Page 4 of Make Mine a Marquess

Beneath her mother’s watchful gaze, Phoebe rested her hand on the baron’s arm as he escorted her to the dance floor.

Phoebe would curb her inclinations. Not repeat history. Do her duty.

As they spun on the dance floor, she was powerless to prevent her gaze from traveling over the guests.

Where the devil is the pirate?

…

Landon kept to the shadows of the mansion. It had been five years, but he recalled every dip in the soft earth, every flower bed and bush. The sound of a lively country dance grew fainter as he made his way farther from the ballroom. Beneath the light of the moon, he made out the shape of the conservatory which provided flowers year-round for the vestibule and the dining room. Next came the orangery, which produced oranges and pomegranates throughout the long winter months.

He approached the large French doors that led into the mansion’s study. He touched the handle, expecting the doors to be locked. Unless Willard had fired all the staff, they’d been diligent and had always ensured each casement and outside door was secure at the end of the day. Landon reached into his pocket and withdrew his lockpicks. He’d picked up more useful skills in his time away than he’d ever learned from his years at university.

In less than five minutes, he was inside the study. He lit a lantern, keeping the light low. Willard was his first cousin. He was also his enemy. But this time, Landon had the advantage. Willard had no idea Landon knew of his betrayal.

So where would he hide any incriminating documents?

The desk would be too easy. Still, Landon opened the drawers, unwilling to overlook the obvious. He found unpaid invoices from dozens of vendors. Several tailors. Hatmakers. Bootmakers. Furnishings. Even a catered cake from Gunther’s. Good God, he’d known his cousin was a spendthrift, but his spending was worse than he’d recalled. Of course, the bastard wasn’t wasting his own money.

It was Landon’s coin. All part of the marquess’s estates. Willard had completely neglected the East Wing after a tree struck by lightning had damaged a parapet and had left it crumbling rather than spend money to repair and maintain the mansion. Even more devastating was the lack of care for his tenants and servants. Landon had always made sure that his tenants’ roofs never leaked and they had ample supplies, heat, and food, especially during the chilly winters. Dozens of people relied on him, and he cared for all of them.

It appeared that in the years of Landon’s absence, his cousin had neglected the tenants’ needs and mistreated the servants.

A venomous hatred bloomed in his chest.

Landon clenched his teeth and resumed his search. His fingertips traced the ledges of a bookshelf, searching for a loose book or hiding place. His frustration mounted when voices could be heard outside the study. His time was limited.

Tomorrow he’d have more opportunity. He’d thirsted for vengeance for so long. A vision flashed in his mind of fair hair, smooth skin, and watchful blue eyes.

Tomorrow. He couldn’t wait.

Chapter Two

“You’ve been patient for five long years, my friend. Do not let emotions ruin your quest.”

“Never.” Landon shot his friend, Aram Adian, a sidelong glance as he stood on the porch of Landon House, the country seat of the marquessate. Still, to be sure he maintained iron control, he breathed in and out before lifting the brass knocker.

A butler with a slight hunch answered the door.

“Hello, Hobbs,” Landon said.

The butler blinked. Once. Twice. An astonished look crossed his face, and he raised a hand with paper-thin skin peppered with age spots to his heart. “By all that’s holy, I am seeing things in my old age.”

“You’re not. It’s me.” Landon stepped into the vestibule. He grasped the aging butler’s arm before the man fell over. “I was lost at sea. I’m back now.” It was good to see the longtime family servant.

Tears formed in Hobbs’s eyes. “I will announce you—”

Landon motioned to his friend. “But first, this is my friend and guest, Mr. Aram Adian. Please see that he has accommodations.”

“Of course, my lord.” Hobbs turned, then looked back. “Welcome back, my lord.”

Landon proceeded down the hall, glancing inside each room as he went. Everything was familiar yet distant, as if he were entering a tunnel. They passed a green drawing room with elegant mahogany furniture, a marble-manteled fireplace, and a gilt-framed portrait of his mother, the deceased marchioness. Changes were evident. Gilded candlesticks were missing from the mantel along with other gold ornamentation. Next came the library with its shelves of leather-bound books and a wheeled ladder that allowed access to the top shelves. He could almost smell the comforting scent of old books and the late marquess’s cigars. He noticed the library seemed to have fewer books. They continued down the hall, passing another drawing room, this one in gold with matching gold drapes and settee, then proceeded past a dining room with a table that could comfortably seat three dozen guests. Gold candelabras were missing from both rooms. A crumbling East Wing and the neglect of his tenants was bad enough. What else had his greedy cousin pillaged from the house?

Still, more memories returned as he walked through the manor, his home. The times he’d spent with his family as a child, then as a young man, then later. It seemed a lifetime ago. But it was his recent past that could not easily be forgotten and had shaped the man he was now.

When the ship had gone down, he’d thought he’d die. The acrid scent of fire, the screams, the shock of the cold water, and the taste of saltwater burning his throat were impossible to forget. His lungs had painfully squeezed until he could no longer breathe. The devastating shipwreck had haunted his nightmares. It still did.

He shoved the harrowing images away and focused on the present. He tugged on his waistcoat, a fine navy kerseymere. He’d replenished his wardrobe overseas from an experienced tailor, one any dandy would envy.