Page 32 of Make Mine a Marquess

Her complexion was pale, her blue eyes enormous in her face. Her dress was simple, but nothing else about Phoebe could be called simple. She was striking…beautiful…and would stand out even if she wore a burlap sack. It was the gawking men at his table that had made him turn to see her speaking to the barkeep.

Landon was off his chair in a flash.

“Well?” he asked, his voice terse.

She had yet to answer him. She blinked, once, twice, clearly taken by surprise by his appearance. She wasn’t the only one to be surprised this afternoon.

Recovering herself, she straightened her spine and faced him. “What are you doing here, my lord?” Her gaze traveled over him, taking in his simple shirt and corduroy jacket. To be the focus of her attention made him stand up tall.

“Having a drink. Answering my question with a question isn’t answering it at all.”

Color rose high in her cheeks, and she clutched her reticule before her. “I was inquiring about a friend’s whereabouts.”

“In a tavern?”

Her gaze darted from left to right. “We went to boarding school together. Her parents have a home in Hertfordshire.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t it be better to visit her home?”

Her pink lips thinned. “I don’t know where she lives. I thought to ask here.”

He didn’t believe her story—not one bit. Why dare to enter a tavern like the Cock and Bull instead of any of the more proper establishments along the street such as the dressmakers, shoemakers, or milliners? Anywhere a young unchaperoned lady might frequent, and a merchant might know of her friend.

A disturbing thought made him hesitate.

Was she searching for Aiden Cawley as well?

Christ, was it possible she knew about Willard’s attempt to kill him? She would have something to gain if Willard had succeeded. His cousin would inherit the title and, as his betrothed, she would one day be a marchioness. The title was much higher than a simple baroness. Could she be that cunning? That good an actress?

He found it hard to believe, and over the past five years he’d learned to trust his judgment.

He reached for her arm. “Come along and I’ll see you safely back to Landon manor.”

She sidestepped him. “That’s not necessary. I found my way here and I’m capable of returning on my own.”

Her defiance made his blood heat. “I don’t doubt your capability, Miss Dawson. But I would be a horrible host if I didn’t see to my guest’s safety.”

“I don’t feel unsafe here.” Every line of her body spoke defiance.

“Perhaps you should.” If not from the patrons, then from me.

She hesitated, her eyes flashing blue fire, before placing her hand on his forearm.

She was the most stubborn woman he knew. Memories of her riding after Lady Delmont’s runaway horse sprang to mind. Phoebe could be reckless…and willful. And rather than find those traits distasteful in a lady, he found them challenging, remarkable.

And highly attractive.

…

“The marquess found me in the local tavern,” Phoebe said.

Beatrice gaped. “He what?” The cousins sat side by side on the cushioned bench seat by the window in Phoebe’s bedchamber overlooking the estate’s vast gardens. Mimi was curled asleep in the corner of the cushion.

Phoebe bit her lower lip. “I told Lord Landon I was searching for a friend. I think he believed me.”

“I cannot fathom it! I told you it was risky venturing out by yourself to find Sarah Smith. And what on earth were you doing in a tavern?”

“I was led to believe Sarah worked there.” Phoebe twisted her hands in her lap. “In hindsight, it may not have been the best decision to go alone.”