Earls Just Want to Have Fun (11 page)

Brook frowned. “Was she sleeping in your room?”

“Where was I supposed to put her? In Susanna's room?”

“What about one of the guest rooms?”

“Then we would have awakened to find her gone, and the house robbed of everything not nailed down.”

“Ah.” Brook had the gall to look thoughtful. Thoughtful! After the night Dane had spent! “She is resistant to the idea that she's Lady Elizabeth.”

“What gave you that idea? When we had to abduct her? When we brought her kicking and screaming into the house?”

“Where is she now?” Brook asked as his valet returned, arms laden with clothing. Brook handed his man the dressing gown and pulled on breeches. It occurred to Dane that Brook was very possibly dressing to go out.

“Where the devil are you going?”

“Bow Street. I have an important piece of information regarding one of my investigations.”

“You aren't going anywhere,” Dane said. “I forbid it. You will deal with that woman first.”

“I
have
dealt with her,” Brook said, accepting his valet's help with his shirt. “I sent word to Lord and Lady Lyndon's town house.”

“And? When will they be here to collect her?”

Brook raised his chin as Hunt tied his cravat. “I cannot say. Their knocker had been removed, and when the man I sent inquired of the servants, the butler informed him that the marquess and his wife were in Scotland, hunting.”

“Scotland?” Dane felt the floor drop away beneath him. He swayed.

“Yes, annual trip, it seems. I will send word to their hunting lodge in Scotland, of course, but—”

“That will take days to reach them,” Dane finished. Not to mention the days it would take for them to journey back, and that was if they left immediately.

“It's the height of the Season. Who the hell goes hunting in Scotland?”

Brook shrugged. “Apparently, this is the time one stalks roe deer bucks.” He stuck an arm into his coat, followed by the other. Hunt struggled to pull the tight garment into place.

“If you think you're going somewhere without Marlowe—Lady Elizabeth—think again. I am not her guardian.”

“Fine. I will take her with me. How much trouble can she be?” he said with an eye roll. “You act as though she is a dangerous criminal, rather than a defenseless girl who is the victim of such criminals.”

Dane stared at Brook. “Whatever that girl is, she's no victim.”

“Where is she now?” Brook asked, starting for the door of his bedchamber. “I'll fetch her and be on my way.”

“In the library,” Dane said, following. Why the hell was he always following his brother? It should have been the other way around. “Susanna is teaching her to read Shakespeare.”

“Ah, dangerous criminal activity. Shakespeare. I shudder to think what might come next. Byron? Say it isn't so.”

“Stubble it,” Dane said, a warning in his voice. The two brothers were halfway down the stairs when they heard the commotion. Dane merely frowned at the sound of a man speaking rapidly to Crawford. Brook hurried forward. But as Dane approached the scene, he saw why his brother had been concerned. The man standing in their vestibule—well, leaning against a side table, if one was to be precise—clutched his ribs and dripped blood on the floor.

“Farquhar? What happened, man?” Brook asked

“Just a scratch,” Mr. Farquhar said in a scratchy Scottish accent. “But you are needed immediately, Sir Brook.”

“Of course. I'll come directly.”

“Oh, no, you won't!” Dane yelled even as Brook assisted Farquhar through the door Crawford held open. “You'll bring that little thief with you!”

Brook threw a scowl over his shoulder. “No time for that now, Dane,” he said in a tone that implied this should be patently obvious. “I'll come back for her in an hour.” And with that, he crawled into a carriage behind the wounded man and was gone.

Dane stood staring at the street, and then he looked at Crawford. “He won't be back within the hour, will he?”

“No, my lord.”

“We are stuck with her, aren't we, Crawford?”

“Yes, my lord.”

And that was when they heard the scream.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Countess of Dane demanded from the entrance to the library. Marlowe did not jump, only because she was accustomed to such unexpected outbursts from Satin. Poor Susanna leapt almost a foot in her chair. They'd been seated behind Dane's desk, the book of poems laid out before them.

