THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2

by Nicola Davidson

  Finn also stood. “Oh, indeed, I will say something. Three things in fact. First, I endorse everything my wife just said. Second, I suggest you remember she is Marchioness of Pinehurst and outranks you. Third, in future you will remain on your side of Hanover Square, for any visits will be strictly written invitation only. Each of my staff will be informed, and if you cannot present an invitation, the door shall be slammed in your face.”

  Pippa smiled, although it might have been more a baring of fangs. “Now, once again, Grandmother, state your purpose or leave.”

  Lady Kingsford gripped her reticule. “I…Lord Campbell…”

  “Let us all go and discover his purpose,” said Finn, offering Pippa his arm. “Then you and him both may leave.”

  As her grandmother was forced to trail behind them, Pippa glanced up at her husband as they walked to the parlor. He winked and covered her hand with his.

  I love you.

  The words crashed into her mind with the force of a battering ram. But when examined with all the cool logic she could summon, there was no recoil or dithering. Only certainty.

  She loved Finlay Knighton, Marquess of Pinehurst. The way he supported her wholeheartedly, as he had done for sixteen years. The way he liked her just as she was. That he could stand his ground in an argument but also chide her without cruelty or spite. That he was a man she could cuddle on a chaise and read with. And last but certainly not least, there was his cock. His tongue. His fingers. And his hairy chest.

  Gracious, she might have to write a list so she didn’t accidentally forget one of his many superior attributes. Then tonight when they had privacy, when there were no breakfast dishes or footmen, no devil’s unofficial handmaiden or puritanical baron cooling their heels in the parlor, she would inform him of his full promotion to Pippa’s Hero.

  Not just satisfactory, but ode worthy in every way.

  A few minutes later, they strolled arm in arm into the small and shabby yellow parlor, a space that probably hadn’t been entered for at least a few decades. As all the furniture was draped in sheets, Lord Campbell stood in the middle of the room, his arms folded and a dark scowl twisting his face.

  “Well, boy?” the baron snapped. “Have you taken your wife in hand after that shocking display in the dining room? No good comes from permitting a saucy tongue. No good at all.”

  Pippa fluttered her lashes at Finn. “My lord husband?”

  He turned and studied Lord Campbell as one might a fresh pile of manure. “I am not a boy, my lord. I am Marquess of Pinehurst. I have asked you to leave this house previously when you displayed poor manners, but today you think to give me or my wife instructions? No. Not now, not ever. We did ask Lady Kingsford about your purpose here, but she struggled to articulate it. Perhaps you will do better.”

  Pippa almost laughed; the cheeks of both visitors had gone scarlet, and it was a marvelous thing. Although not quite as marvelous as having a husband who stood at her side and fired across the bow at will. Indeed, on the good ship Pinehurst, the captain and first mate role could switch at any given moment. After regaining control, she murmured, “Lord Campbell?”

  The baron lifted his chin. “Your husband was tasked with identifying the scum responsible for a business by the name of Bliss. The nature of said business is far too immoral for the delicate ears of ladies; suffice to say they must be forced from the city. Lady Kingsford accompanied me here today, for she supported the late Lord Pinehurst in his great endeavor and wishes to assist me in continuing it.”

  “There is enough sin in London as it is,” said the dowager. “And I believe young, high-ranking members of the aristocracy are involved in this Bliss.”

  Pippa froze at the barely veiled insinuation, but managed to send her a sour look. “What did I say before about your opinion? Unwanted.”

  Her grandmother’s shoulders drooped. “Your tone is unbecoming.”

  “How unfortunate.”

  “I was tasked,” said Finn irritably, “as you so charmingly put it, with this yesterday. Exactly what did you think would be achieved in the space of twenty-four hours?”

  “What? There is no time to waste!” said Lord Campbell, a fervent, almost unholy glow in his eyes. “Indulge me with your plan. Are you making enquiries? Have you met with any of the ladies who received lewd material? Perhaps sent some men to the post office to discover who collects the mail then follow them to their place of business?”

