What the Marquess Sees Read Online Free Page A

Society.
    Ambrose was in charge of their investigation, and their primary suspect behind the assassination itself was none other than Lady Beatryce Beckett’s father, the Earl of Swindon.
    Yea. It was a complicated mess.
    Oh, Earl Swindon hadn’t actually performed the deed, the very idea was absurd, but he was the one who saw it carried out. They were confident of that.
    He felt Ambrose stand. “I did. Don’t worry about the place being cleared. I have a plan, but that’s for later. Right now, you need to get up. You do want to make it to the church before all hell breaks loose, don’t you?”
    Cliff’s grin, visible from below his armed sun block, was answer enough. He delighted in setting the ton on its collective ear, and Ambrose knew it. Even if Ambrose were planning to inform Beatryce himself, Cliff would have begged for a chance to do the deed. He relished the opportunity to put that witch in her place. Lady Beatryce deserved to be stood up and more. She was cruel and underhanded and didn’t merit his friend.
    “And by the by,” Ambrose added before stepping out the door, “I’ll be paying you back for asking my woman to marry you…later.”
    Despite the threatening words, he heard his friend laughing as he walked away.
    Good for you, Ambrose, you lucky bastard.
    Cliff jumped out of bed, whistling a jaunty tune, as he rang for his valet. The pain from his overindulgence was forgotten, his day had turned suddenly jolly. He hadn’t been this enthusiastic in quite some time, and he all but rubbed his hands together in anticipation of carrying out this task.
    It was the reason his heart now raced. The only reason.

Chapter 3
    “Anger’s my meat; I sup upon myself, and so shall starve with feeding.”
    ― Shakespeare, Coriolanus
    Beckett House, the Earl of Swindon’s Study…
    At the Same Time…
    Bea closed her eyes and tried in vain to find some measure of serenity.
    Then, she knocked on the door to the earl’s study with a firm rap. She waited with more than a little trepidation for him to grant her permission to enter. He’d summoned her to his study, which was rarely a good thing. She fought harder to find peace, to steady her nerves.
    Bea tapped her fingers against her thighs as impatience won the battle over tranquility. She only just stopped herself from drumming her foot in nervous anticipation.
    “Come in, daughter.”
    It took a full minute for him to say the words. He liked to use the delay to intimidate visitors. Even if they were family. Even if he’d been the one to summon them.
    She entered the room walking on eggshells.
    Just a little bit longer; you can do this, woman.
    At the moment, she needed her little internal motivational talks like a fish needed water.
    “You wanted to see me, Father.” Her voice tangled with the word ‘father’. She hoped he didn’t noticed the hitch.
    “Good. You are prompt. Have a seat.”
    He didn’t bother to rise; the poor chair groaned a complaint as he leaned back to watch her. The earl was an enormous man in poor physical condition and turned to fat; the solid oak desk probably weighed a few stone less.
    As she crossed the room, she had to compel her eyes not to glance at the rug where she’d found his little secret compartment. She forced herself to be nonchalant as she walked directly over it and approached his desk. She pasted on a serene smile and looked him square in the eye with a firm, yet obedient look.
    He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk; his chair screamed again in protest. At least he didn’t force her to stand for this dressing down. And it would be a dressing down. It was always a dressing down.
    He mopped at his ever-perspiring brow with a dinner napkin as he waited for her to sit. He was sweating profusely from having to walk from the dining room all the way to his office. He had to traverse the width of an entire hallway to do so.
    He threw the napkin onto his desk, which was littered with loose papers and