To Marry a Marquess (2 page)

When Honoria died, Drake vowed never to marry a poor woman again. It might kill him next time or squeeze every drop of blood out of his heart, and to him, that was certain death. At a score and seven, he was too young to die.

"Papa!"

Drake lifted his head, pushing his emotions to the back of his mind as his four-year-old daughter burst through the doors of the drawing room. "Come here, Margueretta."

"Papa!" The girl flew into his arms like a well-aimed cannon-ball. "You thaid that later you would give me a horthy ride."

The high-pitched voice carried a soft lisp that turned Drake's heart. He loved this child more than life itself.

Dressed in a pink and white striped robe that flowed about her small form like an angel, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. Her skin was as white as alabaster, and smelled of fresh rose petals from her bath. Silky, ebony hair spilled down her back in a cascade of rolling waves. Two chocolate brown eyes looked up at him expectantly. "Are you going to be my horthy, Papa? Are you?"

"A horsy?" Drake's smile widened as he swung his daughter into the air. "I suppose I can squeeze in a horsy ride for my favorite girl, especially since you will be returning to Grandmama's house today."

His grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Glenshire, relished her time with Margueretta as much as Drake did.

Drake gave his daughter a ride on his back and let out enough neighs to make the fiercest of stallions take a step back.

Margueretta laughed, rolling on the floor beside him. "Grandmama promithed me a cuthtard pie!"

"A custard pie?" Drake stopped abruptly, raising his black brows in mocked outrage. "She is giving you my favorite pie?"

Margueretta's laugh became a hysterical giggle, her warm hands clapping against his face. "Oh, Papa, you are tho thilly."

The shadows across Drake's heart momentarily disappeared.

"My lord?"

Drake stood and pulled Margueretta onto his hip, turning his gaze toward Nanna, Margueretta's nursemaid, who peeked into the room, a smile on her face. He nodded, giving the older lady his permission to take his daughter.

"Here now, Lady Margueretta," the lady continued, "we will travel to see Her Grace today. You need to be dressed, child. You don't want to keep your father waiting."

Drake frowned as he let his child slip to the floor. "My plans have changed. I won't be able to go with you right away."

Margueretta's dark gaze met his with a pleading look. "But I want you to come with me, Papa. Pleeeeeathe."

Drake's stomach knotted with guilt. He brushed a hand through her silky waves. "Wish I could, poppet. But I need to help a friend. I'll meet up with you at Percy Hall later. You must listen to Nanna and hurry so as not to disappoint Grandmama."

"Oh," his daughter said, looking down at her pink toes. "Your friend needth you very bad then?"

The word friend sounded more like
fwend
from Margueretta's lips, and Drake bit back a smile. He knelt down in front of his daughter and tilted her face to meet his. "Very bad, indeed. But the next time I see you, I shall bring you a special gift. What say you to that?

The smile she sent him pierced straight through his heart. "A thpecial gift?" she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

He grinned. "Very special."

"Margueretta," Nanna called softly.

Margueretta flew into her father's arms and gave him one last hug. "I'll be waiting, Papa."

Drake swallowed hard as black, wavy tresses disappeared up the stairs. Though his late wife had scourged his heart, he had always kept a hidden place for his daughter, a corner of his heart set aside only for her. For Margueretta's sake, he vowed to marry a woman who would not have money matters on her mind.

If luck were with him, in his marriage of convenience, he would have an heir as well. To marry for love was for fools. But respect was a different thing altogether. His new wife would not come to the marriage a pauper, and with money of no consequence, there would be no question of her loyalty.

Drake dropped his gaze to the crumpled
Times
resting beside his boots. Confound it. He would stop that marriage between Nightham and that pauper. He would go as far as to offer a good amount of coin to the woman if she would agree never to see Nightham again. He would make her a generous offer, or he would make her life miserable.

Biting back a curse, Drake flipped open his pocket watch, snapped it closed, and swallowed the raging emotions clogging his throat. Maybe he could still reach Nightham in time.

Lady Victoria descended Lord Nightham's carriage, not able to dismiss the dull ache of foreboding that crept along her spine. The sky was overcast, and a cool breeze swept through the village. Spirals of mahogany hair whipped against her face, and she shakily pushed them away.

The entire escapade had been a secret from the very start. Not even her family knew what she was doing. But there was no time to feel sorry for herself. Nothing would change the fact that she was about to enter into a marriage of convenience.

She managed a tremulous smile as Charles Millington, the second Earl of Nightham, took her gloved hand in a possessive grip and led her toward the Boxing Boar Inn at the edge of the village.

"No need to worry, Victoria. This marriage will suit us both."

Lord Nightham was a handsome man with a hard-muscled frame, golden blond hair, and devilish blue eyes that seemed to hold a host of secrets. If she didn't know better, she would have thought he had known all about her dire circumstances before she had told him the truth.

Though he had acted the very epitome of the gentleman since she had met him at the Dowager Duchess of Glenshire's ball last month, she still felt uneasy about her decision. She knew he held the particulars about her family in strictest confidence, and she should have been happy that he had chosen her for a wife.

