Never Kiss a Notorious Marquess

by Renee Ann Miller

Chapter Twenty-Three

  Distractedly, James lifted a Meissen figurine of a bird off the drawing-room mantel, then set it back down. He cleared his throat. “I believe Anthony is well enough to travel. It’s time my siblings and I return to Trent Hall.”

  Grandmother peered up from her book.

  Nina, who sat in the chair next to the dowager, appeared unable to control the grin that spread across her face. It appeared returning to the country was far better than staying cloistered with the dowager.

  “You can’t leave yet. I’m not well.” Grandmother curled her fingers over the arm of her chair.

  “Then I think it best you return with us.”

  The smile on Nina’s face dissolved.

  Poor Nina. He understood her distress. Grandmother was nothing short of a tyrant, but what could he do? If the dowager was truly ill, she would need her family, whether she wished to admit it or not.

  The old woman thumped her cane against the thick carpet. “When I die, I prefer to do so here. Not in some backwater where there are more farm animals than people of quality.”

  “Any talk of your demise is a moot point. You shall outlive us all.”

  The butler stepped into the room with a calling card centered on a silver tray. “A Lord Thorton wishes to know if you are in, my lord.”

  James took the card and flipped it through his fingers. What the deuce did Thorton want? He tossed the crisp stock back on the tray. “Send him in.”

  Menders leaned close. “I’m not sure you truly wish to see him, my lord. The gentleman seems in a most unpleasant mood.”

  Thorton was a bit of a loose cannon. A man not known for his tact. “Forewarned is forearmed, Menders. Thank you.”

  The butler inclined his head and left.

  “Huntington,” Grandmother said, “you are aware the earl is Miss Lawrence’s cousin?”

  “Yes.”

  A moment later, Thorton stepped into the room. Scowling, the man advanced toward James. “Huntington, you bloody sod! I’m going to break your nose and enjoy doing it.”

  “I believe the last time we met in a ring, I trounced you,” James replied.

  The earl grinned. “Indeed, but we fought using the Queensberry rules. Now we’re bare knuckled. And that’s my forte.”

  “Stop this right now!” Grandmother demanded, pounding her cane on the floor. “You are members of the peerage, not ruffians!”

  James’s gaze swung to both the dowager and Nina, as did Thorton’s.

  Christ, he’d momentarily forgotten their presence. His sister’s brown eyes were wide. She stared at Thorton like he was a Gunter’s ice treat she wanted to lick. That thought alone made James want to pummel the earl’s handsome face to make it a little less appealing to the foolish chit. The man was a cad. A rake of the highest order. He’d chew her up and spit her out.

  “Ah, sorry, Lady Huntington,” Thorton said, offering an exacting bow. “I didn’t realize your grandson and I were not alone.” The man’s dark visage shot back to James. “I suggest we step outside.”

  “Grandmother, Nina, would you please excuse us?” James rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension in them.

  “You’re going to go outside with this scoundrel?” Grandmother asked incredulously.

  “No, you and Nina are going to leave the room.”

  “I will not—”

  “Grandmother, leave. Now!”

  The matriarch huffed but stood. Her cane thumped as she made her way from the room. Nina trailed her. At the threshold, his sister turned to pull the double doors closed. She wet her lips as her gaze traveled a leisurely path over the length of Thorton’s body.

  “Nina, out.”

  The door clicked shut.

  God, the girl would be the end of him, if Anthony’s tomfoolery didn’t put him six feet under first.

  “Thorton, what the hell is this about?”

  “My cousin, Caro. As if you didn’t know.”

  “Caroline?”

  “Of course, unless you’ve debauched another member of my family?”

  A sinking sensation twisted itself in James’s gut. He grasped Thorton’s upper arm. “By God, man, what are you talking about?”

  “I visited that fool uncle of mine this afternoon. He’s about to marry Caro off to Lord Hamby.”

  “Hamby’s a pig. The man’s not fit to lick horse manure off Caroline’s boots. Let alone wed her.”

