Marquess of Malice: Lords of Scandal Book 2

by Andresen, Tammy

  Inwardly, he winced. He hated that she thought herself so unattractive. “You’re jesting. You had two men brawling over you this afternoon.”

  He felt her smile against his chest. “The highlight of my romantic attempts. I shall remember this always.”

  “As will I,” he answered. If there had been any doubt in his mind about proposing, there wasn’t any longer. How could he let a woman go who’d thrown herself bodily into his protection?

  But then he grimaced. How was he going to give her the affection she deserved?

  * * *

  Cordelia woke slowly, as if from a deep sleep. Had she slept funny on her hand? It ached terribly.

  Her eyes blinked open but the room was fuzzy. Were people talking? Someone brushed her cheek. “Are you awake, Cordelia?”

  Chad. She blinked several more times, attempting to bring her gaze into focus. Was Chad in her bedroom?

  Another hand slowly bent her hand and pain throbbed all down her arm. “It’s a break to be certain but not a serious one. Won’t even require setting,” another voice said. “She’ll need to rest for several days and keep the hand still.”

  Her eyes finally came into focus and so did her mind. McKenzie had hit Chad while Chad had been holding her up. She grimaced, certain he would not have been hit except for her clumsiness. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right? How is your jaw?” She looked at his face where a large black and blue mark had formed.

  She lifted up trembling fingers to brush them near the mark and he gave the tiniest wince. “I think you took the worst of it, sweetheart.” Then he placed his hand over hers and brought her fingers back down. “Are you thirsty?”

  She swallowed, realizing that her throat was parched and sore. “I am.”

  He poured a glass of water as the doctor and her mother continued to speak in soft tones. Gently lifting her head, her placed the glass at her lips, and tipped it so that she could take small sips. Then he set the glass aside. “Corde,” he started, brushing a piece of hair back from her face. “They’ll likely give you laudanum to help you sleep and recover.”

  She nodded, shuddering. She didn’t like the concoction all that much. Made her feel strange. “I understand, though I’d prefer not to take it.”

  He held her hand in his, leaning closer. “If you’ll consent to be my wife, I can stay with you. Care for you in a way that I can’t now.”

  She licked her lips, looking up at him. She had to say this, and she ached too much to be anything but honest. “Emily and Jack are in love. Minnie and Daring are inseparable. I think it might break my heart to watch their affection if we have none.”

  He drew in a long breath. “You have my affection, Cordelia. Don’t you know that? And I can promise you I’ll be an attentive husband.”

  She raised her brows while her insides pitched. His offer was tempting. “You won’t send me off to the country?”

  He grimaced, sitting on the edge of her bed. “I would only do that if I needed to protect you from myself.”

  She searched his face. “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll tell you all of it. You’ll know more of me than any person I’ve ever met, but first you need to consent.” He leaned forward, his eyes near pleading. He was still holding her hand and he brought it to his lips.

  Her eyes fluttered closed as his mouth touched her bare skin. The soft caress filled her with a hope she didn’t dare express. “It’s not that I’m trying to be difficult.”

  He gave the smallest chuckle. “I understand. Any woman worth her salt should question whether I am the best choice.”

  Her eyes flew open and she started to sit up before she fell back down, pain shooting through her arm.

  “Lay back, young lady,” the doctor called sternly.

  Chad reached for her shoulders both holding her up and guiding her back down to the pillow. “They’ll give you the laudanum soon and I’ll have to leave you if you don’t promise yourself to me.”

  She looked up at him. “I’m not questioning your ability to be a suitable husband.”

  He grimaced. “I’ve come to hate that word.”

  Despite the pain, she smiled. “I question my ability to keep you involved. I’m not very…” She didn’t even know what word she looked for. Attractive? Interesting?

  “Cordelia,” he spoke before she could find the correct word. “You’re very…everything. Don’t you forget that because it’s never been a question. The only problem here is me. But I’m working on it and once I’ve shared my story with you perhaps you can help me. If anyone is kind enough to understand how, it’s you.”

  Her heart clenched even as her mouth fell open as she sucked in a breath. “You don’t have to change for me. I just, I want to make sure that the man I choose doesn’t want someone else. My whole life…”

  “Cordelia,” he gently brushed her hair back from her face. “Please trust me when I say no one has twisted me into such knots. I want you.”

  His confession did make her feel good. The question was, was it enough? She looked at him, the hard lines of his face, the muscles that even now flexed. She thought of the way he’d caught her and put himself in harm’s way by holding onto her and taking the hit from McKenzie. “I consent. I’ll marry you.”

  He leaned back, his shoulders relaxing. “Good girl.”

  Her brow crinkled. She wasn’t being a good girl. She wanted to be a woman. One who inspired love.

  “It’s time for your medicine. We’ll get you better in no time.” The doctor came toward her holding a cup.

  “I think I’d prefer not to take it actually,” she grimaced. She didn’t want to slip away. She and Chad were discussing important facets of their future.

  Chad stroked her cheek. “Cordelia has consented to be my wife. I request permission to stay with her whilst she recovers.”

