To Marry A Marquess (A Regency Romance)

by Teresa McCarthy

  "It's only a mouse, Wilkins."

  "Do you mind, my lord?" Wilkins stopped quivering, but his feet stayed on the sofa, waiting for the object to be extricated.

  Drake looked up, hiding his grin. "You want me to remove Cap'n Whitie?"

  The solicitor gasped in horror. "It ... it has a name?"

  "It does," Drake answered as if it were a common occurrence for every mouse to have its own name.

  When the cup started to move again, brushing along the rug in a zigzag fashion, Wilkins almost toppled the entire sofa to the floor. A second later, both men's gazes lifted to the sound of a giggle that emerged from behind one of the wing chairs situated near the door to the hall.

  "William, come here this instant!" Drake's stern voice sliced through the air. The maid had come in only minutes ago to serve lemon cakes. Obviously, some other things must have slipped in as well.

  A head of tight yellow curls peeked out from behind the chair, followed by a set of laughing blue eyes.

  But the moment the small boy's gaze hit Drake's darkened face, all signs of mirth disappeared.

  " 'Tis only me second in command," William announced with his head held high as he scampered toward his prized possession and scooped it up, cup and all. "Whitie was on the lookout for the villain."

  At that moment the little mouse decided to poke its head out of the cup, its nose sniffing and wiggling in fright.

  Wilkins groaned. The boy gave a snicker and left the room.

  But Drake was no longer smiling. He had not approached Wendover about the marks on Victoria's neck due to the earl's timely retreat from his father's house. And he had avoided approaching the subject with Victoria, but today she was much better. He would seek her out and finally discover her secrets.

  "Villain, indeed," the solicitor said coolly.

  Now that the gruesome beast was gone, Wilkins scrambled down from his perch. "I say, we did give the tot a good show." He cleared his throat, pulling his jacket taut and straightening his pantaloons. "By Jove, the boy truly believed I was afraid of that pathetic little thing."

  Drake tightened his lips, his eyes widening at the ease in which his solicitor had changed his tune so quickly. "Indeed. Quite a show, I daresay. You do have a way with children and animals, Wilkins. The boy seemed to think you were truly scared."

  "Humph. Me? Scared? Preposterous!" As if nothing had happened, Wilkins grabbed the papers resting on the table, his hands trembling as he handed the stack to his employer. "I will look into Wendover's background." He nodded shakily, said his farewells, and was out the door in a blink of an eye.

  Drake's shoulders shook with laughter. A flash of blue zipped by the doors. Dear, little, mischievous William. That boy would haunt the duke until his dying days.

  After placing the papers in the desk in the library, Drake started for Victoria's chambers. She had no idea the true reason Nightham wanted to marry her. Oh, her beauty was unquestionable, but the conversation with Wilkins had shed more light on the matter. Nightham had needed an heiress to emerge from his debts, and Victoria had been his answer.

  Fury almost choked Drake as he thought about Charles.

  He stopped in front of Victoria's bedchamber door. In three days, it would be her birthday. A smile crossed his face. He would have a party for her with all the trimmings. Cake. People. Music. Dancing. A waltz or two to hold her close. A walk in the gardens. A kiss. Maybe two—

  "Jonathan?"

  Drake spun around. His grandmother stood behind him.

  "What are you doing here, young man?"

  Yes, what was he doing here? He felt as though he were a child, sneaking a piece of chocolate cake from the cupboards and his grandmother had caught him red-handed— again.

  He was not a mere pup, he was twenty-seven years old, and yet here he was trying to defend himself. "I, uh, came to see if Victoria needed anything."

  "Fustian." His grandmother's cool stare hit him smack dab between the eyes. "If she needs anything, she can pull the cord for a servant. Believe it or not, she will be up and around tomorrow. So, stop your fretting. You've seen enough of her the past few days. Let her recuperate."