  Thorton knocked James’s hand off his sleeve. “I agree, but someone told Hamby that you and Caro engaged in an assignation in a private room at the Burrows’ ball. Worse, he says you visited her father’s house during the night.”

  Leticia. The devil take her! “Christ,” James mumbled. “He’s blackmailing Lawrence?”

  “How else do you think the old lecher would get a young woman to wed him? How could you touch Caro and not offer for her, you rotter?”

  “You overgrown fool, I did offer for her. She said no.” James marched to the door.

  “Where are you going, Huntington? I’ve not exacted my pound of flesh.”

  “You can have it after I marry your stubborn cousin.”

  Thorton grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. Though you’re not good enough for her.”

  “Do you believe I killed my wife?”

  “Of course not. I’ve suffered my own share of gossip. I rarely believe anything the ton whispers.”

  “Well, if you know the truth, then you know I’m a hell of a lot better than Hamby.”

  * * *

  The knocker banged against the front door, a thunderous noise capable of waking the dead. Caroline leaned over the railing and peered down into the entry hall.

  Percy opened the door.

  James crossed the threshold, the look of the devil on his face.

  Her stomach lurched into her throat.

  James withdrew his calling card. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Lawrence.”

  Percy’s gaze traversed the card. “Yes, my lord. I’ll see if Mr. Lawrence is in.”

  Why did James wish to converse with Father? Caroline’s fingers brushed over the smooth wooden handrail as she rushed down the stairs. “Percy, wait. I need to speak with Lord Huntington before you give my father his calling card.”

  James’s dark eyes locked with hers. Was that concern in his expression? Had he heard about Lord Hamby?

  “Caroline, where is your father?”

  “In the library. Though he will not wish to be disturbed. He’s in a meeting with his secretary, and he’s in a rather foul mood, having had a row with my cousin Edward earlier.”

  “Then you and I will go in here.” He entwined their fingers and led her toward the sitting room off the entry.

  She set her heels firmly to the floor. Reckless to go in there with James. If she’d learned one thing, it was dangerous to be alone with him. “No, we shouldn’t go in there.”

  “We need to talk.” He pulled her into the room and locked the door.

  “James Huntington, have you lost your mind or are you intoxicated?”

  “Lost my mind? Aye, that’s a possibility. Am I drunk? No. Do you have something you wish to tell me?”

  He knows! Damn Edward! Did James now feel the need to play the chivalrous knight? Was he here to save her? He had nothing to fear; she’d rather be ruined and tossed onto the street than marry that old goat Hamby. “Go home, my lord. Whatever you feel society compels you to do, it isn’t necessary.”

  “Society does not compel me to do anything.”

  “Then did my cousin threaten you? Is that why you’re here?”

  “Do you really believe I’m frightened of Thorton?”

  “Many men are.”

  “I’m not,” he replied, looking truly unaffected.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “You know why. I’ve come to ask your father for permission to marry you. Or would you rather wed Hamby?”

  She turned her back to James. If given a choice, she’d rather marry James. He’d t
reated her as an equal, and there was this burning desire between them, but not under these circumstances. “No matter what my father wishes, I won’t wed Lord Hamby. I’d rather be scorned.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. I know firsthand what it’s like to have people gawk and whisper. To cross the street when you approach.”

  He was right, she’d be a leper to those she knew. An outcast if Hamby revealed what he’d seen, and Father would not allow her to shame him. He would toss her out.

  James pulled her back against the solid surface of his chest.

  “Are you frightened of me, Caroline? I swear to you on everything I hold sacred I would never harm you.”

  How could he believe she feared him? “I know that.”

  “Then why won’t you marry me?”

  Because if you knew what I’ve done, you’d hate me. And a marriage could not be built on deceit. “No, I cannot marry you.”

  “You believe this an inauspicious start to a marriage? You believe I offer you marriage only because of Hamby?”

  He turned her around and cupped her face with his warm hands. “This didn’t begin with Hamby’s threats, love. It began with this.” He brushed his lips against hers, then captured her mouth.

