Page 35 of How to Best a Marquess

“I wasn’t asking.”

She blinked in surprise. Gone was the gentle but consuming lover. The man who’d whispered huskily into her ear that he’d wanted her. His voice was hard as steel as he looked at her. His expression was that of an officer, a man in charge.

“I cannot promise you that.”

“You are beyond promising. Baron Willoughby is dangerous. You don’t know what you are getting into.”

“And you have my interests in mind?”

“Yes.”

She glared at him.

“Don’t cross me in this.” Then he pressed his lips to hers. Like flint striking steel, a fiery need licked at her. He pulled back, and the hunger in his gaze was unmistakable. Raw and primitive.

Her weak body cried out for more.

She was accustomed to shielding her heart, her soul. She’d had five years of practice since finding Hugh kissing another in the gardens of a ball. She’d feared having her heart crushed again by the broken promises of a selfish rogue.

But this time was different.

This time, she was afraid of herself.

…

“I heard there was trouble at the club last night,” Grace said.

Ellie stood by her sister-in-law’s bedside. She’d come to visit and had brought a steaming cup of chocolate. She knew Grace preferred chocolate over coffee, and she’d hoped the drink and the company would cheer her.

Grace had been bedridden for four days. She was an energetic person by nature and enjoyed walks and working on the club’s numerous ledgers in Ian’s upstairs office. She hadn’t been able to do much but rest and read since she’d experienced pain in her lower back. The family physician, as well as Ian, had been concerned.

Yet somehow, Grace had learned of the problem at the club last night.

“Brooks told you,” Ellie said.

Grace looked her up and down and pushed a lock of dark hair from her face. She eased back on the mound of pillows supporting her in a sitting position, her legs crossing on the bed. “No. Brooks wasn’t there, and you know it.”

“Then how?”

“Simon sent word.”

“Who?” As soon as the question was out of Ellie’s mouth, she knew the answer. Simon was the liveried guard at the door who had taken Brooks’s place. The man Baron Willoughby had tossed aside like a sack of grain.

Grace continued to watch, a keen glimmer in her eye. “The Marquess of Deveril took care of Lord Willoughby.”

Ellie took a deep breath. “Yes, he did.”

Grace’s hands ran over her distended stomach in a circular motion, the movement smooth and comforting. “Perhaps you should give the marquess a second chance, Ellie.”

“No,” she blurted out without hesitation. A kiss was not a sufficient reason to expose herself to heartache again. She was a mature woman who could make her own decisions, and sharing a heated moment during a carriage ride—no matter how wondrous—was not sufficient reason to alter the course of her life. She knew what she longed for, and financial independence was not something she was willing to sacrifice.

“People change. It was years ago.” Grace’s hands ceased moving to rest at her sides. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

“What way?”

“The way Ian looked at me the first time. Like a man who knows what he wants. I didn’t understand it then, but now I do.”

Her words burned, branding themselves into her mind. “No. You’re wrong. The Marquess of Deveril only wants one thing: the Raven Club.”