  Her eyes darted toward the door that was slightly ajar, and she lowered her voice. "Besides, she's sleeping. I gave her some laudanum in her lemonade earlier. She won't wake for hours."

  She took his arm in a gentle grasp. "I know you have feelings for her, but remember, she is not another Honoria. Victoria is different. She's an innocent. I will not have you playing with her feelings. I will not permit it." She looked him sternly in the eye. "But do you love her, Jonathan?"

  Drake felt as if the lady had boxed his ears with a hammer. Victoria was not Honoria. But love her?

  "I don't know," he said coolly.

  His grandmother paused. "Why was Wilkins here today? Could the man not wait until you returned to London?"

  Drake noted the stubborn set of her chin. She would have her answers or she would have his head. "I needed some information. He is my man of business."

  "What kind of information? About Victoria? I am privy to all your secrets about her, you know."

  "She told you?"

  "No. You did."

  "Me? I would have remembered anything like that."

  Her gray eyes sharpened like needles. "You, James, and Fox."

  Drake thought back to the day James and Fox came to see him at Percy Hall, and his expression stilled. "You heard everything?"

  "Everything I needed to know." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Nightham. His death. The entire escapade. Of course, you can count on me to keep everything in the strictest confidence."

  He threw up his hands and let out a muttered curse.

  "So," his grandmother went on, ignoring his outburst, "you may proceed to tell me the real reason Wilkins was visiting, or should I use other sources available to me to uncover the information?"

  "Other sources?" He gave a muffled laugh.

  "Do not dare mock me, Jonathan. I do have my ways."

  "Grandmama, you are going to send me to an early grave. But just to stifle your curiosity, Wilkins did some detective work for me. I had him investigate Nightham's past, and Victoria's."

  She lifted a brow. "And?"

  He pushed a hand through his hair. The lady would not give way on this matter. He had heard rumors that many years ago she had even cornered the king on a certain subject at a Christmas ball. Something about the colonies and their freedom. Whatever the discussion, the king had avoided her at all costs after that. Perhaps it was one of the reasons King George had gone mad, he mused.

  But knowing it was probably safer keeping his grandmother in his confidence than having her poking her nose where she shouldn't, he took hold of her elbow and escorted her down the hall. "Very well. But this must be held in the strictest confidence. All the papers are downstairs on the library desk..."

  Victoria sat up in her bed, clutching the coverlet to her breast. She had listened to the entire conversation with rising dismay. And she had thought of marrying that wretch! How could he hire someone to investigate her? Who did he think he was? The King of England?

  She had almost told him everything. Why on earth did she think she could trust him?

  She stared at the lemonade still sitting on her nightstand, then shifted her gaze back to the door. He had told James and Fox about Nightham and her, as if it were nothing at all. And now his grandmother knew everything as well?

  His disloyalty burned a path straight to her heart. Trusting the man was out of the question. What if she had told him about Wendover? Would he have disclosed that information to others, placing William in danger?

  No, she could never let that happen. She must have been insane to think she could spill her secrets to him.

  A wave of pure sadness rippled through her heart. She had thought he loved her and would keep her secrets to himself. What a fool she had been. He had never told her he loved her. I don't know, he had said. Her throat ached with a terrible sens
e of loss. She knew then that she could never be distracted by her foolish emotions again.

  He did not love her.

  She wiped her hand across her eyes, determined to do what was needed. She would proceed with her own investigation and see exactly what those papers held. After gathering all the facts, she would decide what to do about Wendover and his threats.

  At two in the morning, she did just that and found herself in the library, paging through the papers Wilkins had left for the marquess. Shocked at what she found, she sank back into the wing chair, taking a quick glance at the doors to make certain they were closed.

  A lone candle flickered beside her, illuminating the room.

  Wave after wave of disbelief slapped her as she flipped through the papers on her lap. What an idiot she had been. Nightham had so many debts she could scarcely tally the total. The man had not a rag to his name. She was stunned. He had deceived her. Used her. Married her! Or had he? She was so confused, she could barely think.

