How to Manage a Marquess

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How to Manage a Marquess Page 22

by Sally MacKenzie


  * * *

  The room was very, very small and dingy. There was no place to sit except . . .

  Anne looked at the bed and then sat down gingerly.

  It didn’t collapse. It was just as uncomfortable as it looked, but apparently it would hold her weight.

  And the boys’ weight. They sat on either side of her.

  And Nate’s—

  She flushed. She could not think about Lord Haywood and beds.

  “I’m hungry, Miss Anne,” Edward said, leaning against her.

  “I’m sure Lord Haywood will be back soon.” She should have made note of the time he’d left. The hands of the clock always seemed to move unnaturally slowly when one was waiting for something.

  “I don’t like this room,” Stephen said.

  “I don’t like it either, Stephen, but at least it’s dry”—relatively. She was very much afraid the sheets would prove damp—“and safe.” Again, relatively. She tightened her fingers around the key. She would be very happy when Lord Haywood returned, and not just for the food he’d bring.

  Her stomach growled, setting the boys to giggling.

  Well, yes, she was hungry, too. She wasn’t expecting a feast from a place like this, but she sincerely hoped the food was edible.

  And then they heard the latch rattle.

  “It’s Uncle Nate!” Edward jumped off the bed and ran the two steps to the door. “Let him in quick, Miss Anne, before I starve to death.”

  “I don’t really think you’ll starve so quickly, Edward,” Anne said, laughing as she turned the key. “It’s a good thing—oh!”

  It wasn’t Nate—it was a large, hairy, toothy man who reeked of ale and sweat.

  “You’ve mistaken the room, sir.” She started to close the door.

  He shoved it back open and stepped into the small space. “Oh, no, I haven’t. I came looking for Haywood’s whore, and I found her.” He looked her up and down in a very insulting fashion as he shut the door behind him. “You’re pretty enough, I suppose, in an insipid sort of way.” Then he grinned as she imagined a fox might grin at a chicken before he sank his teeth into it. “Perhaps you’re more exciting with your skirts up around your ears.”

  She took a step back. No one had ever spoken to her like this before. “Sir, you are offensive!”

  “Oh, I’m going to be a lot more than that, sweetkin. Now we can either do this on that bed or against the wall.”

  Her stomach twisted. “There are children present!” This cannot be happening. Where is Nate?

  The man sneered. “They can close their eyes if they don’t want to watch.” He reached for her, but Stephen jumped between them.

  “Don’t you hurt Miss Anne.”

  The blackguard raised his hand as if to hit the boy. “Out of my way, bantling.”

  “Stop!” Anne pulled Stephen back—just as Edward launched himself at the villain, head-butting him in the crotch.

  “Well done, Edward!” Stephen said.

  The dastard howled and flung Edward across the room. The boy landed on the hearth.

  “You beast!” Anne crouched down to touch Edward gently on the shoulder. “Are you all right, dear?”

  He managed to nod through his tears, and then his eyes widened. “Miss Anne! He’s coming!”

  Lord! She had to protect the boys, but how could she—ah! Her frantic eyes landed on the fireplace poker. She grabbed it and whirled to face her attacker.

  “Don’t come a step closer, sirrah, or you will be very sorry,” she said, brandishing the metal rod.

  He laughed and then motioned her toward him with both his hands. “Come on. Fight me. It will just make winning that much sweeter.” He grinned, looking more like a wolf than a fox now. “I like things rough, don’t you know.”

  That did not surprise her in the least. She gripped the poker more tightly. “I am Baron Davenport’s daughter, sir, and these children are Viscount Banningly’s nephews. Things will go very badly for you if you injure any of us.”

  “That’s rich! And I’m Prinny himself.” He started to unbutton his fall.

  Her only choice now was whether to hit the man in the head or the stomach.

  If I swing for his head, he might catch the poker and stop me. It had best be the stomach. That’s a larger target.

  She held the poker in both hands and ran straight at him.

  The small space and the unexpectedness of her attack worked to her advantage. She made contact, but he’d moved at the last moment so she managed only a glancing blow. Then he grabbed her weapon and twisted it out of her hands before she could try again.