“Mother!” Susanna jumped to her feet. Marlowe did the same, figuring that imitating Susanna was probably wise at this point.

“What is that—that
person
still doing here?”

“She—” Susanna began.

“And why is she wearing one of your gowns, Susanna?”

“I should hardly think it proper for her to wear trousers, Mama,” Susanna stuttered. Marlowe noted Susanna was shaking all over, her hands trembling, and a subtle quake vibrating through her thin body.

“And what is this?” the woman asked as she strode forward and snatched the book from the desk.

“Hey, that's mine!” Marlowe said, snatching it back. But the countess had seen.

“Shakespeare? You are reading Shakespeare? That is highly inappropriate for a young lady such as yourself. And you”—she gestured to Marlowe—“how dare you pull that book out of my hands? Who do you think you are?”

“Who do
you
think you are?” Marlowe shot back. “This is
my
book. She gave it to me.”

“This is it. The end!” Lady Dane said with a whirl. Just then Dane and his butler barreled into the room.

“Mother, what happened?”

“Do not
Mother
me,” Lady Dane replied, pointing a finger at him. Apparently, no one was free from her censure. The butler quickly slipped away, and Marlowe wished she could do the same. “I have had enough of this person and her antics. Where is your brother? He must take her away
immediately
.”

Dane glanced at her, and Marlowe felt a shiver of unease crawl up her spine. Now where were they going to keep her?

“About Brook,” Dane began.

“Oh, never mind!” Lady Dane said with a wave of her imperious hand. “If she will not leave, we will. Susanna, have Maggie pack your things. We will go to Northbridge Abbey.”

“The country?” Susanna asked, her brows high. “But it is the height of the Season.”

“I do not care if the king invited you to dine, we will not spend another minute in this house with that
person
.” She pointed at Marlowe again, and Marlowe stuck her tongue out.

“Marlowe!” Dane warned her.

“Yes, Mother,” Susanna said, sending Marlowe a regretful look. Marlowe sighed. So much for her chance to have a female friend.

The door opened again, and the butler cleared his throat. “The Duchess of Abingdon is here. Shall I show her to the drawing room?”

“Her Grace?”

Marlowe marveled at how quickly the countess's red cheeks lost all of their coloring and her skin turned deathly pale.

“It
is
our at-home day,” Susanna said. Marlowe did not know what that meant, but apparently it hampered the plan to run away before Marlowe could infect them with her undesirability.

“How could I have forgotten?
You
”—she pointed to Marlowe—“stay here. If the duchess sees you—”

“Must I be kept waiting all day?” an imperious voice intoned from the vestibule. “Or do you possess a drawing room where I might at least sit down?” A woman dressed in dark purple appeared behind the butler. She was short and round, but the most regal woman Marlowe had ever seen. She tapped the butler with her walking stick and stepped into the library. Her gaze swept over the company. “This is quite the gathering.”

“Duchess!” the countess said, hastily moving to block the woman's view of Marlowe. She bent her knees—what was that thing called again?—and made a show of fawning over the older woman. “We are so delighted by your call. Please, do allow me to show you to the drawing room. Crawford, ring for tea. Susanna!”

Susanna raced to her mother's side, eager to follow the countess's orders. But the duchess did not move. Her gaze rose until she was looking at Dane in the face. He came forward, bowed, and kissed her gloved hand. “Duchess.”

“Lord Dane, how lovely to see you. Come, you must sit with us for a quarter hour. It will not be too much of an imposition, I hope.”

“Not at all, Duchess.” Dane gave the woman a smile Marlowe did not think she had seen him use before. She did not know how to term it, except extremely charming.

“And who is this young lady?” the duchess asked, gesturing to Marlowe.

“No one!” the countess said at the same time Dane said, “A distant cousin.”

The duchess's brows rose. The countess pressed her lips together and said stiffly, “She is a distant cousin come to visit for a very short while. You will be quite well in the library, will you not, Miss…”

“Marlowe,” Susanna supplied.

