Page 35 of Make Mine a Marquess

“Phoebe,” he said, without a thought to her concerns, “I’d like to move up the wedding date.”

She blinked. Her mind was slow to comprehend his words. “What? But why?”

His grip on her hand tightened. “Your father has given his blessing. From what I understand, he’s drawing up a marriage contract. Why wait?”

A nervous fluttering centered in her chest. “I thought to have time to plan our wedding.”

“What else is there to arrange? A wedding breakfast can easily be arranged by your mother. I’ll ask again. Why wait?”

Why indeed?

Because she’d believed she had more time. Not just to prepare the requisite details, including purchasing her trousseau, selecting a wedding gown, picking the colors of the napkins for the wedding breakfast, or even packing her belongings to move to his London townhome.

Because she was not ready.

An image flashed before her of a dark-haired, dark-eyed marquess. Lord Landon should be the last man on her mind. But he was, dammit. She couldn’t stop thinking of his kiss or their talk by the river’s edge.

It was illogical and dangerous. She had planned the course of her life and the marquess had no place in it. His cousin, on the other hand, had a place by her side as her future husband. A knot twisted in her stomach.

“Do you agree?” Lord Willard’s question interrupted her wayward thoughts.

Another thought came to her. A disturbing one.

Why did he want to marry so quickly?

Because he needs my dowry.

The unpleasant truth crept into her mind. She’d overheard Willard mention her dowry while gambling. She’d always known he liked to live lavishly, but she had not known the extent of his gambling habit. Her father was too shrewd not to know, but he’d also never mentioned financial affairs with her. Was Willard that desperate for her money to rush their wedding?

“I…we must ask my parents,” she sputtered.

He patted her hand like one would a small child without an opinion. “We shall wait until after the house party. Any sooner and it will outshine my cousin’s homecoming. As soon as we arrive in London, we can marry at St. Bartholomew’s church.”

“My lord, I—”

“Just Willard,” he said.

“Yes, I—”

“The truth is, I’ve been waiting for a moment alone with you without the threat of your mother’s prying eyes. Do you remember our first kiss?”

How could she forget? She thought back to the day the baron had proposed. He’d already received consent from her father before kneeling to ask her. That same afternoon, they’d sat together on the blue velvet sofa in her family’s London drawing room. Her mother had left them unchaperoned for a minute to see to refreshments. The long-case clock had struck twelve o’clock in the afternoon, and he’d leaned forward and kissed her. It had been swift and daring and had lasted less than the dozen chimes of the clock.

“I remember,” she said.

“Today will be different.” He pulled her roughly into his arms, then lowered his head to kiss her.

Momentarily stunned by his heretofore uncharacteristic aggressiveness, her first instinct was to push him away, but she stopped herself. This was her chance to prove to herself that all would be well. That the kiss with Landon would fade from her mind after Willard kissed her. It had to.

It must. Closing her eyes, she raised her mouth to his and offered no resistance.

She almost recoiled at the awkward, sloppy way he pressed his lips against hers. His hands lowered to her waist, and he moaned, his actions becoming more urgent. His teeth mashed against her lips. She gasped and he took full advantage to thrust his tongue inside. He tasted of gin and garlic, and she placed a hand above his pounding heart, trying to open a space so she could breathe.

When he lifted his head, she dragged in a deep breath. Lust shone in his blue eyes. Phoebe’s stomach sank at the dreadful, undeniable truth. Willard’s rough kiss was lackluster and smothering while Landon’s had skillfully awakened her passion.

Willard looked down at her, completely unaware of her response. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I came calling on you at your home. I look forward to much, much more on our wedding night.”

A suffocating sensation tightened her throat and she floundered for something to say. “I…I…”