To Marry A Marquess (A Regency Romance)

by Teresa McCarthy

"No, I—"

  Drake set her away from him. "What do you mean, no?"

  "I mean no, Jonathan. I cannot marry you."

  Drake laughed. "Too late."

  "But what about Nightham? I married him at that inn. I tried to tell you before but you would not listen."

  "No, you did not."

  "Maybe you did not hear me the first time since your kisses stopped whatever explanation I was going to say. But please, you must believe me that I married Nightham, or at least I believe I did, but I have no papers to prove it."

  "I heard you the first time, sweetheart. And I said, no, you did not."

  "I did."

  "Did not."

  She was simply beside herself. "Oh, why do you tease me?"

  "I have information that you were never married to Nightham. The man who was supposed to have performed the ceremony was not a vicar at all, but an imposter, and he was found dead the very next day. I don't have proof, but I believe Wendover may have had something to do with the man's death. The imposter threw in a few words that sounded like a wedding ceremony, and it seems Nightham was duped as well. You have no certificate stating you were married. Nothing was found on Nightham to contradict my findings. The old man, a painter by trade, had done this before. Whether Wendover had something to do with the fraudulent ceremony or the man's death, we will never know. The two witnesses are missing, too. But my sweet, you were never married. Ever. Until now."

  "I was never married?" Her eyes grew wide.

  Suddenly his jaw went taut. "You were not with Nightham later, were you? I mean, as man and wife?"

  She felt the blood surge through her veins at the implications of his words. "I most certainly was not." She lifted her chin. "As you said before, I was not married."

  He let out a light-hearted chuckle. "Sweetheart, then I am your one and only husband." He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her toward him. "And you are my wife." His hungry kiss was a command with promises of things to come.

  "Drake, please. William is but only a few feet away."

  "Almost ten feet," William cried out. "But this pirate can hear everything loud and clear, matie!"

  Drake's chest rumbled with mirth. "Hop in the carriage, William. We will be with you momentarily."

  "Very well, me pirate." But William stayed where he was, watching the two of them with wide, curious eyes.

  Drake turned his most fearsome glare upon the boy. "Now!"

  "Very well!" William groaned and scurried out the door.

  Drake pressed a light kiss on Victoria's open wrist. "I love you, wife. Margueretta loves you, too. She told me so."

  "And I love you and your daughter, me pirate."

  "And I will always love you," his gray eyes twinkled, "even though you are a pauper."

  She pushed him away. "What do you mean, a pauper?"

  "Your trust was not a trust at all. Your great aunt's money was invested in a shipping company that went under. I retrieved that information only recently. The trust seemed solid enough at the time it was made, but evidently there was nothing to it as of two months ago. The credit at the bank is worth nothing. They were as deceived as you were."

  "What about the countess?"

  He laughed. "Nightham's mother will have to hand over everything she bought, including that wee little cottage."

  "The poor lady."

  "Oh, she is not as poor as you believe, sweetheart."

  Victoria smiled, trying to ignore the foreign aching in her limbs. "But I thought you married me for my inheritance."

  "Inheritance be gone. I love you."

  His lips slowly descended to meet hers as his hands moved down her back. She never dreamed it would feel like this.

  "What kind of pirate are you?" William bellowed, peeking through the church doors. "The carriage is waiting to take us to that inn up the road. Are you coming or not? I heard someone say there is only one room left. Hurry up or that will be gone, too."

  After speaking to the vicar and signing some papers, Victoria hurried toward the carriage. Drake followed, his eyes widening in horror as William's comment finally registered in his brain. "One bedchamber? Confound it, Victoria! There must be some mistake. I cannot bear to be with that... boy ... on my wedding night!" He flipped open his pocket watch and scowled.

  "Oh, Jonathan," Victoria said with a twinkle in her eye as she glanced over her shoulder. "It's only one night."

  "One night too many if you ask me."

  "Who was asking?" William screamed from the carriage.

  Victoria bit back a laugh, and before there would be another shooting, she had to kiss her husband long and hard before he would enter the carriage.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Victoria and Drake followed William as the boy burst through the door of Phoebe's townhouse, his feet sounding like a stampede of wild elephants.

