My Wicked Marquess Read Online Free

work, seductions of a strictly calculated nature. Those usually left him wondering who exactly was the whore.
    Now that the war was over, he was forced to face the fact that he was so painfully lonely. The bleak years had worn at his soul, the moving from place to place, always alone. He hungered to find something different. Something that didn’t make him feel filthy afterward.
    At the moment, however, that delicious filthy feeling was welcome and familiar, and as the harlot’s hand traveled admiringly down his chest, Max was silent, tempted by vice, while his possible future wife polished up her diamond virtue at the orphanage across the street.
    It was not, perhaps, the most auspicious start to any marriage.
    In the next moment, a flicker of motion outside pulled his attention back to the window. Daphne Starling was coming out of the orphanage.
    He brushed the harlot’s hand away and leaned forward, staring more intensely past the drapes.
    Walking out from between the heavy doors of the orphanage, Miss Starling was carrying her hat, and as she crossed to her carriage, followed by her maid, he caught a brief, dazzling glimpse of an angelic countenance.
    Neither the dingy street nor the flat gray light of the overcast mid-morning could dim the incandescent gleam of her golden hair, as though she were a source of light unto herself.
    Then she put on her bonnet again, hastening to cover up her beauty, before it drew unwanted attention in this place. Max did not even blink.
    The harlot was watching her over his shoulder, as well. “Pretty,” she conceded.
    â€œMm,” he agreed in a noncommittal tone, but he continued staring out the window, mesmerized, his years of hungry isolation homing in on her.
    Every motion brisk and businesslike, no idea she was under such close observation, Daphne Starling paused to confer with her servants, when suddenly they all heard a low shout from farther down the street.
    Both the lady and her footman turned to look, as did Max.
    â€œâ€™Hoy!”
    Trouble.
    Max narrowed his eyes as five criminal-looking types drifted out of the pub and approached her carriage.
    The men of Bucket Lane were grinning broadly at her.
    â€œHere’s our angel o’ mercy, ain’t ye, love?”
    â€œAll them sacks o’ goodies for the babes! Didn’t ye bring any presents for us? I thinks I’m gonna cry!”
    Max knit his brow, a scowl gathering. There was no sign of a constable, if they ever dared patrol here. He could practically hear her young footman’s frightened gulp from where hesat, could almost feel Miss Starling’s heartbeat pounding.
    The men swaggered closer. “Come, lovey, ye must ’ave a little somethin’ sweet left over for us.”
    â€œLike a kiss!”
    â€œAye!”
    With a sharp glance over the entire area, Max assessed the situation. The men were coming toward her carriage from the front, blocking her way forward; the street was too narrow to turn the gig around fast enough for her to escape unmolested.
    A distraction . If he pulled them away from her, she could race away from here and slip out past the church.
    It could easily be accomplished, of course, but, damn, he had only intended to observe from a distance today. Now he was getting pulled in. Logic said he should not even be here, working at cross purposes with himself in considering a lady who was not in his best interest. But at the moment, he did not give a damn. She needed help, and after all, this sort of mischief was his specialty.
    â€œExcuse me.” Nudging the harlot aside, he rose and smoothed his black coat as he marched toward the door.
    â€œSir, wait!”
    â€œWhat is it?” He paused, glancing back at the harlot.
    â€œBe careful with them! This street is their turf! Every shop here pays them protection money.”
    â€œHm,” Max answered. He nodded to her and walked on. On his way out, he tossed a few extra gold guineas on