“Rubbish.” The duchess waved an arm. “She must join us for tea.” The woman led the countess and Lady Susanna out of the room, while Dane stayed behind, presumably to collect Marlowe.

Marlowe shook her head when the duchess was through the door. “I don't want to go,” she whispered.

“None of us do,” Dane said, “but when the duchess summons you, you obey.”

“Why? Is this her house?”

His look darkened. “It is my house, and she is a guest. As are you. Please join us.”

Marlowe thought about arguing, but she was curious as to why everyone felt the need to scramble over themselves to please this duchess, like the cubs tried to please Satin. This duchess might be a useful person to know.

And there had been the mention of tea. Surely that meant there would be food to eat. “Since you said
please
,” Marlowe replied, coming around the desk. He held out his arm to her, but she breezed past him. She did not want to touch him if it was not necessary. But before she could escape, he caught her arm and pulled her back. She gasped in a breath when he hauled her against him. For a moment, she was dizzy at the feel of his body against hers. Her gaze met his, and the world seemed to spin.

“Do not embarrass me or my mother, Marlowe,” he said, a warning in his voice.

She blinked. She could not think of a single thing to say, and her gaze dropped to his mouth without her permission. What would those lips feel like pressed against hers? What would his hands feel like on her body?

“Marlowe?”

She jerked her gaze up again. He leaned close, his lips brushing her cheek and then grazing against her ear. She shivered, and her legs wobbled. “You may look beautiful,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear, “but I haven't forgotten what you are and where you come from.”

With a jerk, she stumbled back, putting as much distance between them as possible. “Don't worry,
Maxwell
. I know exactly who I am.” She whirled and walked away.

Once in the drawing room, Marlowe stopped cold. She'd had a moment to recover from Dane's closeness. She didn't know why she should be affected by him so. She must be weak from hunger. But all thoughts of food vanished—well, almost—when she took in the room. It seemed every room in the house was more beautiful than the last. This one was rectangular and quite spacious. The large windows allowed in so much light, Marlowe felt almost as though she were outside. There were more chairs and couches than she could count, and just now a footman wheeled in a cart with several very promising-looking trays.

Dane entered behind her. “Sit down,” Dane whispered in her ear, “and keep quiet.”

Marlowe took a step forward then halted again. Where should she sit? There were far too many choices for someone used to sitting on the cold, hard ground. She was actually rather grateful when Dane steered her to a couch and then took a seat beside her. Of course, she immediately realized she was too far from the tea cart. She was already salivating at the cakes and sandwiches displayed on those trays.

The countess poured the tea and made some comment or other to the duchess, who then remarked, “Of course, with my annual ball commencing tomorrow night, I am on the verge of collapse. It is so exhausting to plan a ball, do you not think?”

Marlowe did not think the duchess looked ready to collapse at all. In fact, she had already bitten into a tea cake, and Marlowe was worried that the countess was taking so long pouring the tea, all of the sweets would be gone before she had a chance to try one. She leaned forward, ready to filch a cake, but Dane grabbed her elbow and hauled her back. “Sit still,” he grumbled in her ear.

“Oh, but your balls are always the most wonderful affairs,” the countess said, handing Susanna a teacup.

“Thank you.” The duchess fixed her gaze on Dane, and Marlowe aborted her next attempt to snatch a cake when the duchess's gaze flitted briefly to her. “Lord Dane, I must admit I was surprised and dismayed to learn you had not accepted the invitation to my ball.”

“I…” Dane began, then he looked at her. Marlowe frowned at him. Why the devil was he looking at her? “I am afraid I have a prior commitment. I promised Miss Marlowe I would take her to the theater.”

“Oh?” The duchess looked at Marlowe. “Your cousin.”

“
Distant
cousin,” the countess said. “Very distant.”