  "Anybody home?" he yelled, climbing the stairs.

  George, James, Phoebe, and Sarah appeared at the drawing room doors.

  Phoebe grabbed her little boy, crushing him in her arms. "William. Oh, William!"

  The boy hugged her just as hard. Then he looked up and twisted his lips into a frown, embarrassed by her show of affection. "Mama, I feel like a lemon you squeezed for tea."

  "Victoria." Phoebe sobbed again, hugging her niece. "Are you all right, my dear?" She pulled Victoria back and held her by the shoulders. "Did that madman hurt you?"

  "I'm fine. Truly."

  Drake threw his arm around Victoria's waist. "She will be fine as soon as we have her home." He swallowed his words when Victoria's elbow caught him in the ribs. Blast. It was the same place William had been jabbing him all night. The boy had refused to sleep in the extra bed.

  "Home?" the duke asked, narrowing his brow.

  But before the duke could ask any more questions, Phoebe grabbed Drake by the neck and kissed him on the cheek. "I don't know how to thank you for all you have done for me."

  Drake squeezed Victoria's waist a little tighter. "I take it you received the missive that we were quite fine. But I hate to tell you, I had some rather selfish reasons for finding these two rapscallions myself."

  "But Drake," James broke in, "the story is that you shot Wendover."

  "Wait!" William's hands waved wildly in the air. "I want to tell the story. Me, me, me!"

  All eyes turned his way.

  Victoria laughed. "You may tell everyone the story as soon as we all take a seat. I feel as if I have not slept for days."

  "This way, maties," William said, marching into the drawing room, staring back at Drake and Victoria. "I am waiting for you two to sit down. Or do you want to leave and start kissing again?"

  All heads snapped to Drake and Victoria.

  "Indeed, now that you mention it," Drake drawled, but stopped abruptly when he felt another sharp poke to his back this time—his wife's finger to be precise. "Now that you mention it, I think that maybe I should be the one to begin."

  "No!" William began jumping up and down. "I will! First, I was kidnapped!"

  Victoria tugged Drake toward the sofa.

  The boy drew in a heavy breath as his arm shot toward Victoria. "Then, Vicki was kidnapped! Then the villain gave me a sleeping potion!"

  "Oh, my poor boy," Phoebe wailed.

  George patted her hand. "Go on, William."

  "Then, the villain brought us to a wicked old castle."

  "You mean the coaching inn, William," Victoria said.

  "A castle!" William's jaw jutted forward in defense as he pointed to Drake. "Then our pirate saved us."

  "How did he do that?" James asked, grinning.

  William lifted his finger to his forehead and pulled the trigger. "He shot the villain right between the eyes."

  "William," Victoria admonished. "It was not that way at all."

  But it was too late. Phoebe was out cold, lying on George's lap. Despite the predicament, the duke seemed to be enjoying his hold on Phoebe. He lifted his gaze to the boy. "Go on, William." />
  With Drake's help, the story of Wendover's demise continued with the added note of Lord Nightham's murder at the inn.

  William plopped himself on the Aubusson rug. "The next thing that happened was the wedding."

  "Wedding?" everyone asked in unison. Phoebe woke up.

  "Yes, the wedding!" William ran to the sofa and threw his arms around Victoria and Drake. "We were married!"

  The newlyweds left Phoebe's townhouse two hours later with Victoria's trunks in tow. When the carriage door closed, Drake drew in a deep breath. He was finally alone with his new bride.

  However, before the vehicle moved on its way, Drake turned in surprise when he heard William's voice, bellowing like a foghorn at the bottom steps of the townhouse. "Wait, me pirate!"

  Drake gazed out the window in disgust. The boy's feet were slapping hard against the walk.

  "Wait!" William shouted, waving his hands.

  Without hesitation, Drake grabbed the attention of the driver. "Move, Henry! Now! Double your wages this week if you lose him!" The horses moved faster.