  Pippa gritted her teeth. How Lady Campbell, who seemed like a warm and delightful woman, had survived being married to this toad, she would never understand. No wonder Finn had sent the baroness a romance novel. Perhaps she should start her own salon here at Pinehurst House and invite such ladies to read and discuss their favorites. “As my husband said, the matter will be treated with all appropriate care and diligence. Was there anything else?”

  Lady Kingsford shark-smiled. “I must enquire after your wellbeing, Pippa dear. Has the Golden Square matter…or should I say matters…been resolved? You were so distraught.”

  Oh. One last stand from the defeated. But before Pippa could rip her to shreds, the baron frowned and said, “Golden Square? Nothing but artistic types. Damned ungodly area, trying to be respectable and failing.”

  “Precisely,” said the dowager. “Lord Pinehurst keeps a house there for two special residents. An unwed woman and a young child.”

  “Housing bastards? Never you say!”

  Pippa exchanged a murderous glance with Finn. After hearing the evidence, no court in the land would convict her of dowagercide. “Surely you aren’t referring to Mrs. Overton, the late Lord Pinehurst’s goddaughter? I have met her, and her child, on several occasions. Charming woman. To claim anything else is slander, the kind that gets a person publicly banished to a one roomed cottage on the Scottish border. No soirees. No salons. No diamonds. A complete pariah. Forever.”

  Her grandmother went ashen and took a step back. “I see.”

  “It’s time to end this visit,” said Finn. “Alas, I’ve just recalled an urgent appointment that my wife and I must attend. Good day, Lady Kingsford. Lord Campbell.”

  Given no other choice, their two elderly guests both inclined their heads the barest inch before sweeping from the room.

  Pippa gripped Finn’s hand, if only to stop herself running after them and hurling porcelain figurines. “I won’t see her again. Ever. Only Grandmother would have the gall to call me Pippa dear then try and hurt me once more. She is the villain that must be shot between the eyes, Finn. Not the chest or the shoulder or the stomach, directly between the eyes. And the only bullet is the removal of her power. If she so much as sniffs in my direction, I will strap her to the roof of the Pinehurst carriage and escort her north myself.”

  “Sounds like an excellent plan. I’ll even include a year’s supply of porridge,” said Finn, stroking her hand until her heartbeat slowed. “Do you know, in my more fanciful moments, I wonder if we were brought together so we’d each have someone to stand with against my father and your grandmother.”

  “Blessed be, Gunter’s Ices,” she said, smiling reluctantly.

  “After that, we deserve the largest brown bread ice ever made. But first we must hire more footmen for Golden Square; I’m not comfortable with Campbell knowing where my sister lives. I’ll go to the same employment agency as last time; let’s just say they offer staff with uncommon and particular skills.”

  Pippa nodded. “To the carriage!”

  She didn’t trust her grandmother. Finn didn’t trust Lord Campbell.

  With those two combined, an overabundance of caution was more than wise, it was a necessity.

  The Gordon Agency was located on Charlotte Street, a nondescript two-story townhouse made of red brick with a collection of potted plants on the second-floor balcony. But inside was a hive of activity; men and women bustling about as they learned how to be first class maids, footmen, valets…and bodyguards.

  Finn and Pippa were swiftly ushered to the comfortable
first-floor office where Octavia Gordon, the middle-aged and endlessly calm proprietor, completed interviews and took care of paperwork. She had been the housekeeper for two prominent families, and after turning down a rather staggering sum to oversee a third, had opened her own business. Her husband Nicholas was a former prize fighter, so they tolerated no nonsense whatsoever. He liked them both immensely.

  “Ah,” said the ebony-haired, creamy-skinned Octavia, bobbing a curtsy before returning to sit behind her large oak desk. “Lord Knighton…no, do excuse me. Lord Pinehurst. Such a lovely surprise, but first do allow me to offer my condolences on the recent death in the family. That has changed life for you quite considerably.”

  Finn inclined his head, once again greatly appreciating a phrase other than your loss. “It has indeed. I also recently married; may I present my wife, Lady Pinehurst. Pippa, this is Mrs. Octavia Gordon, owner of the agency providing the finest and best trained staff in London.”