But the fact was, she did not love the man. She had been honest with him about that, but it didn’t matter to him. He said love would grow in time.

However, this marriage had to be done, for her family's sake, and done quickly, so her family would not interfere. They would never approve of her marrying Nightham for the sole purpose of providing for them a secure future.

But Nightham wanted to be married without the pomp and circumstance of a large wedding, and that suited her just fine. He explained that his mother was a delicate woman and would not be able to bear the stress of the invitations and parties. Victoria understood perfectly, feeling somewhat relieved. A swift, private wedding seemed the logical step for both of them.

She had been barely out in Society since Uncle Henry's death, and Nightham had been an answer to her prayers. Yes, indeed. A swift marriage of convenience would give her beloved family security. In return, Nightham would have a wife and mother for his future heir.

At first, Victoria had thought they were to be married in a church, but as soon as they arrived in the village, the earl calmly explained the church pews were being varnished, and the ceremony was to take place by special license at a nearby inn. She was certain he knew the legalities, yet something still worried the back of her brain.

As her booted feet crunched over the gravel pathway toward their destination, she lifted her head and caught sight of Mrs. Hinckleberry, the hired escort from London, scurrying ahead of them, her plump feet stumbling precariously toward the tap. Alarm sent Victoria's heart racing. It was obvious that would be the last they would see of her. The lady had been paid for her journey and was to immediately return to Town in a hack after taking some refreshments.

Realizing she was alone with the earl, Victoria wondered for the hundredth time why he had chosen her among all the beautiful ladies of the
ton.
She had no dowry, nothing but herself. But he needed her for a wife, and she needed him for the money. At this point, that was enough. She could not afford to linger on her decision.

A few minutes later, in a secluded dining room inside the inn, she braced herself against a nearby chair. Swallowing hard, she took in the cracked yellow walls and the mildewy odor leaking in from the drainage ditch outside. Sweat beaded along her forehead, and she blinked to keep herself from fainting. Recovering from a bad cold and worrying over her plans, she had barely slept a wink the past few days.

As for her gown, a plain blue muslin, it was nothing a bride would want to remember for this momentous occasion. But Lord Nightham had told her there would be plenty of time to shop in London for gowns after they were married.

When the vicar, a slight man with rounded shoulders, suddenly appeared with the witnesses - a plump servant lady and an older man with barely any teeth - Lord Nightham pulled out the special license.

Victoria didn't like the mischievous smile on the vicar's face, but she ignored it. She focused her attention on her
fiancé.
He was dressed in a cream-colored waistcoat and navy jacket. Tall and handsome, he was every schoolgirl's dream. But he did not love her.

The vicar cleared his throat, glancing at Victoria, then back to Lord Nightham. "You are a lucky devil, my lord."

"A devil maybe," Lord Nightham said, smiling, "yet I find myself in a rather favorable position at the moment."

Nightham gave Victoria a wink, appraising her with a possessive caress that sent a chill along her spine. Had she somehow misjudged him? No, certainly not. He was merely a man who was about to be wed, a man about to claim his husbandly rights. But could she trust him? Her fingers gripped her gown. Could she trust any man with her life ever again?

Minutes later, the sentences, the vows, the one-word answers, all seemed to tumble forth like a horrible dream, seeping past Victoria's senses in a giant blur. When Lord Nightham placed his ruby ring on her finger, it was all she could do not to run away. Sweat had soaked through her chemise onto her gown, dampening her chest.

As the earl's—no, her husband's—lips claimed hers, panic finally began to penetrate the shield she had put up for so many days. Blood rushed from her head as he whispered her name.

She had made a mistake. A terrible mistake. The words rang over and over in her mind until her knees wobbled, and she felt a strange roaring in her ears.  There was something wrong here.  Something terribly wrong…

"Lord Nightham," she said softly, feeling the room closing in on her. "I—"

But before she could finish, her knees finally gave way and the room went black.

"The lady is ill," Nightham said with a frown, catching Victoria in his arms. "Dash it all! Go fetch a doctor."

The vicar's eyes went wide. "There's no doctor here, my lord. He was taking his breakfast early this morning at the inn when he was called to a birthing in the neighboring village. Ain't been back since."

Nightham scowled. "You there." He looked to the servant. "Is there no one who can help us?"

The servant frowned. "There be a woman down the road, m'lord. Begging your pardon, but she ain't be catering to the likes of you. Won't step outside her cottage. Daughter ran off with a military man and ain't seen hide no hair of her since."

"If you ask me," the older man, serving as witness, interrupted, raising a bushy white brow as he stared at Victoria, "lady swooned like one of those fancy birds in Town. That's all gov'nor."

A muscle ticked in Nightham's cheek. Uttering an oath, he shifted Victoria in his arms, angling his head toward the plump servant, telling her to follow him as he brought Victoria up the stairs of the inn and into one of the bedchambers.

He pushed some coins into the woman's hands and frowned at Victoria's pallor.

"It's more than just a swoon. The lady has not looked well the entire ride. Stay with her and give me directions to that woman down the road. I won't be long."