  She’d just succeeded in making him meaner.

  “You’ll be sorry you did that, girl. I’m going to—”

  Fortunately, they did not hear what unpleasantness the devil had in mind, because right then the door flew open and Nate appeared. He grabbed the man’s shoulder, spinning him around so his face collided with Nate’s fist.

  “Oh, thank God,” Anne murmured. And then, when Nate pulled back his arm to land another blow, “Lord Haywood, remember the children!”

  “Don’t mind us, Uncle Nate,” Stephen said. “Go ahead.”

  “Yes. Hit him again, Uncle Nate,” Edward said. “He’s a bad man.”

  Everyone—and they seemed to have amassed a sizeable audience—held their breath. Anne had never seen an expression as chilling as Nate’s. He looked as if he was contemplating murder.

  The blackguard must have thought so, too. He made a small, whimpering noise and—

  “Eew,” Edward said. “He peed the floor.”

  Nate let go of the dastard, who stumbled back, collided with the wall, and slid down to crouch by the puddle he’d made. His nose was bleeding—it looked a bit askew, as if it might be broken.

  “Get out, Trant.” Nate’s voice was as chilling as his expression. “If I ever see you again, you’re a dead man.”

  Trant didn’t argue. He scrambled to his feet, pushed past the crowd, and ran as fast as he could down the corridor.

  Nate looked at a scantily clad woman who must work as a barmaid. “See that this mess gets cleaned up.” He pointed to the puddle the blackguard had left behind and the food spilled all over the floor.

  “I’ll get a mop, sir. Er . . .” Her eyes slid over to Anne. “That is, milord.”

  Nate ignored her to glare at the rest of their audience. “Haven’t you all something better to do?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Right. I’m off.”

  “Got some ale to drink.”

  In a few moments, everyone was gone but Nate—and another man who was staring at her and the boys.

  “Good God, it’s Miss Davenport and Eleanor’s sons.”

  “Hullo, Uncle George,” Stephen and Edward said together.

  Uncle George?

  Ah, right. George Harmon, Mrs. Eaton’s brother. She’d met him at the last Banningly house party.

  The barmaid came back with a mop, and, once she’d cleaned up, Nate gave her some coins.

  “Since someone trampled the food Mr. Trant brought up earlier, can you—”

  “I’ll go,” Mr. Harmon said. “Be back in a trice.”

  Nate nodded. As soon as the woman and Mr. Harmon left, he closed the door. He no longer looked angry, but his expression was still tense.

  “Are you all right, Anne? Boys? That—” He took a calming breath. “That man didn’t hurt you?”

  “I’m fine,” Anne said. “And Stephen is, too. Edward is the one who got hurt.”

  “I’m all right,” Edward said. “Just my bottom is sore.”

  “Both the boys were very brave, Lord Haywood.” Anne put an arm around each of them.

  “I butted him in the doodle, Uncle Nate.”

  “How did you think to do that, Edward?” Stephen asked, clearly impressed.

  “I saw Mama do it to Papa when he was being mean.” Edward shrugged. “She used her knee, though.”

  “I didn’t know you remembere
d Papa.”

  “I don’t. At least not much.” Edward bit his lip. “He wasn’t a nice man, either.”

  Perhaps it was fortunate that Mr. Harmon reappeared then, bearing a large tray of food. “I say, there’s not much space here, is there?”

  “Just put it on the floor, George.” Nate sighed. “We’ll have to eat there.”

  Apparently Mr. Harmon had decided to join them, because after he put the tray down, he sat down as well.

  Once they’d filled their plates, he bowed slightly, which was quite ridiculous seeing as they were sitting on the floor like children—well, with children. “Miss Davenport, I believe we both attended my brother Banningly’s last gathering.”

  “Yes, Mr. Harmon, I believe we did.” Anne turned to look at Edward and Stephen. “Do you have enough food, boys?”

  They nodded, their mouths being full.

  Mr. Harmon cleared his throat. She glanced at Nate, who was staring morosely at the chicken leg before him, and then looked back at Mr. Harmon inquiringly.