  Victoria's dark lashes swept off her cheeks in surprise. "But Jonathan, could we not—"

  "No, we certainly cannot!" In one swift jerk he pulled his wife onto his lap.

  "But what about William?" She laughed and turned her ear toward the curtained window. "What is he yelling about?"

  "Who cares?"

  She frowned.

  Drake blew out a tired sigh. "Very well. I believe he said something about a wedding gift."

  "A gift?"

  He lifted her chin with his finger. "Forget about the gift. I love you."

  "Oh, Jonathan. I love you, too."

  He slipped a hand to her hip and could hear the thumping of her heart as his mouth swooped down to capture hers.

  And then she screamed.

  He yelped in shock as his new wife flew off his lap and ended up in the corner of the carriage. It happened so suddenly, Drake thought it was a dream. But he watched in horror as his wife crumpled into a tight little ball of shivering fear.

  Despite the horrid fact that the exact moment he touched her, she had blasted his eardrums straight to hell, it took him five wretched seconds to deduce the exact cause of her scream was not because of him.

  "Confound it all," he snapped. "I cannot believe this."

  Victoria's arms flew wildly in the air as she scooted further into the corner. "Remove it at once! Jonathan! Pleeeease!"

  "It's only Whitie." Drake stated in stupefied amazement as he grabbed the mouse off his wife's quivering legs and dangled the little beast by its tail.

  "Are you laughing at me?" she asked. "Because, if you are, so help me ..."

  She left the threat unsaid, and Drake grimaced, swallowing his chuckle as thoughts of that little pirate invaded his mind. He stared at the shivering creature hanging mercilessly in the air, its pink feet running nowhere fast.

  "Do you understand, sweetheart?"

  Victoria's brows slammed into a large V. "No, I do not!"

  Drake smiled, watching a pair of dainty ankles tilt his way. "This," he wiggled the mouse, "is William's wedding gift. He must have put the beast inside the carriage before we were packed. I’m assuming it’s Whitie, but it could be one of his offspring. Don’t know how long a mouse lives."

  "Oh," was all she said when Drake plopped the poor little creature inside one of her hat boxes, replacing the lid.

  "Come here, sweetheart." Drake grinned and gently eased her on his lap. Her hold on his heart tightened. Precision and order in his life had flown out the window the minute he had laid eyes on this woman. But who cared about order in his life? Not him. Not anymore.

  "And Whitie or whoever it is will not chew through that box?" she asked, clutching him tightly.

  "Trust me, sweetheart."

  "Oh, Jonathan, I do trust you. Always." She put a soft hand to his cheek.

  When his wife's shaking hands circled his neck, he groaned. Yes, indeed, he would have to thank that little pirate many times over for the little wedding gift. And to think he only had to ask for a few of those furry gifts whenever his wife was angry with him. He would have her in his arms in no time. Yes, marriage would be wonderful.

  "Jonathan?"

  "Hmmm?" He glanced over her shoulder and took a quick peek at his pocket watch. Time was of the essence here. He snapped the watch closed and placed it on the seat. If everything went as planned, he would be at his townhouse in seven and a half minutes. Up the stairs. In his chambers—

  "Jonathan, I said I loved you."

  "I love you, too. For all time. Now trust me and don't worry. Not even about Captain Whitie or whoever. He's safe and secure. There is no way out." He watched a smile play across her lips and kissed her with all the passion he had held in for months.

  He had no notion that only two feet away, a small white mouse peered through a freshly bitten hole in one red-striped hat box, and was chewing as fast as its little teeth could to rejoin the party.

  This time Victoria's scream slammed clear down to Drake's toes. He jerked back, biting back an oath.

  "Depend upon it! I am going strangle that cousin of yours!"

  To Drake's horror, the mouse scampered off Victoria's skirt and moved beneath the seat, dragging Drake's beloved timepiece behind him like some prized medal won in battle.

  "Devil take it! Look at that!"

  Victoria giggled. "It looks as if your time is gone forever, my lord."

  Pausing, he shifted his gaze back to her. "Well, what the devil are we going to do about that hideous beast?"

  "Confound it all," she said. "Forget about it."