  “She has!” Her mother clapped in the corner. “What wonderful news. A duke and now a marquess in the family. I don’t see why you can’t stay, though I will check with my husband once he returns. At some club you know.”

  The doctor reached behind her head and brought the cup to her lips. “Don’t you worry now. This will speed your recovery and now you’ve a watch person. You’ll be healed in no time.”

  “Chad,” she closed her lips, mumbling around the edge of the cup. “I don’t want to take it.”

  He clenched his teeth. “Does she really need to?”

  The doctor gave a nod. “The mixture will help her sleep and sleep will encourage healing.”

  She let out a sigh and opened her mouth. “You’ll stay?” For now, she’d focus on healing. Despite the fact they’d agreed to marry, she had the impression this conversation was far from over.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chad sat by Cordelia’s bed, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as the early morning sun filtered in through her windows.

  There had been a bit of activity when her father had finally arrived home at the Chase townhouse and learned that a man had taken up watch in his daughter’s bedroom. He’d had to assure Lord Winthrop that he’d marry his daughter posthaste before the man calmed, which was not much of a promise on Malice’s part. He’d intended to expedite the process anyhow. There were advantages to being a marquess and this happened to be one of them.

  Another benefit was that Lady Winthrop supported the match wholeheartedly and had bodily placed herself between Malice and her inebriated husband. Malice had said little, allowing Cordelia’s mother to do most of the talking.

  He’d learned a thing or two about handling drunk men from his days running the club. He also recognized Winthrop as a frequent customer at his establishment. He was more than a little relieved the man hadn’t recognized him. They wore masks at the club, of course. And they’d floated more than one rumor that they were actually pirates, rather than lords, but still. The small domino that covered his face surely allowed a more discerning customer to recognize his identity. Then again, most men were well into their cups b
y the time Malice began circulating the floor.

  He ran a hand through his hair. He’d slept a little last night, but he was tired enough that even his scalp hurt.

  Drawing in a long breath, he looked to his right. There sat an open book on Cordelia’s desk.

  Without thinking he picked it up and read the half-filled page. He smiled as he realized it was a fictional scene of their actual dance and their kiss from the night before. Flipping back several pages, he read through the story, grinning widely. He was clearly the hero of this tale, and McKenzie was just an annoying complication. He sat up straighter, his tiredness vanishing and his chest swelling with pride.

  And not just because he was her love interest after all. The story was wonderful. The characters dancing off the page and capturing him. But perhaps that was because he was one of them.

  He had a niggle of doubt about the ethics of what he was doing but he flipped to the front of the book and read another story. One where he surely wouldn’t be featured.

  From the first word, the story captured him. It was about an orphan girl, overlooked by everyone around her. Inside, his chest tightened for the child as the story unfolded before his eyes.

  He looked at the sleeping woman on the bed. Cordelia was not only breathtaking, loving, and full of compassion, she was talented beyond measure. His breath caught in his chest.

  Without intending to, he read the next story. In it, this time the main character was a boy, the son of an affluent family. But his mother perishes and his father… The air rushed from his lungs. His father was cruel. The boy hid in an ocean cave he’d found and one day ran away to the cave. He was eventually found and beaten. Then the boy determined to run away and find real love. A family that actually cared about him. A family that loved him.

  Malice’s throat closed. He hadn’t run away to a cave but the branches of a tree. And he’d made that vow so many times, the words had become like breathing. Eventually, when he couldn’t actually see any way to escape the reality of a father who beat him regularly, he’d created a new saying. Never love. That was the only way to keep from being brokenhearted.

  He looked up at Cordelia again as he closed the book. He didn’t need to finish the story to know how it ended. But he couldn’t help but wonder how she’d managed to write his story. Had it been recently? Had she guessed at his past?

  He held his head in his hands. In that moment, he felt exposed and vulnerable. He’d promised to share all of these details with her. How had she known them and why hadn’t she just told him that she’d already guessed?

  Was she playing him for the fool?

  Before he was the little boy who’d run away, who’d dreamed of a family who loved him, Malice had even been a little boy who’d wished for his father to love him.

  He’d had a nanny, Mrs. Chester, who had been a lovely woman. She’d held him and rocked him, and he’d told her many times of his heart’s desire.

  One night, apparently, his father overheard him say such words and Mrs. Chester had responded with generic words of comfort. “How can he not love you already? Such a good boy.”

  The next day, Mrs. Chester had been dismissed. He was five at the time. She’d been replaced with Mrs. Harting. A stern woman who believed in discipline. That was when he’d given up his dream of his father’s affection and instead wished for a new family all together.

  “Chad?” Cordelia whispered, barely audible in the quiet of the early morning hours. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” he called back, his own voice sounding harsh and rusty. Tiredness and emotion surely the cause.

  “I’m so cold,” she mumbled, shifting in the bed.

  He stood from the chair and crossed to the bed. She neither felt hot or cold. “I’ll stoke the fire.”

  She reached out and grabbed his arm, even though her eyes didn’t open. “Stay with me.”

  He grimaced. After the story he’d just read, he felt strange inside. But then again, he’d stayed here to care for Cordelia and they were about to marry. There was no changing that now. “All right, Corde.”

