Page 6 of Make Mine a Marquess

Willard lifted his own glass. “It’s good to have you back, cousin.”

“I will drink to that.” As he raised his glass once more, he caught a flash of malice in Willard’s gaze through the cut crystal.

Ah, Landon thought. There it is.

Willard was angry at his return. No doubt he’d wished for proof of his death all those years ago. Landon suspected now that he’d returned, his cousin might try again. Masking his expression, Landon sipped his drink and lowered his whisky. “Now tell me, how long is this house party?”

“It began yesterday with a masquerade ball and is to last for three weeks.” As if realizing he was no longer the master of the estate, the baron cleared his throat. “However, it’s your home and I will defer to your wishes should you decide to send the guests packing sooner.”

Landon shook his head. “As I said, a party is the perfect occasion to celebrate my homecoming. I do not wish to send any guest who’ve just arrived away or shorten the time of the festivities.”

“As you wish.”

“It will also give us occasion to go over the marquessate’s ledgers and businesses,” Landon said. “I understand you took care of things while I was away. I am indebted to you.” The only thing he owed his cousin was a prison sentence, but he could not slip or reveal he knew the truth.

“I would not shirk my duties,” Willard replied smoothly.

The blackguard was an accomplished actor, worthy of Drury Lane. If Landon didn’t know better, he’d believe him.

I’m sure you enjoyed spending all the estate’s coin. Your spendthrift ways have never been clearer. My tenants have suffered under your care.

Once more, the practiced smile came easily to Landon, and he made pretense of scanning the gardens and nodding at those who caught his eye. His attention narrowed on one person in particular, a lady. “I recognize many of the guests, but not all. Who is the lovely lady in pink?”

Willard’s chest puffed with arrogance. “She is my betrothed. Miss Dawson.”

“Your betrothed? Congratulations, cousin. You are a lucky man, indeed. When can I make her acquaintance?”

“Come. I shall introduce you.”

The lady in question stood with an older lady, either her mother or chaperone. The gown clung to her figure, emphasizing her curves. Her lustrous golden hair was swept up in a mass of curls.

Phoebe Dawson turned when they approached, and his breath caught. In the light of the day, she was even more beautiful and reminded him of a sunset in Egypt—bold beneath the hot sun and as lovely as a lotus flower. The prior evening, she’d been bathed in moonlight and the faint glow of the torches. But here…now…he could clearly see the perfection of her face.

He waited for Lord Willard to make the introductions. “Mrs. Dawson and Miss Dawson, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to my cousin, Lord Landon, the marquess. Mrs. Dawson is my betrothed’s mother.”

The mother’s eyes bulged from her round face. “Welcome back, my lord! It is an honor to meet you.”

Landon bowed. “Thank you, my lady. It is a pleasure to be back.”

He turned to the daughter, and her clear blue eyes met his. For a heart-stopping moment, a pulsing awareness thundered through him. Her lips slightly parted, then closed. He was aware of the catch of her breath, the rise and fall of her breasts in her bodice.

Did she recognize him in the light of day without his mask and costume?

He smiled, his first genuine smile of the evening. “It is a pleasure, Miss Dawson. My cousin is fortunate.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Her voice was whisper soft, unlike her tone the prior evening in the gardens. “The guests are abuzz with your story of survival.”

A devilish urge arose within him to provoke the same response. “Yes, I suppose I am a hard man to kill.”

A choking noise sounded from her mother. Phoebe’s eyes flashed blue fire before she quickly lowered her gaze.

Yes, she recognized him, and she kept the knowledge to herself. Phoebe Dawson was not as docile as she appeared.

Landon glanced at Willard out of the corner of his eye. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he’d miss the swift hardening of his cousin’s gaze and the tightening of his lips. Both signs were gone in a flash and if anyone else had glanced at Willard, they would say he showed no outward signs of remorse or guilt. But Landon noticed.

“What was it like to be lost at sea, my lord?” Phoebe asked.

Mrs. Dawson turned a brighter shade of purple, then glared at her daughter. “Please pardon my daughter. She is overheated and means no offense by the inappropriate question.”