  And then there was the thought of his poor mother who probably had nothing at all. The insufferable man!

  But it was the fact her great aunt, whom she had seen only once when she was six years old, had set up a trust for her, leaving her eighty thousand pounds to inherit on her twenty-second birthday, that had truly shocked her.

  Nightham's deceit clawed at her heart. He had wanted to marry her for her trust. He had needed her money. He had lied to her. Sought her out and wooed her. Though there had been no love between them, she had thought they had been honest about the reasons they had married.

  The smiles. The lies. The vows. The extent of his deception made her ill. Not able to look at the papers anymore, she doused the candle on the table beside her and sat alone in the darkness. Tears choked her throat.

  She wondered if this was the reason that the marquess had finally proposed marriage. How long had he known about her trust?

  She buried her head in her hands. And then there were her problems with Wendover. Wendover!

  Her head snapped up, and a sickening heat began to spread through her as the reality of the circumstances started seeping into her brain. Wendover wanted her money, too!

  Her birthday was only days away. She would have to distance herself from everything and everyone as soon as possible.

  Wendover would seek her out. Drake would seek her out. She couldn't trust him now. Even the scandal with Nightham would haunt her and her family until she could bear no more. She had to uncover the truth as to whether she had been legally married to Nightham.

  Overwhelmed, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. There was nothing else to do but leave Percy Hall immediately. Most of all, she had to escape Wendover. William would be safe if she were not around. Wendover would not dare to do anything to the boy with that much money at stake and her missing. She knew the one place she needed to go, and that was Nightham Manor.

  There were many places to hide in London, but peace would never come to her until she told Nightham’s mother the truth about that night at the inn.

  She needed to make things right. And if the lady were in need of funds, Victoria would have the means to take care of her. She just hoped the countess would understand and let her stay there until she decided what to do next.

  "Pssssst. Psssst, ye pirate!"

  Drake's head lifted off his pillow, and he became instantly awake. His gaze narrowed on the shadow hovering in his bedchamber doorway. "William? What the devil are you doing out of bed at this hour?"

  "I came to save the princess." The boy walked into the room, his legs swaggering like a pirate on the high seas.

  "Ah," Drake sat up straighter. "The princess." If it had not been the middle of the night, he might have laughed.

  William reached for Drake's forearm. "I heard crying."

  Drake listened. A blast of air howled against the windowpane. "It's only the wind."

  The little boy dug his heels into the floor, pulling with all his might on Drake's arm. "She's crying. Now, do I have to go there meself or are you coming with me? I know ye love her, so you should be the one taking care of her."

  Drake narrowed his eyes. He could not hear his daughter crying. Margueretta slept like a log, and when she cried, everyone in the household knew it. But William seemed beside himself. Perhaps Margueretta was ill. Drake flipped his legs over the side of the bed. "Hand me my breeches over there."

  William turned and hurried across the floor, dragging the breeches off the chair.

  Drake slipped them on. "How long has she been crying?" And where was her nanny?

  "Hmmm." William pulled his fingers across his chin as if he were a fifty-year-old seaman with a beard. "I would say that she has been crying for almost ten million hours."

  Drake met the boy's solemn eyes. Dash it all, what did the boy have cooked up in that head of his? "That long?"

  "Pirates never lie. Ye should know that. What do ye take me for, a landlubber or something?"

  "Now, now, don’t take offense. Some pirates do lie. But I do believe you are not that type of pirate."

  William threw out his chest with pride.

  Smiling, Drake grabbed a candle from his bedside, lit it, and proceeded past the door and into the hall.

  William and his second in command padded closely behind.

  As soon as Drake stopped by Margueretta's room, William spoke, "Why would ye be going in there?"

  Drake opened Margueretta's door a crack. "To see if she's crying like you said. But truth be told William, my little girl is sleeping like a bear. Listen to her snore."