  He lay down and pressed to her uninjured side. She folded into him, her head snuggling into the crook of his neck. “Stay with me always.” Then she let out a long sigh and quieted.

  He was certain she was talking in her sleep. Not uncommon for someone who’d taken laudanum. He didn’t answer and she didn’t ask again, relaxing back into the bed. His own exhausted eyes drifted closed.

  They were going to marry. But he had to confess, after that story, he was less certain that he wanted to. Was he opening himself up too far? Was he destined to be rejected again?

  * * *

  Cordelia woke to reality coming in bits and pieces. The first was the terrible ache in her hand, radiating through her arm. She winced and attempted to move, only to realize she was snug up against some large, warm object.

  She snapped open her gaze to find Chad lying next to her. He was pressed against her with an arm over her torso and a leg across hers.

  She had to confess, despite the pain, the position was incredibly comforting. She snuggled in a little closer and Chad’s eyes flew open. “You’re awake.”

  She nodded. “I am.”

  “How are you feeling?” He raised his hand and placed it on her forehead.

  “Fine,” she answered, the feel of his large hand pressed to her head wonderfully comfortable. “How are you. Did you sleep at all?”

  He shrugged and then rolled away from her. Immediately, she grimaced from the loss of his heat, his solid protective flesh. “I did better once I was next to you.” He stood and stretched. “Your hand? Does it hurt?”

  “Terribly,” she whispered. Then she caught sight of her book. “Oh no.” She tried to sit up too but her hand twinged terribly.

  “What’s wrong?” He leaned back over her and part of Cordelia wanted to beg him to lay down next to her again.

  “I…I can’t write with my hand like this. I was just in the middle of a story.”

  His face shuttered. “That’s unfortunate.”

  Something was off. Perhaps her mind was just muddled but despite waking up to his body draped over hers, he didn’t seem like himself. “Do you find it strange that I write?”

  He stopped, staring down at her. “No, when I think about it, I’m not surprised at all. You are very observant and articulate.”

  She nearly sighed with relief but held it in, giving him a smile instead. “Thank you.” But her smile quickly fell. “I wonder when I shall be able to write again.”

  He reached down to brush something from the fabric of her coverlet. “How long have you been writing?”

  “The last few years. Most of my stories are children’s tales.” She pointed at the book on the desk. That’s when she realized the book was closed. Hadn’t she left it open to the page she’d been working on? Her brain was still a bit fuzzy.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “I have to confess that I read one or two.” He looked at the floor, his cheeks actually turning a bit red. “Please forgive me.”

  “Is that why you’re acting so strange?” Then she gasped, “You didn’t like them.”

  She’d never actually shared any of her stories with anyone before. Her sisters were featured too prominently and, she had to confess, sometimes they played the part of villain.

  Plus, she’d never considered herself particularly good. “It’s all right. I understand. We need never speak of it again and once we’re married, I won’t leave the book about.” Then she started to sit up, struggling to right herself while holding her arm still.

  “Cordelia,” he said as he bent down. “Let me.” He slid his arms under her and slowly lifted her into a seated position.

  His touch eased her tension. But once he had her seated, he pulled his arms out and moved away. Her nose wrinkled. She’d like to hold his hand at least.

  He cleared his throat. “You needn’t hide your work. I should have known you’d be a gifted writer.”

 
There is was again. He studied the floor as he spoke. Was he lying? “That’s kind of you to say. Thank you.”

  “I’m not being kind.” He glanced at her again, and she could swear there was an accusation in the narrow-eyed gaze.

  She cocked her head to one side, her tongue darting out to lick her parched lips. “I’m quite thirsty,” she said.

  Immediately, he turned to pour her water. He gently brought the cup to Cordelia’s lips and gave her several sips. She grimaced as her head fell back on the pillow. Chad was here filling her every need and yet he seemed upset with her. Or her stories?

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Much.” She looked at him again. “Which stories did you read?”

  “The one you’re currently writing,” he answered, putting the pitcher back as he straightened the contents on a table. “And the first two in the book.”

  So he’d read Orphan Kate and The Boy with No Family. Her titles had gotten significantly better. She’d been meaning to change both of those. Her hands twisted in the blankets. Had he liked her stories?

  Then he looked at her again, his face tense. “Are you angry with me for prying?”

  She shook her head. “No. Though I’ve never let anyone read them before. But it’s all right for you not to like them.” She twisted her hands in the blankets. “I only ever wrote them for myself. They were a way for me to reimagine my problems with a happy ending. They give me hope, I suppose.”

  He stilled then. “You write about your problems? The one about the boy. Surely, that isn’t about you.”

  She nodded. “It is. I ran away to a cave once when we were spending the summer in Dover. It took them two days to realize I was gone. I was quiet. When they realized it, well, they weren’t too happy. My mother said I gave her a terrible fright and I got a good licking for my trouble. No one ever asked me what possessed me to do such a thing. I thought that being invisible meant that I was unloved. Now I understand that they care in their own way for me. But that I need a husband who really sees me. Do you see now why I insisted you not shunt me off to the country?”