  “That is us,” Octavia replied warmly. “And I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Pinehurst. My dear husband is downstairs teaching right now; I believe this afternoon the topic is how to break a nose with the heel of one’s hand. Later, I shall be demonstrating how to pick locks. You would not believe how many disasters have been averted due to this skill. Keys to doors, chests, desks, and secret compartments often go mysteriously missing, but my people ensure no one will ever be trapped in a cellar or lose access to estate deeds or an official will.”

  “That is most reassuring,” said Finn. “Although today we’ll be requiring new staff with the nose-breaking rather than the lock-picking skill.”

  The agency owner’s gaze sharpened. “An incident at your home? Or over at Golden Square?”

  “Neither,” said Pippa. “It’s more…prevention than cure.”

  “I see. While I am a firm advocate for caution, what events lead you to believe that prevention is necessary?”

  Finn’s lips twisted. “A dead rat with an ominous note. Sent to a post office box.”

  Leaning back in her padded chair, Octavia tapped her fingers on her pointed chin. “I wondered if this might happen. London is an odd city, almost at constant war with itself. Like the Yorks and the Lancasters, except it is the hedonists and the purists, with a different victor each century. No matter how modern or free-thinking a body is, and as you know, I certainly admire and share a progressive stance toward pleasure, you cannot just open that sort of business and expect all to accept it, my dear marquess. Do they have the address yet?”

  “I’m not sure,” admitted Finn, reassured by her unflappable nature. He already knew Octavia to be discreet, but it was a unique issue: bodyguards needed for a secret pleasure toy business owned by the son of a recently deceased peer infamous for his moralistic rants. “However, a certain baron has taken over the crusade against Bliss and is extremely determined…you might have seen the scandal sheet?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Such slander against my beloved romance novels is not to be borne. I did laugh at the headline, though. Husbands Vow No More Bliss. Someone at that scandal sheet is either a pompous fool or has a wicked sense of humor.”

  “Oh, I quite agree,” said Pippa, smoothing her black gown. “When I read it, I was torn between slapping them or inviting them to tea.”

  Octavia chuckled, before reaching for a leather-bound notebook. Much like Abby, the woman kept meticulous records, and although the thought of it made his head ache, he was grateful for her attention to detail. The Gordon Agency didn’t just provide staff to households, they personally matched them based on skills required and personal preferences. Whether an employer wanted ten handsome blond footmen all precisely six feet tall, a lady’s maid who picked locks and styled hair with equal aplomb, or a nursery maid who’d birthed ten children and could soothe a fretful baby with a glance, this was the agency to assist. “Now. How many nose-breakers are you requiring, my lord? Two? Four? Did you want just men, just women, or a mix?”

  “I think—”

  “Pinehurst!”

  At the faint call, Finn frowned and turned to Pippa. “Did you hear that?”

  “I did,” she replied. “It sounded like it came from outside…Mrs. Gordon, do you happen to have a vantage point where you can see but can’t be seen?”

  The older woman nodded in approval. “A cautious lady is an intelligent one. Beside the curtain there, you see the small leather patch? Lift it up.”

  “How clever. It’s a glass lens. This wall has spectacles!” squeaked Pippa, her whole face lighting up before she leaned down and peered into it. “Er, Finn…it looks like Lady Campbell down there beside the carriage. Oh dear. She looks…anxious.”

  As though the baroness had heard, the call came again. “Pinehurst! I must speak with you urgently!”

  Finn stood and bowed to Octavia. “I believe I’ll hire four nose-breakers. Two men, two women. But I may need them sooner rather than later, for that lady on the street is the wife of the peer leading the protest against Bliss.”

  “I’ll go and fetch Mr. Gordon,” she replied decisively, also getting to her feet. “It will take a day or so to select the best for the task, but if you need assistance right now, I know he would gladly go with you.”

  “He would?” said Finn, a trifle startled.

  Octavia laughed. “I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed your naughty gift. Now, you two go and see what the lady wants.”

  With Pippa close behind him, Finn hurried out of the office and down the stairs to the front door of the agency. Octavia’s butler opened it for them, bowing as they continued outside to the carriage where the baroness waited.

