

He looked at the players at his table. There was the comely blonde who wasn’t letting a little thing like a housekeeper standing so closely keep her from seducing him with her foot. The other lady at the table was the quite charming and unattached widow, Mrs. Constance Pepperfield, and the other gentleman of the foursome was his cousin Morgan, the ninth Earl of Morgandale.

Race laid his cards facedown on the white linen-covered table. “Excuse me, ladies, Morgan. I have to bow out of this hand. As you know, this is the problem with being the host of a party.”

“Must you?” Miss Mayflower asked, pouting.

“I’m afraid so,” Race assured her pleasantly, and moved his leg away from hers. “It seems that duty is calling me. Morgan, can I depend on you to charm the ladies while I’m away?”

“More than happy.”

“Good. Ladies, I’ll return shortly,” Race said with a smile.

He then rose and went in search of Mrs. Frost. He found her in the vestibule, closing the front door.

“You needed to see me?”

“Yes, my lord,” she said with a grimace on her plump face. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I knew you would want to know that the Dowager Duchess of Blooming is here to see you.”

Race’s brows drew together. He didn’t like surprises. “A dowager duchess to see me?”

“That’s what the lady said.”

Race started clicking off in his mind all the dowager duchesses he could remember and couldn’t think of a reason any one them would come to see him. “I wonder what has brought her to my door.”

“I have no idea, my lord.”

Unlike his cousin Blake, the ninth Duke of Blakewell, who was notorious for forgetting appointments, Race knew every entry on his social calendar. He certainly would have remembered it if a dowager duchess had requested to call on him. But what was he going to do? He couldn’t see her this afternoon. His house was stuffed with people chatting noisily around card tables.

“Where is Her Grace now?” Race asked Mrs. Frost.

“In her carriage. I didn’t speak to her. The duchess sent her companion to the door to say she would appreciate a few minutes of your time, if you would be so kind.” Mrs. Frost’s eyes widened. “I told her you had a party going on. The companion apologized for the interruption and said Her Grace was content to wait in her coach until you are available to speak to her.”

“That’s odd,” Race mumbled more to himself than his housekeeper.

“It was a quick win for me after you left,” Morgan said, walking up to Race. “Those two ladies don’t know much about card games. I gave them both a cup of punch and told them I would check in with you to see if you wanted us to wait for you or find another partner. What’s going on?”

Race stepped away from Mrs. Frost and, in a low voice, said, “I don’t really know. The Dowager Duchess of Blooming is here to see me.”

His cousin’s blue eyes narrowed. “Good Lord, who is she?”

“The devil if I know.” Race brushed his light brown hair away from his forehead and studied over her name, drawing a blank. “There are at least a dozen dukes, if not more. I’m not acquainted with all of them. And I certainly don’t know how many dowagers there are.”

“The area of Blooming is up near the Northern Coast,” Morgan offered. “That must be the reason we’re not familiar with the name.”

“It would seem so, but I haven’t a clue why the dowager would be here to see me.”

“Maybe she was a friend of our grandmother’s and wants to converse with you about her.”

“Damnation, Morgan, I can’t do that now with a house full of lively guests to entertain. She’s come without an appointment and says she’s willing to wait until I’m available to see her.”

Morgan grinned. “And I can see you are on the verge of telling her just where she can wait.”

Race smiled mischievously. “Tempted? Yes.”

“But you won’t. Our grandmother would roll over in her grave that you would even think of treating an older, titled or not, lady any way other than if she were a queen.”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled, all good humor vanishing from his face. “Why wouldn’t Her Grace do the proper thing and leave, and then later make an appointment to see me?”

“It tells me she wants to do more than just converse about our grandmother. Is there any chance she’s here because you seduced one of her maids, or worse, one of her granddaughters?”

Race glared at his cousin but stayed silent.

“Blast it, Race, whoever it is you’ve taken to your bed, I suggest you turn on that charm you are so famous for and make amends right now. It’s better to win her over upfront. She’ll go easier on you if you have to ask her forgiveness later.”

“Bloody hell, Morgan. I don’t even know who she is, so how can I know if I’ve seduced someone she’s related to?”

“Are you in any other kind of trouble that I don’t know about?”

“No,” Race stated, cocksure.

“Hmm,” Morgan said and then added, “It’s too bad Blake and Henrietta missed the party. With his being a duke, they would know exactly what is and what isn’t acceptable in a situation like this.”

“Why the devil isn’t our cousin here? What’s he doing today, anyway?” Race asked in an annoyed tone.

“He married Henrietta two weeks ago.” An amused twinkle danced in Morgan’s bright blue eyes. “You figure out what he’s doing on a rainy Sunday afternoon.”

Race uttered a curse under his breath. “Oh, right.”

“Where is Gibby? He’s been around long enough he should know what to do.”

“I don’t know what he’s up to. I received a short note from him earlier today, saying he couldn’t make it.”

“So what are you going to do about the duchess? She’s waiting to speak to you; you can’t just leave her in her carriage. That’s an outrage.”

As much as Race didn’t want to concede to Morgan or the dowager, his grandmother had raised him and his cousins to respect women. As inconvenient as it was now, he couldn’t change his nature. And he had to admit that the woman had piqued his interest. While he’d had his share of unannounced females appear at his door, none of them had been old or titled.

“You know I’ll do the proper thing,” Race finally admitted.

He called to Mrs. Frost, who had remained silently by the front door. “Go out to the carriage and inform Her Grace that I insist she come in and join the party. If she refuses, which I expect she will, have some of the servants move enough furniture out of the music room to make a comfortable place for her to sit down. See to it that she is served tea and some of Cook’s plum tarts, and tell her I’ll make time to see her.”

Race turned to Morgan and grinned. “Satisfied?”

“I am, but she’ll probably think you’ve treated her atrociously. You know how fretful dowagers get when they feel they haven’t been pampered and treated as if they were queens. She will probably tell everyone what a scoundrel you are.” Morgan chuckled lightly. “And if she does that, you will be the talk of the ton after this little escapade.”

“Most certainly,” Race agreed. “No doubt it will give the scandal sheets a week’s worth of articles if anyone finds out I’ve not rushed to do her bidding.”

“Or more, and the gossipmongers will love you for it. A titillating story makes them money. And look on the bright side of this.”

“Is there one?”

“Of course. This could encourage other ladies to arrive at your door unannounced.”

“I don’t see any harm in that as long as they are younger than a dowager.”

Morgan clapped Race on the back, and they laughed as they rejoined the party.

Several games of cards and at least two glasses of wine later, Race was enjoying another good hand of cards at a table with two delightful young ladies and their father, when Morgan tapped him on the shoulder.

Race looked up at his cousin and frowned.

Morgan leaned down and whispered, “Have you met with the mysterious duchess?”

“Not yet,” Race said, glancing down at the amazingly good hand he had been dealt. “I was giving her time to have a cup of tea.”

Morgan cleared his throat and whispered, “She’s been in the music room over an hour. I think her cup might be empty by now.”

That got Race’s attention. “Has it been that long?”