Page 4 of This Marquess of Mine

Chapter Two

The front door to Mrs. Morris’s townhouse swung closed with a thud, rattling the door knocker. Griffin, the Marquess of Keswick, sighed and turned to face the quiet, lamp-lit street where his carriage with matching bays awaited him, blanketed in misty evening fog.

“Well,” he murmured, glancing down at the tiny bundle of black fur nestled in the crook of his arm. “That didn’t go quite as we’d planned, did it?”

“Meow.”

The kitten’s bright yellow eyes blinked up at him and a smile touched Griff’s lips. “Exactly so.”

Descending the stairs with slow, measured steps, he approached the carriage and called up to his coachman. “It’s a fine evening, John. I think I’d like to walk home. Follow behind me, will you?”

“Yes, m’lord. And what of...” The driver tipped his chin at the cat. “Shall I put it in the carriage?”

Griff shook his head. “No, I’ll keep her with me. I think she fancies a walk, as well.”

John nodded. “As you say, m’lord.”

Shifting his furry cargo to his other arm, Griffin started up the pavement with brisk steps, enjoying the cool caress of the evening mist on his cheeks. He thought he’d be spending the evening with Jane and had brought the kitten as a gift for her, but she’d taken one look at it and promptly ordered him to take it away. Her response surprised him, and he’d asked her if kittens made her sneeze.

No,she’d said. I simply don’t like cats.

Griffin frowned. “How could she not like you?” he asked the kitten, stroking her soft black fur. She purred and snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm.

Truth be told, he knew next to nothing about cats. He’d never kept one as a pet before and, apart from the toms that prowled the barn and stables at Keswick House, he had very little experience with them. Still, he couldn’t fathom disliking an entire species of animal. He hadn’t bothered to ask Jane why she didn’t like cats. It hardly mattered. He’d been waiting for an excuse to end their arrangement for some time now, and hating cats seemed as good a reason as any.

Honestly, he’d been growing bored with her for some time.

Although, if he was even more honest with himself, he would have to admit that just about everything bored him lately. He didn’t know why.

Dragging in a deep breath, he glanced up at the night sky, surprisingly clear given the fog at his feet. He could even see some of the constellations hanging up there. Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, Andromeda.

“No Orion tonight,” he murmured, scratching the kitten’s chin. “My father would have liked that. Orion was his least favorite constellation, you know. He always felt that of all the Greek characters of myth, Orion was the least deserving of those who’d been immortalized in the sky.”

A worthless scapegrace, he’d liked to call him. Griff smiled. “The only thing that seemed to make my father feel better was that every story written about Orion ended the same way: With Artemis killing him.”

His smile faded as a sharp pang of sorrow pierced his chest. The same pain of loss that struck him even now, twenty years after his father’s sudden death. He was only ten years old when his father died, but he still remembered him, still missed him, though the feeling had softened some over the years.

Sometimes, though—not often, but sometimes—he hated his father for leaving them. Logic told him he hadn’t left intentionally, that he would have stayed had he been given a choice, but logic and grief rarely shook hands.

And he couldn’t help feeling cheated. He would never speak with his father again, would never know him as an adult, would never again have the chance to discuss mythology and astronomy or share his worries or go to him for advice. Life could be deuced unfair sometimes.

The kitten squirmed and Griffin glanced down to find feline eyes peering up at him with keen interest, almost as if she craved more of Orion’s downfall.

“Bloodthirsty little thing, aren’t you?” he said with a chuckle.

The kitten mewled again then stretched a tiny paw out to swipe at the folds of Griff’s silk cravat. He caught her paw gently in his hand and sighed. “What am I to do with you, then?” he mused.

It had never occurred to him that Jane would reject his gift, and he’d made no contingency plan. “Perhaps Mother will take you. Or Emmy.”

So far as he knew, neither his mother nor his sister hated cats. He’d never heard them utter a disparaging remark against them, at least. And he was certain all it would take was one look at her furry little face and any misgivings would fade away.

He arrived home a few minutes later, reaching the top step just as the front door swung open, revealing Winters, the family butler of some forty-odd years.

“Good evening, my lord,” he said, “and welcome home.”

“Thank you, Winters,” Griffin said as the door was shut behind him.

Winters eyed the cat as he collected Griff’s hat and gloves, his curiosity almost palpable in the silence of the entrance hall.