  “Lady Campbell,” called Finn, waving.

  She turned and pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank heavens. Pinehurst. Lady Pinehurst. All of my staff have been out searching for you; what a relief when a maid spotted your crested carriage, that you were here in Charlotte Street and not further afield.”

  “Why?” he asked evenly, feigning calm to get the story even as his heart began to thump erratically. “What do I need to know?”

  “It’s Campbell,” the baroness said. “The damned fool got a maggot in his head after he and Lady Kingsford visited you; apparently he was insulted beyond bearing, and has now gone to Golden Square of all places. He thinks you are the owner of Bliss, and aims to, and I quote, stop the filth spreading further.”

  Pippa gasped. “Oh no. Oh God. Abby and Nerissa.”

  “Get in the carriage, both of you,” snarled Finn. “I’ll get Mr. Gordon.”

  “I’m here,” said a voice behind him, and Finn turned in acute relief to see Nicholas Gordon marching down the front steps of the townhouse. The tall, brawny Black man had been a champion fighter in his day, and still looked like he could conquer all opponents in the ring. “Octavia said you might require my assistance. Bad news, I take it?”

  “The worst, sir,” said Pippa, biting her lip. “A peer has gone to Golden Square to close Bliss. Forcefully and permanently. People we care about very much might be hurt.”

  Nicholas cursed. “Let’s go. Not a moment to spare.”

  The four of them climbed into Finn’s carriage, and they were soon on their way. While it wasn’t a long journey, the sheer number of people in London and the associated carts, horses, hackneys, carriages, mail and stage coaches, phaetons and curricles, meant even a short distance could take forever.

  “I feel so wretched about this,” said Lady Campbell miserably from where she sat next to Nicholas and across from him and Pippa in the rocking, swaying carriage. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t tweaked my husband’s nose…”

  “No,” said Pippa firmly. “You are not responsible for his acts. Besides, he wouldn’t even know where to go if it wasn’t for my damned grandmother.”

  “Are you the owner, then, Pinehurst?”

  Finn nodded brusquely. “I am. And if Campbell or the others have harmed anyone there, or caused any damage, I’m afraid there will be harsh consequen
ces. No, I will not wait for a constable or magistrate.”

  “Good to know,” said Nicholas, flexing his fists.

  Lady Campbell sat forward. “While I would ask you to refrain from shooting or stabbing my husband just to avoid a worse scandal, I am certainly not opposed to a bloodied nose, blackened eye, or both. It’s long past time he received some comeuppance for his moralistic claptrap. He is no better than anyone else, no matter what he thinks, and reading romance novels or using pleasure toys is not a sin.”

  “Well said,” replied Pippa archly. “Although a good many of the ton would be improved by a pair of shiners. My grandmother included.”

  Finn didn’t say another word; he was too busy willing the carriage to go faster. If anything happened to Abby or Nessie…

  They had to get there in time.

  Had to.

  Golden Square seemed so close and yet so damned far away.

  Pippa braced her right hand on the carriage wall in a futile effort to limit the effect of the rocking and swaying on her roiling stomach. For a woman who hated theatrics and surprises, this was about her worst nightmare. If anything happened to Abby or little Nerissa because of Grandmother’s self-righteous spite and Lord Campbell’s puritanical nonsense…there would be no place dreary or isolated enough for them to escape her wrath.

  Abruptly, warm fingers closed around her left hand, offering silent comfort. Dearest Finn. She gripped his hand in return, only the presence of Lady Campbell and Mr. Gordon halting her from making a rather emotional declaration of appreciation or crawling onto his lap to be petted. But no. This wasn’t the time or place. That would come later, if they ever reached their destination. How could this carriage still be moving? Did she need to fling open the door and cartwheel the rest of the way there?

  “I never knew traveling a mile took a thousand years,” she snapped.

  Lady Campbell clasped her hands together, her face starkly pale. “Part of me wants to run ahead with a flaming torch to frighten people out of the way, except I cannot run, and a swinging carriage lantern would not offer the same effect. Except to give my damned Bedlamite husband a goose egg on his forehead.”