Marrying the Marquis Read Online Free PDF

correct,” Blaze told her, pausing outside the drawing room. “Peg balks at going through holes to get ahead. The Marquis of Awe offered to help me solve the problem. What do you think?”
    “Ross MacArthur is wealthy, titled, and handsome,” Raven said, “and he loves animals.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “I know because I know,” Raven said, irritation tingeing her voice. “Do yourself a favor, and accept the marquis’s offer. Otherwise, Pegasus will win no races.”
    “You know this?”
    “I do.”
    Raven stepped inside the drawing room. Blaze had no choice but walk with her.
    The drawing room was invitingly comfortable, more to Blaze’s taste than the opulent formality of the duke’s London mansion. The cream-colored walls created the perfect background for portraits and matched the gold, cream, and blue Aubusson carpet. Upholstered chairs, sofas, and settees in jewel colors formed intimate groupings around the chamber.
    The present duchess’s portrait hung above the white marble hearth. On a side wall in a secluded corner was the portrait of her own mother, Gabrielle Flambeau, looking achingly young and carefree as Blaze had never seen her.
    Sometimes Blaze sat alone in front of her mother’s portrait and talked to her. All her one-sided conversations began with the words I’m sorry, Mama .
    Her father and stepmother stood near the hearth and conversed with four gentlemen. Blaze recognized Alexander Blake, the Marquis of Basildon, her sister’s betrothed. The Marquis of Awe stood with his back to the door as did two other gentlemen, one dark-haired and the other blond.
    “Ah, here are two of my lovely stepdaughters,” the duchess announced.
    All masculine gazes shifted to watch them. Blaze wished her stepmother hadn’t done that. Accustomed to being lost in the crowd of six sisters, she disliked being the center of attention.
    “Attitude,” Raven whispered.
    Blaze pasted an ambiguous smile onto her face and glided across the carpet toward them. Eyeing the pianoforte, she prayed no gentleman would request a performance. Her skill offended audiences, and she preferred to do the rejecting.
    “You look beautiful, Brat,” Alexander Blake was saying to her sister, before sliding his gaze to her. “How are you doing, Freckles?”
    Hearing MacArthur’s deep chuckle, Blaze managed not to blush through sheer force of will. Her sister’s fiancé was expecting a tart response, but she refused to accommodate his teasing.
    “Alex, what a kidder you are,” Blaze said, her smile serene, enjoying his expression of surprise at the gentleness of her rebuke. “I believe you envy my unique beauty.”
    “I agree with your self-assessment, my lady,” another voice spoke. “Yours is a rare beauty.”
    “Your Highness,” Blaze said, turning to Prince Lykos Kazanov, “I did not realize you were joining us tonight.”
    “I have told you several times to use my given name,” Lykos said, bowing over her hand. “I command you to do so.”
    “Lykos,” Blaze murmured, willing herself to blush.
    The prince’s presence surprised her. She should have known her stepmother would seek a match with royalty, even if it was foreign.
    With black hair and blue eyes and strong, angular features, Prince Lykos Kazanov would be a jewel of a catch. His title and vast wealth made him her stepmother’s choice. A third prince marrying into the family would be an astounding feat, much envied for decades.
    Blaze suspected that MacArthur, a Scotsman, was her father’s preference. She had learned during the previous year that her father viewed the Highlands in a romantic light while her stepmother was always pragmatic. The blond gentleman, of course, was a weak offering designed to fool her.
    “Too many months have passed since I have seen you,” the prince was saying, still holding her hand. “Do you recall our dance at your sister’s wedding?”
    “I could never forget our waltz, Lykos.” Blaze flicked a glance at the