To Marry a Marquess (15 page)

Both men started at the sound of Phoebe's voice coming from the seat in the alcove behind them. Phoebe and the duke had obviously returned from the garden, and Phoebe had been resting her feet with the duke seated quietly beside her. A potted palm had hidden them from view. Phoebe's expression was ablaze with disbelief, the duke's red with rage.

Drake stole a quick glance toward Fox, furious that his friend had opened his mouth. It seemed Lady Phoebe had heard at least a part of what they had said.

"Dearest." The duke turned and wrapped his arm around the shaken lady, pulling her from her seat. "I am certain my son and Fox had no such thought in referring to your niece. This is all a dreadful misunderstanding. Is it not, gentlemen?" His piercing gaze shot through Drake like poison.

Drake nodded in the affirmative. Lord Foxcroft did the same.

Yet Phoebe was not convinced. "Lord Foxcroft," she said shakily, "you had mentioned an inn. Are you suggesting—"

But Phoebe was not able to finish.

"Of course not, Phoebe. Your imagination will get you in trouble someday, my dear. Now, come along. There's someone I want you to meet." The duke gently pulled his
fiancée
away from the two men to make the introduction to a visiting baron.

"I am not about to accept your apology for that night at the opera," Fox said beneath his breath, jerking a glass of champagne off a servant's tray as it passed.

Drake sent him a smug smile. "How noble. I was not about to give you one either."

Drake knew this was not the time or the place to confront his friend on the issue. It was enough that he would have to explain the situation to the duke. Before Fox could stop him, Drake strode into the ballroom and asked his grandmother for a dance.

"So you would still dance with your old grandmama." The duchess's gray eyes twinkled with mischief.

Drake grinned. "I always choose the prettiest girls."

"So full of compliments this evening." His grandmother gave his arm a light squeeze. "However, I would guess that if a certain lady from upstairs decided to come down, the dance would have gone to her."

Drake shrugged.

"I thought so." When he did not reply, his grandmother looked up at him. "Jonathan?"

He groaned. She was calling him by his Christian name again. This could only mean trouble. "We are too much alike, Grandmama."

"You were a mischievous little boy, Jonathan. And from what I have heard, you have been a mischievous big boy as well, especially in London."

When the dance ended, Drake avoided her steely gray eyes and glanced across.

Before he could excuse himself, his grandmother took hold of his arm.

"Your heart still aches from Honoria's unfaithfulness, but you must not judge every woman by her."

Drake's brows snapped together. His grandmother was dipping into old wounds he thought healed long ago. He loved the older lady, but she had gone too far this time. No one dared to speak of his late wife in that tone. "You would do best to leave well enough alone."

"That is what I am telling you, Jonathan. Leave well enough alone with your father. He is a big boy, too. And I daresay, if you plan to ruin any of his happiness, I shall come at you with Cook's hatchet!"

Drake's eyes twinkled. He almost believed the woman. "Have no fear, Grandmama. Father's happiness is not in my hands. It is in Lady Phoebe's."

And he knew it was true. No matter what he said to his father about Victoria and Nightham, his father would not cut Phoebe from his life. The lady had wormed her way into the duke's heart, and the man would never let her go.

But Drake would not that happen to him. No, never again would he be subject to a broken heart. Kissing Lady Victoria was one thing, loving her was quite another. Just because he had seen her playing ball with Margueretta this morning and clearly enjoying it, meant nothing at all. The lady adored children. What the devil did that signify?

He realized it meant a hell of a lot more than he wanted it to. Confound it. He would keep his distance from the lady as much as possible. He would keep Nightham's promise by keeping an eye on her and nothing more. No, nothing more at all!

Victoria felt the bruises on her legs as she descended the stairs. It was not terrible, but there was a slight discomfort as her slippers hit the steps.

"Lady Victoria."

Wendover's voice broke into her thoughts, and her stomach churned. She dropped her gaze to the bottom of the stairs. Cold blue eyes regarded her silently.

Yes, William was right, he was a villain.

She instantly recalled the man's words the day he came to her home so many years ago. Her father was a drunk and a womanizer he had said, her mother a leech on Society and men in general.

Those wounding statements had stayed buried deep within her heart for the past nine years. Though her father had left her penniless, and both parents were away for much of her childhood, spending time with Society and its pleasures, she had still loved them, and the man had no right to speak like that to a grieving child. He had no heart at all.

"How splendid you look tonight, my dear." All at once Wendover was beside her, his leering blue gaze traveling down the length of her dress. "Beautiful indeed, dear lady. Turquoise becomes you."

His bold assessment baffled her. Whatever he was thinking, it was not agreeable, not agreeable at all. And why had he appeared at her door without a word in the past nine years? Something was definitely askew.

"You must forgive me for being so abrupt, Victoria, but I do need to speak to you about something of great importance." Without another word, he took a possessive hold around her waist.

