Marrying the Marquis

by Patricia Grasso

“What will Lord Blake say?”

  “Alexander won’t mind,” Raven said, waving her hand.

  “I will enjoy supping together,” the earl said, and then quit the chamber.

  The Duchess of Inverary stared hard at Raven, but her sister refused to look at her. The duchess’s gaze narrowed, and she opened her mouth to speak.

  “Raven.” Alexander Blake walked into the drawing room, preventing the duchess’s questions. “Are you ready?”

  Blaze stood when her sister did. “I’ve changed my mind about joining you.” Her sister would visit the sweet shop, and she wanted to see the stepsister offered to the marquis in marriage.

  The ride to Newmarket was short. Blaze and Raven sat together in the coach and Alexander opposite them. The unseasonably warm, dry day had enticed many outside, either walking or riding.

  “Have you begun spying on MacArthur?” Alexander asked.

  “Ross did not murder Charlie,” Blaze answered, “nor does he know anything about the murder. I believe Dirk Stanley is the villain.”

  Alexander winked at her. “I daresay, you believe him the culprit because he sucks on duck bones.”

  “My outburst did surprise him that night,” Blaze said, and giggled. “Thankfully, Stepmama had the wisdom not to serve poultry when the MacArthurs dined with us.”

  “Since we decided to begin our spying at the Jockey Club Ball,” Raven said, changing the subject, “I invited Dirk Stanley to escort me to supper. A mild flirtation is more believable than an argument and less conspicuous.”

  “Do you think either Stanley will share information if there is no argument?” Blaze asked them.

  Raven looked at Alexander. “Arguing in a crowded social gathering defies belief. We should merely imply to our targets that we are not in accord.”

  “Fine, you sup with Dirk,” Alexander said, “while I speak with the sister. We can share information after the ball.”

  “Dirk and his sister will be visiting the sweet shop,” Raven told him. “If we’re there, he’ll introduce her.”

  The driver halted the coach on High Street near the corner of Wellington Lane. Alexander climbed out first and then assisted Raven and Blaze.

  The sweet shop had a red brick exterior, its sign painted white with yellow letters. A wide window contained an appetizing display of their confections.

  Blaze smiled, her concerns forgotten for the moment. Staring at the candy display made her feel like a child again, but she knew the anticipation was sweeter than the candies.

  “Don’t drool, Freckles,” Alexander teased her. “We can indulge ourselves inside.”

  “I can never decide what I want,” Blaze said, following her sister into the shop. “If I order nougat, then I will be wishing for walnut creams.”

  “You may order both today,” Alexander said.

  The interior of the shop was a delicious confection, its white walls trimmed in cheerful yellow. Several white table and chairs had been set in the rear of the shop for patrons who could not wait to indulge.

  Rows of glass jars containing sugary delights perched on white shelves. There were twists of barley sugar, Wellington sticks, and Nelson’s balls. One long shelf had been reserved for lollipops in every color and flavor imaginable. Other shelves held various creams, fudges, truffles, and nougats.

  “I would like buttercream truffles and orange creams,” Raven told the man. “My sister would like nougats and walnut creams.”

  The proprietor grabbed a sheaf of paper and twisted it into a candy holder which he filled with orange creams and buttercream truffles. He did the same for the walnut creams and nougats. “Anything for you, my lord?”

  “No, thank you.” Alexander paid the proprietor and escorted them to a table in the rear of the shop.

  Blaze reached inside her candy holder and selected a walnut cream. Nougats were her favorite so she saved those to eat last. Closing her eyes, she bit into the walnut cream and savored its sweetness on her tongue.

  The shop door opened. Dirk Stanley and a blond woman entered the sweet shop.

  Alexander rose from his chair, saying, “Wait here.”

  Blaze watched Alexander greeting the earl and his sister. Then he gestured in their direction.

  “You should be supping with Alex at the ball,” Blaze whispered, her gaze on the blonde.

  “Effective spying means supping with the earl,” Raven told her, looking clearly unhappy.

  Alexander returned to the table, saying, “Your idea was a minor stroke of genius. They will join us.”