  William tugged impatiently on Drake's arm. "If you wake her up, we will never be able to help Vicki."

  Drake snapped the door closed. "What do you mean, Vicki?"

  "Who did ye think we were talking about, the Queen?"

  "See here, young man, you will not talk to me in that tone, do you hear me?"

  In the dimness of the candlelight, William took a faltering step back. "Yes, your lordship pirate. I hear you loud and clear." He shot Drake a firm salute.

  "Blast." It was hard to stay mad at the lad. "Now, what is this nonsense about Vicki crying? I hear nothing."

  William cocked an ear toward the stairs. "Yes, me pirate. You are quite right. She has stopped and it is all your fault." He sent Drake a disgusted look. "If you had not taken so long waking up, we could have taken care of her."

  "Is she in her bedchamber?"

  "Probably." William stomped his foot, as if quite perturbed to have the night end. "You don't move like a pirate."

  Drake could not believe he had been pulled out of bed on this wild goose chase. "Go to bed, William. Now!"

  William scrunched his blue eyes and hurried to his room. However, Drake was not surprised when the boy stopped in front of his door and glanced back for the last word.

  "But I tell ye, me pirate," he said with a lift of his chin that looked all too familiar, "she was crying. I think you had too many cannonballs to the head."

  With a candle illuminating the hallway, Drake, half naked, blinked in surprise as William hurried into his bedchamber and closed the door.

  After a few seconds, Drake shook his head and decided, grandmother or no grandmother, he had to see if Victoria was sleeping soundly. He walked to the end of the hall toward Victoria's bedchambers. For some reason, the thought of her weeping sent a surge of protectiveness through him.

  He came to an abrupt stop outside her bedchamber and saw that her door was halfway open. Glancing over his shoulder, feeling like some naughty schoolboy ready to be caught by his grandmother, he slipped silently into the room. His gaze turned toward the bed, where a pile of crumpled linens and scattered pillows lay.

  "Victoria?" he whispered and came closer.

  He squinted in the darkness. She wasn't there.

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He looked over his shoulder and strode toward the door. Where was she? Maybe she had been crying.

  He hastened down the stairs, hoping
to find her in the kitchen, sneaking a glass of milk or munching on a slice of bread. But a sixth sense told him something else was wrong. In fact, in the back of his mind, he knew something had been plaguing Victoria ever since he had met her at the inn. He should have confronted her when he had the chance.

  There was a noise in the library. He stopped on the stairs and listened. A disturbing thought suddenly occurred to him. Had Victoria heard his conversation with his grandmother? He had planned to tell Victoria about Nightham and the trust on her birthday. Moreover, he had been trying to think of a delicate way of telling her about Nightham's wretched scheme.

  Another sound. Softer, this time. A whimper? Devil take it. Maybe it was too late for any of that now.

  Dreading what he would find, he stalked forward and opened the library door, searching the darkness. He raised the candle up higher, stepping into the room.

  "When were you going to tell me, my lord?"

  He turned sharply. Victoria's shadowed figure was huddled in the wing chair beside the desk. She wore a blue satin robe that glimmered against his light. She looked enchanting with the ruffles of her white nightgown peeking over her slippered feet, but it was the glint of anger in her misty turquoise eyes that told him the true story. She knew about Nightham and the trust.

  Holding the flame high, he took a step toward her. "Sweetheart, I was going to—"

  "Sweetheart?" She choked out a pitiful laugh. "You dare call me sweetheart after you snooped into my life."

  Trying to bide for time, he moved to light the candle resting on the table beside her.

  She stood. "I cannot believe you would go so low as to investigate your friend, Nightham, as well as me."

  He turned toward her. "I thought I was doing you a favor."

  "Because you believe yourself above others, you delve into people's lives as if they had no feelings? You were not doing me a favor, my lord. I daresay, you were satisfying your curiosity."