My Wicked Marquess Read Online Free PDF Page B

it was worth it. But all the same, he had to see her again.
    Dodsley appeared by his side just then, silently, as if by magic. He offered Max a draught of whisky on a tray.
    Max glanced at him in surprise and saw that Dodsley had brought the whole bottle. “Do I look that bad?”
    â€œYou look like you could use it, sir,” his sphinxlike butler observed.
    â€œCheers,” he murmured to himself as he tossed back the whisky to take the edge off after his brawl. He savored it, impressed by the quality. “That’s good.”
    â€œThat Highlander master-at-arms of yours sent it over while you were out, sir.”
    â€œVirgil sent it? Excellent!” Last night, Max had sent word to his handler, Virgil, as soon as he had arrived home. “Was there a note?”
    â€œHere it is, sir.” Dodsley handed him the small sealedcard that had arrived with the bottle of Scotch whisky. Max quickly opened it and read.
    A proper malt in honor of your victory. Welcome home, my lad. Received your note from Belgium. Fine work on the Wellington matter. Well done. The others are not back yet, though I expect them soon. Come to the club at your leisure. We’ve made a few improvements that you may find intriguing.
    V
    Max couldn’t help smiling as he read his old mentor’s note. Improvements, eh? Lord, what new devices had Virgil come up with this time? Resourceful as any Scot, the grizzled old warrior was ever tinkering with his gears and machines and inventing strange new bits of machinery for Dante House, the Order’s London headquarters, Max could only wonder about the latest modifications to the place.
    For now, the more intriguing news was that he had made it back to Town before the other members of his team. He could barely wait to see his brother warriors.
    On the other hand, the fact that Warrington and Falconridge were not yet back in Town gave him a distinct advantage in his bride hunt, one that he did not intend to squander. After all, he thought as a roguish grin tugged at his lips, they were his only serious competition when it came to women.
    Like him, the fellow wolves in his pack had been putting off marriage due to their involvement in the Order, but their titles, like his, would require them to choose a wife and start begetting heirs. Like it or not, all three of them would have to go in for the old leg-shackle.
    Max couldn’t help laughing up his sleeve a bit in genial rivalry to know that he had got a head start on them.
    Given the calculating side of his nature, he had obviously started preparing for this well in advance, just as he would for any other mission. Now, out of all the best brides to behad on London’s marriage mart, he would have the pick of the litter—and with that, his thoughts returned directly to Daphne Starling.
    â€œAnything else I can get for you, sir?” Dodsley asked, watching him intently.
    â€œAn invitation to the Edgecombe ball.” Max took another swallow and winced at the whisky’s brief burn while Dodsley’s snowy eyebrows shot straight up. “What is it, Dodsley?”
    â€œYou, sir? Attend a ball?” the old fellow uttered in stately astonishment.
    â€œI know,” Max said dryly. “Wonder if anyone will faint this time when I walk in.”
    Dodsley dropped his gaze, pondering his master’s rare foray into Society. As the supreme commander of the household staff, he had been kept apprised of His Lordship’s bride hunt; he had never needed words to express his feelings on any subject to the brave, eccentric marquess whom he had so long served.
    But now he could barely suppress his exultation upon correctly deducing that His Lordship must have taken a more serious interest in some eligible young miss.
    He adopted a delicate tone, nearly holding his breath: “Might we hope there may soon be a lady of the house, my lord?”
    â€œA certain viscount’s daughter seems intriguing,”