She stiffened. "I do beg your pardon, but I believe I need to return to my chambers."

"Feeling ill? All the reason to lean on me, my dear."

As his hold on her tightened, an icy chill skittered along her skin. The smell of spirits on his breath made her want to turn her head, but she refused to cower before this man. She was a child when he had thrown her out of her home, but she was not a child anymore. She would not put up with this kind of behavior. "If you don't release me, I will—"

"My, my, my. Pray, my girl, do not get flighty on me. I am only trying to do the honorable thing for a lady in distress." He slid his hands away, making her feel every one of his fingertips before they left her waist.

His twisted smile made her cringe. "After you, my dear." He bowed, throwing his hand toward the bottom of the stairs, letting her pass.

Chin high, spine rigid, Victoria descended the stairs, feeling his narrowing eyes boring into her back.

"Lady Victoria?" The familiar voice rang out, stopping her as her hand tightened on the banister.

Tears of relief clogged her throat as she caught sight of the marquess, clad in his black evening attire. He would never know how glad she was to see him.

"Good evening, Lord Drakefield." She tried to keep her voice steady and calm, but inwardly she was shaking.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the earl. "Wendover."

"Drakefield."

"May I?" Drake said to Victoria, and without waiting for an answer, he whisked his arm through hers and made his way back down the hall.

Drake had seen the paleness on Victoria's face and had instantly come to her rescue. When he detected her trembling lip as she descended those stairs, all thoughts of distancing himself from her vanished. Whatever Wendover had done or said to her had bothered her more than she would admit.

As soon as they entered the ballroom he turned toward her. "Did he hurt you?"

For a second, her eyes flashed with something akin to fear, and then it was gone. "No. But you were walking entirely too fast, Lord Drakefield. I fear your horse has made me limp."

"My horse?
Pray, let me refresh your memory, if you had not insisted on riding the animal, you would not be hurting today."

"You know very well I could not have known about that horse."

When those mystical blue eyes locked with his, he almost lost all train of thought. "My groom told you not to ride, did he not? Therefore, desist your driveling about the horse. I have no wish to hear another thing about it."

He took her gloved hand in his for the next dance.

She jerked from his hold, her eyes flashing with contempt. "How dare you act so righteous."

"People are starting to stare, my dear. You would not want to ruin your Aunt Phoebe's engagement party now, would you?"

She was furious. "I have no wish to dance with you. And I don't wish you to touch me ever again. Do you understand that?"

"Indeed. However, I believe we never finished our conversation in the library the other evening. It seems we have a mutual friend we need to discuss."

The color drained from her face, and he felt the complete cad. But Nightham's death would haunt them forever until they resolved their differences in the matter. "I mean you no harm. But you must see there are things—"

His words were halted by a loud scream erupting near the entrance of the ballroom. The dancing crowd dispersed. The music stopped. Women began backing up into their partners' arms.

Victoria glanced across the dance floor. "It's Captain Whitie!" She truly hated mice, even if one of the creatures was William’s favorite pet.  Eyes wide, she backed up and pressed herself against Drake. "Good grief, that wretched creature is heading this way. Do something!"

She turned, her fingers clawing into his chest, and all Drake could think of was how he would have to thank that little cousin of hers for his second in command.

"So you wish me to touch you now?" he whispered down her neck. She smelled deliciously of roses again.

She opened her mouth to reply when Captain Whitie decided he liked the color turquoise and scrambled straight beneath her gown. She jumped. "Oh! I beg you! Dispose ... of... that beast!"

All heads turned their way. More of the ladies gasped in horror, and men raised their brows as they took in the sight of Lady Victoria's ankles. Some mentioned the lively entertainment for the evening.

Drake pressed his lips near her ear and wrapped a hand around her waist. "I daresay, sweetheart, this is not the place for me to put my hands on your legs. Another place and time perhaps ..." A rumble of laughter erupted from his chest. "Even holding you like this might cause a fury in the
ton."

Victoria turned her head in agitation. "Pleeeeease." Her grip tightened around his neck.

This was heaven, Drake thought. He might never dispose of that mouse. But her eyes pleaded with him.

"Please. I abhor the little beast."

Drake swept Victoria into his arms, catching a glimpse of Fox's hardened gaze, realizing the fun was at an end. "Very well, my lady."

But he could not very well lift her skirts, so he did the next best thing. He shook her as though she were a bag of flour being sifted for a cake. After three hard shakes, out came Captain Whitie, hurrying toward the place from which he came.

Clad in his white nightshirt and cap, William stood at the open doors of the ballroom, his blue eyes twinkling with delight. He shifted his gaze toward Drake as he scooped up his second in command. "Thank ye my brother pirate," he said. "I was doing some ... some
espionage
at its finest."

Drake smiled and slowly disengaged his hold on Victoria. Her face was cherry red, and she looked enchanting.