  He cleared his throat again. “Er, perhaps you might explain what you and Lord Haywood are doing here with Eleanor’s sons?”

  Edward had managed to clear his mouth. “Mama married Miss Anne’s Papa, Uncle George, so now she’s our stepsister.”

  “Oh.”

  “And Uncle Nate is taking us to Davenport Hall. Mama and our new papa will come after their honeymoon,” Stephen said.

  “But then it rained and made the roads bad, so we had to stop here,” Edward finished.

  George nodded. “Yes, I see. But—” He ran his hand through his hair. “Lord, Nate, you’ve got yourself in quite a pickle.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “How bad is it?” Nate asked since George clearly expected him to do so. He was still trying to clear the anger from his system. Did Trant have any idea how close he’d come to death? If Anne hadn’t called out—

  Nate took a deep breath.

  “I volunteered to fetch your supper partly to discover how things stand,” George said. “Everyone, and I mean everyone, is talking.” George looked at Anne. “I’m sorry, Miss Davenport, but we all heard you announce your identity. The fact that you were here in this hideous inn alone with the Marquess of Haywood will be all over London by tomorrow, if not tonight.” He shook his head. “There’s no way to put that cat back in the bag.”

  “Miss Anne is not alone with Uncle Nate,” Stephen said. “She’s here with me and Edward.”

  Edward, having just taken a large bite of chicken, contented himself with nodding vigorously.

  “And Lord Banningly forced Lord Haywood to accompany us,” Anne said.

  “He didn’t force me, Anne. I was willing to see you and the boys safely to Davenport Hall.”

  And now I’ll have to marry you.

  He waited to feel the noose drop over his head and draw tight.

  Nothing.

  I’m still too angry over Trant. To think that bloody devil threatened Anne—

  He took another deep breath.

  “Oh! If only my father hadn’t gone off on this honeymoon, we would not be in this situation. I do not understand what the rush was about. It’s not as if they were waiting for the vicar’s blessing to—”

  Thankfully, Anne caught herself, apparently remembering who else was in the room. She managed to smile at the boys. “I suppose it is just a sign of how much my papa and your mama love each other.” She looked back at George. “And if the weather had been better, we would not have been required to stop here.”

  “Yes,” George said. “But the fact of the matter is you did stop here—and were discovered.”

  “But we weren’t doing anything scandalous, Mr. Harmon.”

  “Miss Davenport, surely you’ve been among the ton enough to know that what you were doing is not important. It’s what people say you were doing that will affect your reputation.”

  Which was all too true.

  “There’s nothing for it,” Nate said abruptly. “We’ll have to marry.”

  George nodded. “Yes, I think that’s the only solution.”

  “What?!” Anne gaped at Nate as if he’d just said they’d have to dance naked down St. James Street.

  “Miss Davenport, just consider,” George said. “There’s no way to stop the talk now. Even if Nate spent the night in my room—”

  “I’m not leaving Anne and the boys unprotected again.”

  “Yes, well, even if Nate stayed in my room—which I understand he will not do,” George said quickly when Nate opened his mouth to protest again, “it wouldn’t make any difference. You’ve been seen in a bedroom—”

  “With two young boys!” Anne said.

  George pressed on. “And everyone knows by now that Nate told the innkeeper that you were his wife and Edward and Stephen his sons.”

  Anne sat back, crossing her arms and frowning mulishly. “I am not going to marry Lord Haywood.”

  “Don’t you want to marry Uncle Nate, Miss Anne?” Stephen asked.

  Edward nodded. “I thought you liked him. You cuddled with him in the cottage.”

  Anne’s face turned bright red. “That was because of the storm.”

  George’s eyes couldn’t open any wider. He looked at Nate.

  “Miss Davenport doesn’t care for thunderstorms.” He wasn’t about to betray Anne’s confidence. “She had a bad experience once.”

  And if George—or anyone—discovers how much “cuddling” we did in Anne’s room . . .

  There was no question about it: They had to marry. It was almost a relief to be forced into it.

