Page 17 of Make Mine a Marquess

“Shall we play again?” Willard was quick to offer.

All eyes turned to Landon. “I daresay, why not? It feels good to be back home. I’m in a festive mood.”

He was aware of Aram’s sidelong glance. Delmont and Palet could not withdraw without looking unappreciative of the marquess’s return.

Over the course of the next hour, Willard lost every hand. His mood turned sour.

“Blast!” Willard ran a hand down his face.

“Let’s call it an evening,” Landon said.

“No.” Willard’s lips thinned with anger. He motioned for a footman to bring him paper and proceeded to write an I.O.U.

Landon held up a hand. “No.”

Willard waved away his concerns. “I said I’m to marry and my wife’s dowry will be more than sufficient to cover evenings of gambling and more.”

It had been crass for him to mention it the first time. A second time was worse. A vision of Phoebe rose in his mind. Bold, brave, beautiful. His cousin didn’t deserve the lady, let alone her dowry.

He’d take great pleasure in seducing both from out of his cousin’s greedy clutches.

Landon’s lips curved in a smooth smile as he looked at his enemy. “Who am I to spurn your good fortune?”

Chapter Five

The melody was out of key. Phoebe grit her teeth as Miss Elaine Madison played the pianoforte and sang. The music reached a crescendo and Elaine’s voice boomed over it. The guests stirred.

A half hour later, Phoebe let out a breath as the performance finally came to an end.

“Oh, no,” Beatrice said. “She’s starting another piece.” As they watched, Elaine flipped through music sheets until she found the desired one.

Goodness. They would have to sit through more. It was the third afternoon, and the ladies worked on their needlepoint as Elaine performed. It was also warm. Sunlight streamed through the windows and heated the room. Ladies often set down their needlepoint to rigorously fan themselves. French perfume did little to hide the smell of overheated bodies. Phoebe couldn’t decide which was more torturous: the needlework, the singing, or the heat. She glanced at Elaine’s twin, Clarice, and the lady appeared just as restless.

Phoebe frowned as she studied her own work—a needlepoint of a butterfly. “I cannot even fault Elaine for her music. My needlepoint is terrible.” The wings of the butterfly were uneven and it looked as if the insect would never make it to flight.

Beatrice eyed her handiwork as she fanned herself. “It’s not terrible and can be fixed.”

Phoebe stuck the needle in the middle of the butterfly’s body and tossed it on the table, then picked up her own fan. “Too bad I don’t wish to fix it. I need to go outdoors to escape this room. Walk. Ride. Garden. Swim. Anything.”

When she’d opened her window that morning, there had been a slight breeze. Now she glanced longingly outside. The men were returning from another hunt. Willard laughed at one of his friends—Mr. Miles Roxborough. Phoebe didn’t like Roxborough. He tended to watch her unnervingly.

She searched for another—her gaze finding and lingering on the Marquess of Landon’s tall figure. He stood out from the rest of the men. Not just because of his height—which was well more than six feet—but because of his dominating masculine presence. Sunlight glinted off his dark hair, revealing strands of mahogany. The sportsman attire was meticulously tailored, the navy coat emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the fawn breeches outlining muscular legs. He was magnetic as a lodestone, and she could not look away. Mr. Adian, a handsome gentleman of average height with curly black hair, an olive complexion, slightly larger nose, and jet eyes, was by his side. The two men had an easy camaraderie.

She wondered how they’d met. Landon had mentioned Mr. Adian had helped him after the shipwreck. Had they been on the same ship? Or was it afterward, when the marquess was concussed and injured? How had he been found floating at sea?

Questions nagged at her. Why should she care about such things? She shouldn’t be so interested. It had been two days since their heated encounter after rescuing Lady Delmont from her runaway horse. Two long days and she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the man.

A trickle of annoyance centered in her chest. She tried to rub it away.

Ridiculous.

Why was she drawn to him?

Because Landon was the most maddeningly handsome man she’d ever met. Because sparring with him was exciting and sent her heart racing when it hadn’t raced for a long, long time.

“If you want to escape for a bit, go now,” Beatrice said, interrupting her thoughts. “Your mother is occupied with Lady Delmont. You know how much she’s been wanting to get closer to the lady.”

“Thank you, dear cousin.” Phoebe slipped out the door of the drawing room and down a corridor. Her destination was the back gardens where she could take in some fresh air and cool her heated cheeks. Even a few precious minutes would help calm her rioting emotions.