  She felt almost light-headed with the ache he caused within her. An ache that made her reckless—made her not care about society or morality. That made her wet in the most intimate part of her body. No matter what else she wanted in her life, she’d always wanted a man who treated her like she had something to add to their conversations. Who sought her opinions. Not someone like Lord Hamby, who didn’t even respect a woman’s free will.

  He pulled back. “I’m not here because I feel responsible. I’m here because I care for you. Lord knows, I can’t keep my hands off you.”

  “But that speaks of lust, nothing more.”

  “Does it? Do you really think that is all I feel? Is it all you feel?”

  No, she thought of him constantly. Longed to be near him.

  He ran a slow hand over her spine.

  Goodness, when he touched her, she couldn’t think straight. He made her act wanton—made her contemplate things . . . She took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind. She had to ask him one thing. “Are you truly only friends with Lady Randall?”

  His body stiffened. A nerve visibly twitched in his jaw. “We are not even friends.”

  “I saw you with her at the Burrows’ ball. Behind the palms.”

  “I didn’t wish anyone to overhear me asking her why she sent your cousin into that room. Leticia means nothing to me.” He brushed a strand of hair off her face. “Caroline, say you’ll marry me.”

  Her heart beat fast in her chest.

  She needed to admit she was C. M. Smith. Would he hate her? “James, I must tell—”

  His kiss halted her words. He walked her backward until her shoulders touched the wall. His heated body pressed against her. His tongue entered her mouth, withdrew, and plunged again.

  She twined her hands tighter about his neck.

  “Caroline . . .” His warm breath coasted over her ear. He placed a hand under her chin, drawing her gaze up to his. His dark eyes held hers. “Don’t ever doubt I ask you to marry me freely, without reservations.”

  His words made her eyes burn. He did care for her. She thought of the yellow roses sent anonymously to her house. “Did you send me flowers, James?”

  “Yes, yellow roses. Did you like them?” He stroked her cheek with his index finger.

  “Very much so.”

  He nibbled on her earlobe. “Marry me.”

  “Yes, but I need to tell—”

  Someone banged so violently on the sitting room door the walls shook.

  “Open this door right now,” Father demanded.

  “There is no turning back now, my dear,” James whispered. He walked to the door and unlocked it.

  Father burst into the room, a thunderous glower on his visage.

  “Huntington, you scoundrel! Haven’t you done enough, you bastard?”

  Caroline could feel the color draining from her face. Her father looked ready to strike someone.

  Yet James outstretched his hand. “Lawrence, how was Paris? You look well.”

  “To hell with pleasantries. I’ll not shake your hand. Caroline, go to your bedchamber!”

  “No, Father.”

  The ruddy complexion on Father’s face turned crimson. He stormed toward her.

  A second before his palm would have cracked against her cheek, James’s fingers curled about Father’s wrist. “Hit her and you’ll answer to me. Do I make myself clear, Lawrence?”

  Her sire’s face blanched. He nodded.

  “Good. Now, I’ve asked Caroline to marry me, and she has graciously said yes. I shall procure a special license today. If we marry at a quiet ceremony before Hamby gets word of it, we will cut the man off at the knees. Nothing he says will have much weight after we’ve spoken our vows. Agreed?”

  Father scratched his chin. “Yes. That will work.”

  Her heartbeat raced. She’d not revealed the truth about who she was. She touched James’s sleeve. “I need to speak to you in private.”

  Father bristled. “After you are married you may converse with your husband in private.”

  James took her hand and kissed her fingers.

  “But I really must talk with you.”

  “Tomorrow.” He smiled and strode from the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Miss, keep your head straight,” Maggie chastised as she styled Caroline’s hair into an intricate mass of curls that trailed down her back.

  Caroline pulled her gaze away from her bedchamber door and peered at her own reflection in the dressing table’s mirror. Where was James? She’d sent a footman to Huntington House with a note explaining she needed to speak to him before the wedding. That had been hours ago. If he didn’t arrive soon, it would be too late.