  His jaw dropped. "What did you say?"

  She smiled. "Forget about the time, Jonathan. Trust me." With a saucy smile, she snaked her hands around his neck and brought her lips to his ear. "We can make our own time now."

  After those endearing words, she kissed him, ending all discussion about the mouse that had by now found a hole in the floorboard, and was dropping a certain gold pocket watch onto the cobblestone streets below.

  The ceremonious clank turned Victoria's head. But to Jonathan Gorick Kingston, the Marquess of Drakefield, he heard nothing but the whispers of silk and lace.

  He had lost all track of time, all track of order, all track of anything and everything but love.

  ONCE UPON A DIAMOND

  Excerpt, Copyright © Teresa McCarthy, 2012

  All rights reserved

  Chapter One

  England

  The blasted diamond was nothing but trouble. Tristan Charles Fullerton combed a hand through his jet-black hair as he stood in the middle of the grand foyer of Lancewood Hall, a half day’s ride from London. Rain pelted the door beside him as thunder rumbled through the darkened sky. He peeled off his wet cloak, his jaw tightening. The weather was horrid, but it was nothing compared to the storm swirling in his soul.

  A frown marred his brow as he raised a hand to the missive tucked inside his jacket. Indeed, the clandestine orders from the Foreign Office could spawn more trouble than the notion of the Prince Regent and Napoleon sharing a mistress.

  He squinted at the swaying silhouette approaching from the dimly lit hallway. His lips twitched as the hammering rain mingled with the sound of the butler’s shoes clacking unevenly against the marble floor. “Perkins?”

  “Evening, my lord.”

  Tristan lifted a black brow at the pungent smell of spirits drifting his way. “Good evening. Delightful weather we’re having, is it not?”

  “Delightful?” Perkins frowned, his leathery face crinkling with displeasure. The older man stood beside Tristan, shaking the rainwater off his master’s black cloak. A row of silver buttons winked against the light from the chandelier above them. “Would think that Little Corsican himself is knocking at the door.”

  Tristan grinned and slapped the water off his breeches. Devil take it. Perkins was a stubborn old crow. He had told the man to let the younger servants answer the evening cal
ls.

  “Why, if I had a chance at him,” Perkins gave the wet cloak another shake, accidentally sending a silver button clanking to the floor, “He would be mincemeat, my lord.”

  For a second, the old butler stopped his tirade against Napoleon, stooped down to pick up the lost button, and slowly unfolded his body. “Pure mincemeat.”

  Tristan pressed his lips together to suppress a chuckle. “My dear Perkins, I do believe Boney’s somewhere else at the moment. A little place called St. Helena.”

  The butler raised a white brow as if digesting that thought. “Indeed. I would have saved England time and money if they sent him to me. Young people today don’t know a thing about war, you know.” With a proud jerk of his head, Perkins turned and began swerving back down the hall, announcing he would have the valet take care of the button in no time.

  Tristan shook his head as he strode toward the stairs. It was fortunate his business in Town had been a success. The family coffers had been swiftly dwindling due to his father’s quest, and that had put a strain on everyone, including the servants.

  In need of a drink, Tristan started toward the library, favoring his right leg as he climbed the stairs. Hell and spitfire, if it hadn’t been for that American chit years ago, his foot wouldn’t be throbbing like a fat man’s gout.

  Ambling past the thick oak doors, he raised his gaze to the eerie glow of the solitary candle shimmering on top of the marble mantelpiece above the hearth. A deep sigh rumbled in the air, and he froze. His gaze shifted to his younger brother seated in the leather chair. “Edward?”

  Holding his breath, Tristan took a hesitating step forward. The young man’s broad shoulders were slumped over their father’s desk, his head resting near the ink well.

  With a groan, the twenty-two-year-old slowly raised his head, brushing a limp hand through his sandy brown hair, breaking the awkward silence. “Trist, thank heaven you’re here.”

  The strain in Edward’s voice sent a prickle of alarm down Tristan’s spine. “What’s wrong?”

  Frowning, Edward flagged a paper in the air. “He’s dead, Tristan. It’s all right here.”