  Except Miss Davenport did not look as if she was going to be forced into anything.

  Edward tugged on her arm. “Don’t you like Uncle Nate, Miss Anne?”

  Her color was still high. “Of course I like him, Edward, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to marry him.”

  “You really have no choice,” George said.

  That was the wrong thing to say.

  Anne turned on George. “This is the nineteenth century, Mr. Harmon.” She narrowed her eyes and poked her finger at him. “The days of forcing a woman into marriage are past. Of course I have a choice.”

  “But the scandal—” George sputtered.

  She snapped her fingers. “I give that for the scandal, sir. I live in a small village. The people of Loves Bridge won’t believe any whispered nonsense about me. They—”

  She stopped abruptly, a look of alarm or perhaps guilt on her face.

  Was she remembering her own attempt at gossiping someone to the altar? Fortunately Miss Hutting had declined Marcus’s offer and was now safely ensconced in the Spinster House.

  I did far more in Anne’s room last night than Marcus could have managed in the vicarage bushes.

  Technically, Anne was still a virgin—her maidenhead was intact as far as he knew. But in terms of sensual experience. . .

  Perhaps not.

  And that’s my doing. I should marry her.

  The noose he kept waiting to feel still hadn’t made an appearance.

  “I am not going to yoke myself for life to some man just because Society thinks I should.”

  Not some man. Me.

  “But consider Nate’s position, Miss Davenport,” George said. “People will judge him harshly for ruining a lady, even more so as she is now the stepdaughter of one of his childhood friends.”

  Anne snorted eloquently. “Oh, Mr. Harmon, I sincerely doubt the Marquess of Haywood will suffer the cut direct over this silly rumor. Anyone with a modicum of sense must realize the tale is ridiculous.”

  George stared at her. “You are a very odd woman, Miss Davenport.”

  The odd woman grinned. “I will take that as a compliment. Now let us speak no more about it.”

  There’s certainly no point in speaking to George about it.

  Nate gathered up the remains of their meal, “I think it’s time you were on your way, George.”

  George did not immediately sp
ring to his feet. “But Nate—”

  Nate held up his hand. “No. I appreciate you championing my cause, George, but I believe I can advocate for myself.”

  “Oh. Yes. Of course. Quite right.” George puffed out his cheeks and then let out a long breath and reluctantly stood.

  Nate shoved the tray of dirty dishes into his grasp. “Good-bye, George. I’ll see you in London.”

  George sighed and then nodded. “Very well.” He executed a shallow bow over his collection of scraps. “Good evening, Miss Davenport, boys.”

  Nate closed the door firmly behind George and locked it. When he turned back, he had two pairs of anxious eyes watching him. Miss Davenport was studying her hands.

  “You have to marry Miss Anne, Uncle Nate,” Edward said. “I don’t want people to be mean to her.”

  Anne spoke before he could respond. “People won’t be mean to me, Edward.”

  “But they might,” Stephen said earnestly. “People can be very mean.”

  Which Stephen probably knew from experience, sadly. The ton lived to criticize and mock, and felt morally justified in doing so when faced with a reprobate such as Eaton. They’d likely never thought to extend some understanding and compassion to the devil’s wife and young sons.

  Anne must have realized this, too, because she smiled gently at the boy. “Yes, they can, Stephen. But I really do believe the people of Loves Bridge won’t treat me harshly. And if they do . . .” She shrugged. “I know I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  No? Nate would admit they’d done nothing that felt wrong. But as to it being wrong? There was no question of that.

  However, it was a wrong marriage would right. He just had to convince Anne.

  And what about Marcus, his conscience whispered, and your vow to your mother?

  He could still keep an eye on Marcus. He wouldn’t be spending every single moment in bed with Anne.

  His brainless cock registered a vote for doing exactly that.

  But it was true. Very few husbands and wives were seen together in Society. There was no need for him to live in Anne’s pocket or she in his. Yes, being married would be a distraction—Ha! That was an understatement of mythic proportions—but it needn’t rule his life. He could go about his business as usual—including watching over Marcus—and then go home to Anne.

 

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