“I see.” The duchess sipped her tea and reached for another cake. Marlowe tried to scoot forward to grasp one herself, but Dane wrapped an arm around her, hidden from the view of the duchess, and held her firmly in place. The countess handed her a teacup, but he accepted that as well and set it where she could not reach.

“Clearly, I must extend the invitation to Miss Marlowe. Then all of you may come together.”

“No!” the countess cried.

“Duchess,” Dane said, drowning his mother out. “That is very kind of you, but not necessary.”

“Rubbish. The ladies will be so disappointed if you are not in attendance, my lord. Unless…” She studied him and then looked at Marlowe again. Marlowe felt Dane remove his hand. Now was her chance to steal a cake, but the duchess was staring at her. “Unless you have an announcement, my lord?”

“Absolutely not!” the countess cried again. “No!”

“Ah.” The duchess smiled. “I see we must wait to wish you happy. In any case”—she rose, and everyone else followed suit. Dane dragged Marlowe to her feet—“I must return to oversee the preparations. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night.”

“Oh, but we will be at Northbridge then,” Susanna said.

The countess whirled. “Do not be silly, Susanna. We will be at the duchess's ball, of course.”

The duchess nodded and waved the countess away. “I shall see myself out.”

Everyone looked after her, and Marlowe took the opportunity to shove two cakes in her mouth and stuff three more into her hands, which she then hid behind her back.

“So we are not going to Northbridge Abbey?” Susanna said when the door had closed behind the duchess.

“We are going to Northbridge,” the countess said, “but not until after the duchess's ball. If I had not been so distraught earlier”—she glared at Marlowe, who had just popped another cake into her mouth—“I would have remembered the ball is tomorrow night.”

Dane clasped his hands behind his back. “I will cry off. I've had my fill of balls.”

“No, you will not,” his mother said. “You will anger the duchess.”

“Surely you do not intend to bring Marlowe?” he said, gesturing to her and frowning when he saw she was reaching for another cake.

“I do not see what choice we have,” his mother said, putting a hand to her forehead. “I feel a megrim coming on.”

“But, Dane,” Susanna argued, “if she is the daughter of Lord and Lady Lyndon, they may wish to spend time with her before she is introduced publicly.”

“The daughter of the Marquess of Lyndon!” the countess exclaimed. “Is that the story she is telling you?”

Marlowe put her hands on her hips, accidentally squashing one of the tea cakes. “And why is that so hard to believe?” she said, mouth still full of cream. “I could be Lady Elizabeth.”

“If you are Lady Elizabeth,” the countess said, “I will get on my knees and kiss your feet! You are a common beggar, that's what you are.”

“I've never begged a day in my life,” Marlowe said. “Never needed to.”

“Because you steal what you want,” the countess said.

Dane stepped forward. “Unfortunately, the question of Marlowe's true parentage will have to wait. Brook says the Lyndons are hunting in Scotland at present. It will be several days before they can be reached.”

The countess sank onto a couch. “I need a tonic. Fetch Edwards. She knows what to make.”

“Mama, let me take you to your room,” Susanna said, assisting the countess. When they were gone, Marlowe sat down and pulled the tea tray to her chair, lifting a sandwich and trying it.

“You are going to weigh ten stone if you keep eating like that,” Dane said.

Marlowe shrugged. “I can't let it go to waste.”

He sat down opposite her, rested his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head in his hands. Marlowe ate another sandwich, trying to ignore how dejected the earl looked. She didn't really care if he was dejected, did she? Of course, watching him pout made enjoying her meal a bit tricky. Finally, she sighed and said, “What is it?”

He looked up at her, his eyes weary. “Nothing. You go on eating cakes.”

“I can hardly do so in peace with you looking like someone just choused you out of your last shilling.”

“It's time to make a decision, Marlowe,” he said, and she didn't much care for the look in his eyes. They were full of determination.

“What kind of decision?” She suddenly felt quite full, and set the tea cake she'd been holding back on the tray.