  Maggie pushed the last pearl-tipped hairpin into Caroline’s coiffure. “You look lovely, miss. Like a fairy-tale character.”

  She didn’t feel lovely. She felt wretched. “Thank you, Maggie. You are a marvel with the curling tongs.”

  The maid twisted her hands nervously. “Miss, since you’re to be a marchioness, will you be employing some fancy French lady’s maid to tend to you?”

  She wasn’t sure she’d be a marchioness. When James arrived, and she revealed she was his C. M. Smith, he would most likely walk right out the door. She squeezed Maggie’s fingers. “You shall have the position as my lady’s maid for as long as you wish or until your beau steals you from me.”

  A bright smile lit up Maggie’s face. “Thank you, miss.”

  Two quick taps sounded on the bedchamber door. Mrs. Roth rushed into the room, an off-white veil in her hand nearly the same color as the cream-colored ball gown Caroline was wearing.

  “It’s beautiful, Mrs. Roth.” Caroline touched the lace embroidered with delicate roses, lilies, and leaves. “Where, in heaven’s name, did you get it?”

  “The attic, dear. It was your mother’s.”

  A sharp ache settled in Caroline’s chest. How she wished Mama was here. She briefly closed her eyes, trying to stem the tears that threatened. “Thank you, Mrs. Roth.”

  The older woman patted Caroline’s hand. “Now don’t cry. You don’t want red eyes during the ceremony. Your handsome gentleman will think you don’t wish to marry him.”

  Caroline swiped at the corners of her eyes. “Mrs. Roth, I sent Billy to deliver a message to Lord Huntington quite some time ago. Will you ask him if he handed it to his lordship in person, as I asked?”

  “Oh, that scallywag Billy. Is that where he hared off to? He’s not returned. I fear the young man has a penchant for blue ruin. Did you give him money?”

  “Yes. To pay for the hackney.”

  “That rascal is probably at some gin palace drinking away your good coin. Percy will dismiss him upon his return. I shall see to it!”

  Ca
roline’s heart thudded in her chest. Did that mean Billy had not delivered her note? She shot to her feet and headed to her desk. “Mrs. Roth, I need a missive delivered to Lord Huntington posthaste.”

  “Yes, dear, of course, but”—the housekeeper motioned to the clock—“Lord Huntington might have already left for St. George’s.”

  The tightness in Caroline’s chest settled in her stomach. She could not marry James without revealing the truth. “I can’t marry him.”

  “You’re just nervous. Every bride gets that way on her wedding day.”

  “I can’t go through with it. It would be unforgivable.”

  “What nonsense, child. You can’t leave him standing at the altar,” Mrs. Roth replied. “That would be unforgivable.”

  She was right. What if the ton found out? It was to be a small ceremony. Just Father, her cousins Anne, Charles, and Edward, James’s siblings, and his grandmother. With such an intimate gathering, would anyone else find out if she didn’t show up at the church? Would Anne gossip? Probably, and Caroline couldn’t risk the ton whispering she hadn’t married James because she believed the gossip about his wife. Then there was Lord Hamby to think about. If Father forced her to marry the man, everyone would think she believed James a worse prospect than the old letch.

  The clopping of hooves resonated through the open window. Maggie braced her hands on the sill and peered outside. “The carriage is here!”

  Mrs. Roth set a hand to Caroline’s back. “You’ll be fine, dear. Now sit so Maggie can pin the veil to your hair.”

  The bedchamber door opened again. Anne slipped into the room and excitedly clapped her hands. “You look radiant, Caro.”

  Her cousin was in a fine mood. Father had told Anne she and Charles could stay with him in London for the remainder of the season.

  Anne held out a sixpence. “Slip this into your shoe.”

  Caroline reached for the coin. “Really?”

  “Yes, miss!” Maggie said. “It brings good luck.”

  She feared she needed more than luck.

  A firm knock on the door drew everyone’s attention. “Come in.”

  Father entered. “Are you ready?”

  No, yet she nodded her head.

  He produced a jeweler’s box from his pocket. “This just arrived. One of Huntington’s footmen delivered it.”