Page 27 of Make Mine a Marquess

“She’s unfortunate enough to be betrothed to a blackguard.” An edge of cynicism laced his voice.

He couldn’t think of her now. Or that kiss. He needed to keep the ultimate goal in mind. Justice for himself. Justice for every drowned sailor on that ship. And justice for his tenants and servants who had suffered beneath his greedy cousin’s malfeasance. The name in the ledger could be evidence of Willard’s treachery. Seducing Phoebe and her dowry away from Willard ensured he could not pay off his debts or, even more devastating, hire a fancy solicitor to defend his crimes.

His heart hardened as he kept it all in mind.

The lady was a means to an end. Nothing more.

Chapter Eight

As soon as Phoebe closed her bedchamber door, she picked up Mimi and stroked the cat’s soft fur. “Oh, Mimi. I did something terrible.”

Mimi’s lovely yellow eyes watched her, then the cat purred and tilted her head toward Phoebe’s hand. Phoebe instinctively scratched behind the cat’s ears, just like she preferred. Holding her pet always calmed her and it helped ease her inner torment today. Mimi never judged, just listened, and offered affection when Phoebe needed it most.

“Do I have a weakness for rogues? For surely, the Marquess of Landon is a scoundrel to kiss his cousin’s betrothed.”

In his defense, she’d allowed him to kiss her. And if she was completely honest with herself, she’d returned his kiss, giving herself freely to the passion thrumming between them. At the first touch of their lips, her senses—which she usually kept under tight control—had leaped to life. She’d felt his heart thudding against her own and a delicious shudder had heated her body. The experience was completely unlike the one time Lord Willard had briefly brushed her lips after they’d become betrothed. She’d easily maintained propriety then.

“Am I doomed?” she asked the cat.

Mimi let out a long meow that sounded like a reassuring nooo to her, then the cat leaped out of her arms to jump onto the window seat overlooking the gardens. Phoebe let out a long sigh.

There was only one course of action.

She needed to resist the marquess for the rest of the house party. It should not be hard since, so far, the ladies and gentlemen had rarely interacted. It had been five years since her pregnancy scare and Philip’s disappearance. Five years to swear off rogues, rakes, and the worst offenders of all—liars. She’d worked so hard to dull her senses and concentrate on her future. Marrying Lord Willard was what her parents wanted, what she wanted.

A secure future, with her heart nowhere in the picture.

Gathering her wits, she summoned her maid. Mimi left the room as Anne entered. “She’s off to the kitchens for a treat, she is,” Anne cooed as she walked inside to open the wardrobe doors and pull out a light pink dress.

“No doubt, the kitchen maids spoil the cat,” Phoebe said.

Anne put the pink dress on the bed, then began to help Phoebe out of her riding habit. “I’ve asked the other servants just as you wanted,” Anne said.

“Oh?” Phoebe asked. “Please tell me you have learned something.”

“There is a woman in the village who organizes charitable efforts.”

“What types of efforts?”

Anne slipped the pink dress over Phoebe’s head and began to secure the row of tiny pearl buttons. “Efforts to help young, unwed pregnant women. But not only such as them. She also helps expectant mothers who’ve been abandoned by their spouses or lovers. Many have other children. Most of the women need to find work.”

“What do you mean by abandoned spouses or lovers?”

“Men who abuse their wives or those who force their women out of the home. Drunks. Gamblers.”

It was a common story. The Society for Unwed Mothers had just as many married pregnant women with young children fleeing bad home lives as unwed expectant mothers. In some cases, the women needed refuge from an angry drunkard. Those cases were more worrisome.

“Is there a woman in charge of the charity?”

“Her name is Sarah Smith.”

Excitement thrummed in Phoebe’s veins as she sat at her dressing table. Helping less fortunate young women was a way to focus her passions. Before she’d left Town, she’d concentrated her efforts on her London charity.

If she’d become pregnant when she was sixteen, her path would’ve been different. Because she came from a wealthy family, she would have been sent away to have her child. These women came from working and impoverished families. Too many were left on the streets to fend for themselves while the men had no consequences. It was terribly unfair and tugged at Phoebe’s heart. Now she used her advantages to help.

“Where can I find Sarah Smith?” She might only be in Hertfordshire for a few weeks, but even after she went back to Town, she could send necessities.

Anne picked up a hairbrush and began to work on Phoebe’s hair. “That’s just it. No one seems to know where she lives.”