  Her walnut cream lost its taste.

  Blaze recalled her nanny cautioning her to be careful with what she wished, and now she understood the wisdom in the words. She had wanted to glimpse the stepsister, but the blonde appeared lovely, the image of feminine perfection.

  Blaze glanced at Raven. She would wager her last penny her sister was regretting supping with the earl.

  Carrying candy holders, Dirk Stanley and his sister approached the table. The earl wore a warm smile of greeting, but the blonde possessed a cool stare.

  Alexander stood at their approach. “Miss Amanda Stanley,” he introduced the women, “I present Miss Blaze and Miss Raven Flambeau.”

  Blaze eyed the flawless blonde, comparing herself to her, and losing in the comparison. The blonde was everything she was not and a potential rival for the marquis’s attentions.

  Where had that surprising thought come? Was she developing a fondness for the marquis? Or, had she been developing a fondness for him before the louse decided to blackmail her?

  Was she actually anticipating tonight? If so, she had more in common with her mother than she had thought.

  “Miss Blaze’s filly won The Craven yesterday,” Dirk told his sister, and then looked at her. “I would love to know the secret of how you cured the filly’s balking.”

  “The praise belongs to Ross,” Blaze said. “Pegasus could never have won without his expertise.”

  “My stepbrother is a marquis,” Amanda said, her smile chilly. “You should refer to him as Lord MacArthur.”

  Blaze looked the blonde straight in the eye. “Ross has insisted I use his given name.”

  “Did Pegasus tell you she would win?” Without waiting for a reply, Dirk turned to his sister. “Miss Blaze communicates with animals.”

  Amanda Stanley rolled her eyes at her brother. “I do not believe in such foolishness, and neither do you.”

  “She and her dog gave me a demonstration,” Dirk said.

  Blaze wished she hadn’t done that. Well-bred young ladies did not perform animal tricks. The blonde would gossip about her around Newmarket, and Society would consider her freakish.

  “If my stepsister and I call upon you,” Amanda Stanley said, “will you give us a demonstration?”

  “My sister does not perform for the curious,” Raven said, imitating her stepmother’s haughty tone.

  “I never meant to imply—” Amanda Stanley broke off. “I am sorry.”

  An uncomfortable silence descended over the table.

  “Lord Blake, I hope you do not mind my supping with Miss Raven at the ball,” the earl said, filling the awkward void.

  “Raven may sup with whomever amuses her,” Alexander replied. “Of course, that means I will be supping alone. Unless, Miss Amanda agrees to sup with me.”

  “I would enjoy supping with you, my lord.”

  “Please, call me Alex.”

  Blaze glanced at Raven. Her sister’s expression resembled a woman with a pin stuck in her unmentionables.

  Needing comfort, Blaze bit into a piece of sticky, nut-filled nougat. Without thinking, she turned to her sister, saying, “Mother always insisted nougats tasted like French sunshine.”

  “Our mother passed away several years ago,” Raven told the Stanleys.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Dirk said.

  “Our father suffered with heart problems and passed away many years ago,” Amanda said. “How did your mother die?”


  Mother slit her wrists, Blaze thought but said, “She stopped breathing.”

  “The ache of losing a loved one remains forever in our hearts,” Amanda said, her green gaze warming on Alexander. “Sad emotions seem out of place in this cheery shop.”

  “Well said,” Alexander complimented her. “My own parents are deceased, and I can vouch for the veracity of your sentiment.”

  “The day is fair,” Dirk said. “Perhaps we could stroll down High Street.”

  “I am sorry,” Raven said before Alexander could speak, “but we must decline.”

  “Our stepmother expects us home shortly.” Blaze returned the blonde’s cold gaze with a serene smile that would have made her stepmother proud.

  Chapter Eight

  Anxiety gripped her, making her heartbeat quicken and her breathing shallow.

  Blaze gazed out her bedchamber window and considered what she would soon be doing. Visiting the marquis’s bed could insure a safe haven for God’s creatures, but she doubted God would approve of her rescue method.

