Page 50 of Tempting the Marquess

Chapter10

May

As yet anotherrider galloped away from the small inn on the outskirts of Calais without delivering the message he most wanted to hear, William cursed under his breath.

The two-week mission had already turned into a month, and if he received one more note informing him of this delay or that issue, he might well do some arranging of his own. Like having every one of White’s toes broken.

This nonsense had gone on for long enough.

He should be home, in England. They all should be. Not here, twiddling their thumbs while the most incompetent men on the whole bloody continent attempted to organize a fake ambush. How hard could it possibly be, for God’s sake? A few guns, a few men, some fighting, Robert safely to a ship, and him following a few hours later in a barge to begin his temporary life as David Underwood.

“Anyone would think...you were waiting for something, Standish,” a rough, pain-filled voice rasped. “I might not be the... prettiest of sights right now, but I can’t believe, day after day, you continue to choose...dull ocean views overme.”

William forced a smile. The army surgeon he’d spoken to had emphasized the importance of keeping Robert’s spirits up, but it was incredibly difficult. Seeing him in agony in these basic accommodations with insufficient poultices, laudanum, or opiates, when he should be resting comfortably in the splendor of Langley House while being attended by an expert physician like Geoffrey Murray, was unbearable.

“It’s only because I’ve had enough of your bellyaching. You should be saving these thoughts for the ladies who will be lining up for miles to tend to you when we get back to London.”

“Lining up?” Robert replied, his jaw clenched as he attempted the impossible task of shifting to a more comfortable position on the hard, narrow bed. “Women won’t be sighing over my wounds so much as...screaming and running. Might have to be...masked balls for the rest of my life. Or none at all. How bloody terrible.”

“Ha. If you think a few scratches will get you out of attending balls or soirees, you are very much mistaken. You’ll be mobbed everywhere you go, as those with hearts of custard try and absorb even a drop of your dashing. Just think. Feted by dandies everywhere. Dragged to every great house and hall in the nation to raise support for the army. Lady Havenhurst’s favorite new accessory for her drawingroom.”

“You are…a sick man, Standish. No wonder you’re in…fucking intelligence.”

William bowed. “We do try. But may I remind you that there are actually women out there who see beyond looks and fortunes and titles? Not many, I’ll admit, but they are around.”

“Horseshit. A few might bat their eyes…pretend they care…but everyone knows what a woman says…and what she really thinks…are two different things. Or they just use you and fucking leave.”

He stilled at the acid undertone of Robert’s comment. A while back, George had mentioned a comment Robert made in passing while he’d been in London on a brief furlough. Something about loathing marriage because all women were faithless. What the hell had happened to make Robert so bitter? Whatever her name, and whatever she’d done, the mystery woman obviously wasn’t a passing fancy. This level of anger spoke of much deeper feelings.

“Not this one,” said William eventually. “Her cheeks would give her away everytime.”

“Well, well.” Robert attempted a laugh, but the movement made him wince. “Finally, the real reason…you want to return home so quickly. On behalf of the British Army...I’d like to apologize again…for the constant delays to our departure.”

“Oh, shutup.”

“Temper, temper. How you ended up…on a diplomatic mission…when you’re as personable as a hungry conscript with holes in his shoes…I’ll neverknow.”

William grimaced. “Soldiers have my unending admiration. After a month on horseback, wooden pallets, and army rations, my blisters have procreated and my stomach is a block of stone. But to answer your question as to why I am here, it’s quite simple. Eighty percent blackmail and twenty percent no one else in England could be persuaded or conned into helping lug your sorry selfhome.”

“Ah, politics. God bless Whitehall...and the downright creative ways they achieve their aims. Now, perhaps to soothe my nerves...you’ll tell me about your delicate English rose? No, actually, I want to hear about…the adventures of her wickedly wayward sister. Give me a reason to live and allthat.”

“No sisters, unfortunately,” William replied, a genuine grin tugging at his lips at the thought of Samantha’s reaction to this conversation. She would probably laugh and blush and blurt out that she was both delicate rose and wickedly wayward. He would be forced to agree. And take her to bed shortly afterward to remind himself how erotic the combination was. “But I’m sure if you asked her nicely she would introduce you to any number of her acquaintances.”

“Sounds appallingly...civilized. Perhaps her friends could be scattered along Southby’s path instead? If he were busy courting some poor woman...he wouldn’t have time to plagueme.”

William looked away. Alexander was his closest friend, and it was difficult hearing criticism of him. Even when it might well be justified. But the two equally strong, equally hard-headed brothers always seemed to strike sparks off one another, and it was no secret that Robert had joined the army against Alexander’s wishes.

“Tell you what. When we’re home, I shall engage Samantha, Caroline Westleigh, and Louisa Trentham to gather a regiment’s worth of eligible ladies. They can take turns swooning from the heat and twisting their ankles in front of your brother for at least a month.”

“I accept your offer,” said Robert, closing his eyes as the lines of pain creasing his forehead eased a little. “Samantha is a nice name. Blonde?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Insane, uncontrollable curls. And wide brown eyes like AuntJane.”

Robert blinked. “Wait. Your Samantha is…Samantha Buchanan? Bloody hell. Does everyone know? And by everyone I mean…the dowager and Westleigh.”

“Er…not assuch.”

“This story gets…better and better. What about the Claremonts? Eva is a starving she-wolf. As for the earl…never liked him. Heard the odd strangetale—”