Page 1 of Make Mine a Marquess

Chapter One

Hertfordshire, July 1827

His enemy was close.

Standing in the shadows of the garden, Robert Kirkian, Marquess of Landon glanced inside the ballroom. Strains from the orchestra reached him as masked couples danced by the open French doors. He spotted the baron, his cousin, Lord Willard. He wore a King Henry VIII costume, complete with a rose velvet doublet and cap with a white feather. Unlike the other guests, he was unmasked.

Landon’s gut clenched, longing for revenge. He exhaled slowly, calming his hammering heart.

As he watched, Lord Willard escorted a blond woman onto the terrace, then down the stairs into the gardens. With her gold half mask, Landon couldn’t see her face, but her figure was tall and willowy.

Landon pressed his back against the stone wall as they walked past then stopped at a stone bench by an old oak tree.

Spying on the pair, Landon moved behind a nearby hedgerow. A full moon and a single torch by the bench illuminated the couple. The lady’s fair hair was stylishly fashioned in a crown of curls, a heavy mass shimmering from the glow of the torch like molten gold.

“You look lovely this evening, Miss Dawson,” Willard said.

“Thank you, my lord.” She was dressed like the goddess Diana with a white dress and a small, decorative quiver of arrows strapped to her back.

From his distance, Landon couldn’t make out her eye color. She smiled, her teeth even and straight. His thoughts raced dangerously. This was the woman betrothed to the baron, a dastardly man.

His cousin took her slender hand. “Miss Dawson, there is no mistaking my feelings.”

Her lips parted. “Lord Willard, I—”

“Your father gave his blessing.” He stepped closer. “There is no reason for shyness between us.” He pulled her into his arms and lowered his head.

The lady pressed a hand against his chest, holding him off. “I mean to wait, my lord.”

The baron kept his hold around her waist. “Even for a kiss?”

She stepped out of his embrace and smoothed her skirts. “A kiss can lead to much more. The house party has just begun, and I have hopes we can learn more about each other.”

Willard hesitated, and Landon wondered if he would force a kiss upon her. His muscles tensed, and he was ready to burst forth from behind the hedgerow without a thought about his well-laid plans.

His cousin gave her a crocodile smile. “You are right, my dear. The ball is just the beginning of the house party. We will have opportunity to spend more time together.” He raised her gloved hand and pressed a kiss against the satin, his dark gaze never leaving her face. “I look forward to every moment.” He turned away, then glanced back. “Before I leave, would you like me to send your cousin or mother?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll be along in a moment.”

“As you wish.” He bowed, then departed.

The lady let out a loud sigh, then sat on the stone bench and slipped her quiver of arrows from her shoulders. Her brows drew together as her left gloved hand rubbed where Lord Willard had kissed her. Then, reaching behind her head, she untied the gold half mask, removed it, and set it beside her.

The moon shifted from behind a cloud, and Landon’s breath stalled in his chest at the sight of her unmasked face. The rumors of her beauty had not done her justice. She had a heart-shaped face, a slender nose, and a porcelain complexion. Thick dark lashes framed deep blue eyes. Her blond hair was lustrous beneath the moonlight. After investigating, he’d learned the baron’s betrothed’s name was Phoebe Dawson, properly addressed as Miss Dawson.

Seizing the opportunity, Landon stepped into view. “Lady Diana, you look lonely.” He’d addressed her as she was costumed, not her real name.

The lady jumped to her feet to face him. Her blue eyes widened, and her gaze traveled from his face, taking in his costume—black half mask, black shirt, black breeches, and boots—before meeting his eyes. “Do I know you, sir?”

“Not yet.”

Her brow creased and she glanced back at the house. “Then it’s not proper for us to be alone.” She turned to leave.

He wanted her to stay, to engage her, to plant the seed for his plans. “A goddess would never forget her quiver of arrows.”

Her eyes sparked with annoyance. “I do not need an arrow to defend myself from a pirate.”

Landon had chosen the pirate costume in case he was spotted slipping in through the back doors of the mansion. If discovered, he could pretend to be a drunken, wayward guest.