  Though born on the wrong side of the blanket, Blaze and her sisters had led sheltered lives as befitting a duke’s daughters. She had never been alone with a gentleman before the marquis’s tour of his stables and family estate.

  Blaze turned away from the window and crossed the chamber to the bed. Drawing the coverlet back, she arranged the pillows in a vertical line and pulled the coverlet up. Anyone peering into the room would believe she slept.

  With her hood cloak draped over her arm, Blaze pressed her ear against the door. No sounds of movement in the hallway. She opened the door and gasped.

  “Are you going somewhere?” Raven stepped into the chamber. “I sensed something amiss.”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  Raven folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the door, blocking her escape. “Tell me now.”

  Blaze knew Raven would not budge until she answered her. “I jockeyed Pegasus in The Craven and now—”

  “You did what?” her sister exclaimed.

  “Shhh.” Blaze placed a finger across her lips. “Peg balked at going through holes to get ahead but would do it when I rode her,” she explained. “The marquis devised a plan for me to replace Rooney, giving us more training time. Now the louse is blackmailing me into his bed.”

  Raven arched a brow, the hint of a smile on her lips. “The marquis is determined to win your hand in marriage.”

  “He proposed an affair, not marriage,” Blaze corrected her. “I cannot allow Rooney and Bender banned from racing, nor will I abandon my animal refuge. Rendezvousing with the devil is my only choice.”

  “We always have a choice,” Raven said. “Would you consider visiting Dirk Stanley’s bed?”

  Blaze grimaced and shook her head. “I could never kiss a bone sucker.”

  “Would you consider visiting the prince’s bed?”

  Blaze shrugged. “I might consider it but would decide against it.”

  “Consider this evening your wedding night.” Raven opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “Use the servants’ stairs.”

  Blaze walked down the hallway to the back stairs. She tried not to hurry lest she arouse the suspicion of anyone who chanced to see her. Reaching the ground level, she nearly collided with the majordomo.

  “You never saw me, Tinker.”

  “Enjoy your evening, Miss Blaze.” His lips twitched as if he would smile. “I will leave the back door unlocked.”

  Stepping into the night, Blaze wrapped her black cloak around herself and pulled its hood up. She would blend into the night if someone peered out a window.

  Blaze walked at a brisk pace through the formal gardens and past the maze. Only the expanse of lawn separated her from the gazebo.

  Lifting her skirts, Blaze sprinted across the lawn and flew up the steps. The gazebo was empty.

  Had the marquis come and gone? What should she do?

  “Yer late, darlin’.”

  Blaze whirled around, relief and anxiety mingling inside her. His husky voice sent the butterflies in her belly winging again.

  “I thought you’d gone.”

  “I’d wait longer than five minutes for ye,” Ross said. “Ten, at least.”

  Blaze knew he was teasing her. “I’m honored.”

  Ross traced a finger down her cheek and dipped his head to plant a brief kiss on her mouth. “My coach is waitin’ beyond the practice track on Snailwell Road.”

  Hand in hand, they hurried to the path leading to the practice track. Overhead, a full moon peeked through thin clouds to light their way.

  “Your coachman will recognize me,” Blaze said, struggling to keep pace with his long-legged stride, “and the gossip will ruin my reputation.”

  “Gossipin’ would mean loss of his job,” Ross assured her, taking smaller steps. “Yer reputation is safe.”

  Reaching the coach, Ross opened the door and helped her up. Then he climbed inside, choosing to sit on the opposite seat.

  The trip to the Rowley Lodge was short and silent. Blaze could not see his eyes clearly in the dark coach but felt his gaze on her. Which made her even more nervous.

  Uncertain of what to expect, Blaze felt awkward and shy. The marquis and she would soon lay naked in his bed, and he would explore her body. She wondered if brides felt like this on their wedding day.

  “Do you think the intruder will return tonight?” Blaze asked, unable to tolerate the tense silence.

  “He willna risk it,” Ross answered, “but I guarantee he’ll find another way to come at us.”

  The coach halted in front of the Rowley Lodge. The marquis climbed out and then helped her down.

