The Wicked Marquess Read Online Free

Lady Darby tonight?”
    Benedict hoped not. He was in no mood to endure yet another lecture, the most recent having contained a warning that he would soon be too old to procreate. “Unlikely. Odette is suffering the gout.”
    “Then you must allow me to render you my assistance. The season’s crop of hopefuls is thin. Over there is the incomparable Miss Adburn, who has a voice like a braying donkey, but she will do well enough if you don’t encourage her to talk. Beside her stands Miss Withers, who if a bit of a bluestocking is still well-heeled, though you need not care for that.”
    The two men drew no little attention as they strolled through the crowd. In sharp contrast with his exquisitely civilized companion, Benedict wore black breeches, black coat, black velvet waistcoat with a narrow satin stripe. He looked, as many a dazzled damsel noted, both deliciously dangerous and intriguingly untamed. One maiden was put in mind of a great black panther. Another vowed Sinbad need only add a golden earring and a parrot on his shoulder to make a perfect buccaneer. Percy added, sotto voce , “And that bran-faced damsel simpering so fatuously at you is Miss Caldwell.”
    Benedict was not interested in bran-faced misses in that or any moment. His attention had been caught by a damsel surrounded by a flock of admiring swains. She wore a gown of India gauze shot with silver, a sheer muslin scarf embroidered with beads, and silver flowers in her hair.
    There was no mistaking that honey-colored hair, or that husky voice. What was Miranda doing here? “I’ve not seen that young lady before.”
    Percy followed his gaze. “Ah, the little Russell. She is Symington’s niece, only recently come to town. There is some scandal about her antecedents, which will matter only to the highest sticklers, because she is also a considerable heiress.” His shrewd eyes fixed on Benedict. “Half the bucks in London are quite épris in that direction, and not all of them are hanging out for a rich wife.”
    His assailant was a young woman of good birth and wealth? How very curious. Lest Percy’s keen nose sniff out mischief, Benedict let his attention stray. “Fortunate then that I have little taste for the infantry. Excuse me, I must make my bow to our hostess.” As he made his way through the crowded rooms, in the process deftly avoiding the various lures set out for him – even ladies who should have known better were tantalized by whispered accounts of amorous exploits so outrageous they might have been among the tales spun by Scheherazade for Sultan Shahryār in an attempt to keep her head attached to her shoulders one more night – he kept Miranda in his sight.
    She disappeared through the tall French windows that led into the gardens, in company with a ridiculous young cockscomb whose neckcloth was so absurdly high that his collar brushed his earlobes and threatened to strangle him. Benedict decided that he too would benefit from a breath of fresh air. After a discreet interval, when Percy Pettigrew’s malicious attention was focused elsewhere, he stepped outside.
    Lady Sylvester’s prized flower garden was embellished with various classical statues, countless exotic blooms. A number of guests sought relief there from the stifling crush. Benedict had strolled some distance along a pebbled path when he heard a familiar husky voice. Miss Russell was very knowledgeable about matters horticultural.
    “But it’s so dark!” she lamented. “I wanted to see Lady Sylvester’s roses. ‘Tis said she has a prodigious elegant double yellow – Oh!” Scuffling sounds ensued. “You – you gudgeon! Release me this very instant, Mr. Cartwright! I do not wish to kiss you, sir!”
    If not so experienced in matters of the heart as legend claimed, Benedict knew better than to believe a young lady’s “no” meant that she was unwilling, or to assume that it meant she was not. The unknown Mr. Cartwright was considerably less wise. He insisted