The Savage Marquess Read Online Free PDF Page B

handsome in a hard-bitten way, a strong chin and jutting nose, thick black hair, and those odd green eyes under heavy lids. Despite his impeccable English tailoring and the large diamond which blazed from among the snowy folds of his cravat, he looked foreign and out of place among the well-bred English faces. A predator, thought Lucinda, amused despite her distress at Ismene’s temper.
    He looked haughtily around the ballroom and then stopped to talk to Lady Sally Jersey, one of the patronesses. She said something which made him laugh, and that laugh transformed his whole face. Not so savage after all, thought Lucinda, feeling breathless. Then the marquess went off in the direction of the card room. Ismene pouted. “He is not going to dance,” she said. “Now, Lucinda, here comes that tiresome Mr. Baxter to ask me to dance. You are to stay here and not move!”
    Lucinda obediently sat where she was until the fifth gentleman asked her to dance. She sadly shook her head and then moved to a chair in a far corner behind a group of standing people so that she could hide away in comfort. Shielded at last from the dancers on the floor and from Ismene’s accusing stare, Lucinda allowed herself to relax.
    She must stop worrying about Ismene. Fear of dismissal was making her timid. Ismene, Lucinda was sure, sensed that timidity and it made her worse. People, mused Lucinda, were sometimes very like wild dogs. If you were afraid of them, they sensed it and moved in for the kill. So she would count her blessings. Papa was being cared for. She herself was in good health and here in that holy of holys, Almack’s Assembly Rooms. How furiously jealous the Misses Glossop would be if they could see her now!
    A smile crossed Lucinda’s face.
    The Marquess of Rockingham had quit the card room. He had been about to settle down for a game when he had sternly reminded himself he was on the lookout for a wife. So he had returned to the ballroom to find a country dance in progress. He saw, among the group in front of Lucinda, an acquaintance, Lord Freddy Pomfret, and made his way in that direction.
    Lord Freddy’s sister, Lady Agatha, looked at the marquess nervously, as if waiting for him to bite. “Back from your travels,” said Lord Freddy cheerfully. “London has not seen you this age, but all anyone talks about is that you’re on the hunt for a wife. What about Aggie here?”
    Lady Agatha, a timid girl with a long nose, murmured, “Oh, Freddy,” and looked desperately around the ballroom for escape.
    “Everyone’s on the hunt here,” said the marquess. “I confess I am bored already. I don’t like dancing. Why can’t I just go up to one of those creatures and say, ‘When will we be married?’ and cut out all this charade?”
    “Got to pretend to be in love,” said Lord Freddy easily. He was not in the least afraid of the marquess, being one of the few members of London society who had never been at the receiving end of the marquess’s bad temper. He was a tubby, cheerful young man who never strained his brain much with worry or uncertainty. “Only takes a few sighs and letters and then you can call in your lawyers to handle the rest,” he pointed out.
    “But everyone looks so damned stupid,” said the marquess, staring about him with a jaundiced air. The dance ended. To Lady Agatha’s relief, a young man asked her to dance. The group about Lord Freddy began to melt away.
    And that is when the Marquess of Rockingham first saw Lucinda, sitting against the wall, apparently lost in dreams, a smile on her face. A branch of candles on a shelf above her cast a soft radiance over her burnished hair. Her eyes were wide and dreamy.
    “Introduce me,” said the marquess, staring at Lucinda.
    Lord Freddy turned about. “Can’t,” he said. “Don’t know her. Came in with the Clifton party. Better ask the Countess of Clifton.”
    “That vain, chattering woman? No.” The marquess moved toward Lucinda and stood looking down