  “Most lodgers are drinkin’ at the taverns along High Street,” he said. “Keep yer hood up, though.”

  With his hand on the small of her back, Ross ushered her into the lodge’s nearly deserted common room. A lone patron sat on the far side of the room near the hearth.

  “Walk straight to the stairs,” the marquis said. “Yer doin’ fine.”

  Nerves made her stumble on the third stair. Her hood slipped off, revealing her red hair.

  The marquis yanked it up in an instant. “He didna see yer face.”

  Unlocking his chamber’s door, Ross held it open for her. Blaze hesitated, meeting his black gaze, and then stepped inside.

  The moon shining through the window lit the room enough for Blaze to see while Ross lit a night candle. The room was larger and more comfortable than she had expected though far from the luxury of the great houses. There was a bureau with a washing basin, a chair, a free-standing closet, and a bedside table. Her gaze fixed on the bed.

  Watching her, Ross realized this was their wedding night without benefit of a ceremony. He felt a twinge of guilt that his bride would pass her wedding night at the Rowley Lodge.

  “Let me take yer cloak,” he said.

  “I prefer wearing it.” She clutched her cloak tight and pointed at the bed. “Shall I lay there?”

  Ross hid a smile at her innocence. The brave girl who’d jockeyed a thoroughbred feared being alone with a man. She was a virgin in need of coaxing and wooing. Thankfully, brides were only virgins once. He didn’t think he had the patience to do this every night.

  “I’ll take yer cloak,” Ross said, prying her hands off the garment. “Sit over there.” He refrained from using the word “bed” lest he frighten her even more.

  Ross placed her cloak across a chair and looked at her. She sat stiffer than a corpse on the edge of the bed.

  Removing his jacket, Ross placed it on top of her cloak. Then he poured a measure of whisky into two tumblers and sat beside her.

  “I ken ye dinna like spirits,” he said, “but one drink willna kill ye.”

  Blaze lifted the glass out of his hand, their fingers touching. She had never been so aware of another person in her life.

  Ross touched his glass to hers. “To us, lass.”

  Blaze sipped her whisky an
d set it on the bedside table. Ross placed his glass beside hers.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” she confessed to the opposite wall.

  “I’ll show ye.”

  Gently, Ross cupped her chin and turned her face toward his. He leaned close, his mouth touching hers in a tentative kiss. Her body was rigid, her blue eyes wide with fright.

  “Close yer eyes,” Ross murmured, his lips hovering above hers, his breath warm. “Relax, darlin’, and enjoy the sensations.”

  His mouth captured hers, and his hand massaged the nape of her neck. He felt her body relaxing by slow degrees. She responded, pressing her mouth against his, and he deepened the kiss, inviting her to follow his lead.

  Their kiss was long and languorous. His gentle touch, his mountain heather scent intoxicated her, sending her senses reeling. She returned his kiss with equal ardor, instinctively pressing her body against him.

  Ross wrapped his arms around her, one palm pressed against the small of her back, the other holding her head steady. He flicked his tongue across the crease of her mouth, parting her lips, and slipped it inside to taste her incredible sweetness. Lifting his head, he gazed at her hauntingly lovely face and recognized the budding desire in her eyes.

  His lips hovered above hers. “I love the taste of yer mouth”—his finger caressed the crease of her lips—“the arch of yer brow”—his finger traced its shape—“the curve of yer ears”—his finger circled an ear and slid across her cheek—“the silken feel of ye.”

  His whispered words soothed and excited her. She entwined her arms around his neck, drawing his head down, and kissed him.

  “I love yer natural passion.” His words ignited a heat in her lower regions and a throbbing between her legs.

  Ross laid her back on the bed and hovered over her. Blaze drew him down and kissed him, her lips parting in invitation. His lips became the center of her universe, his strength making her feel secure. They were the only man and woman in the world, and she yearned for his possession.

  Ross brushed his lips across her cheeks, making her smile. His lips traveled down the column of her delicate neck, planting a kiss at the base of her throat.

  “I’m goin’ to undress ye,” he said, unbuttoning the back of her gown. He ran a finger down her delicate backbone.