The Marquess Wins a Wife

The Marquess Wins a WifeAydra Richards Contents Title PageOther Books by Aydra RichardsDedicationChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty OneChapter Twenty TwoChapter Twenty ThreeChapter Twenty FourChapter Twenty FiveChapter Twenty SixChapter Twenty SevenChapter Twenty EightChapter Twenty NineChapter ThirtyChapter Thirty OneChapter Thirty TwoChapter Thirty ThreeChapter Thirty FourChapter Thirty FiveEpilogueAuthor’s Note Other Books by Aydra RichardsSeries OneHis Favorite MistakeHis Reluctant LadyHis Forgotten BrideHis Improper ProposalSeries TwoThe Scandal of the SeasonMy Darling Mr. DarlingA Duke in DisguiseSeries ThreeThe Lady UnmaskedMy Deceitful Duchess DedicationTo Floyd. Though mounting photographic evidence would suggest you are often a bit confused on how shirts work, I sincerely hope no one ever teaches you how to wear one properly.May you continue to grace the covers of various romance novels for many years to come. Chapter OneEnfield, EnglandAugust, 1824To be perfectly honest, I always suspected I would die at the point of a pistol,” Luke said, sliding his hands behind his head. “And yet, somehow, I still find myself surprised.”“Oh, shut up, you—you bloviating dandy.” The woman at the other end of the pistol seemed to be struggling with it, uncomfortable with the weight of the weapon held in her hands. She was attractive enough, he supposed, though she fell somewhat short of beauty. Small chin, pert nose, large eyes, and what was likely a great deal of dark hair hiding beneath the wretched bonnet festooned with far too many silk flowers. Daft, of course. She’d have to be, considering she was pointing a pistol at him. But still—pretty enough.Not precisely his sort, but he was willing to make allowances for a chit that promised to be appealing enough, once she’d been shucked of her hideous garments. “If you wanted a tumble, darling, you had only to ask.”That soft, rosebud mouth dropped agape. “You think I want to bed you?” A bright burn of color seared her cheeks, and the true horror that came over her face was, frankly, insulting. “You—you infernal jackanapes!”“Jackanapes? Dear God, you can do better than that, surely.” Luke wiggled his fingers. “Might I let my arms down? I have an itch.”“An itch?”“In an unmentionable area. You’d best not look.”Her mouth snapped shut. “Restrain yourself,” she uttered through gritted teeth, firming her shoulders and tilting that pugnacious little chin upwards as she jerked the weapon to the right. “Get into the carriage, if you please, sir.”Ah—so there was a carriage, just there, waiting in the darkness at the twist in the drive which led down into the main road. Had Luke had his wits about him, he might’ve noticed. But he had not had his wits about him in quite a long time. “I do not please, in fact.”A shrug. “If you don’t, then.”Briefly, Luke considered shouting for help, but given the revelry currently underway within the house from which he had recently emerged, he counted it unlikely anyone would pay him much attention. Shouting had been rather the order of the evening thus far. What would be one more shout when added to the others? And—God, she really would shoot him. He could see it there in the ferocity of her dark eyes, glowing a sheening gold with the reflected light from the windows of the manor house behind him. Reluctantly, he put one foot in front of the other, and his boots crunched over the gravel scattered across the drive. “Do you frequently go about abducting men from house parties, Miss…?”“Talbot,” she said. “As if you didn’t know.”“I didn’t,” he growled. “How could I have done?” Another step, and another. He’d gotten past her now, and he might have a moment to turn, to disarm her—The point of the pistol pressed into the small of his back. “I wouldn’t,” she advised, and Luke had the rather unpleasant sensation that she had seen straight into his mind and divined his intentions.Christ. “I really don’t know what this is about,” he said, and there was the carriage just there, and he was inexorably heading toward it still. “I haven’t reneged on any bets. I have not failed to pay any creditors.”“It’s not about money,” she hissed. “You ruined my sister, you cretin!”His mind screeched to a halt—and so did the rest of him, his feet freezing upon the ground. “I most certainly did not!”The barrel pressed harder; a firm reminder of his role in this farce. “You attend a party like this one,” she sneered, and of course there was a perfectly punctuated roll of laughter that pierced the quiet of the night from within the house, followed by a resounding crash, as of something very heavy and extremely expensive meeting an untimely demise, “and you expect me to believe you are not a rake of the first order?”Luke ground his teeth together, placed his hand upon the carriage door, and hefted himself within. “I didn’t say that,” he said. “But I have no particular taste for despoiling innocents, so it would be impossible for me to have ruined your sister.” Talbot, he thought, searching the dark recesses of his memory. Talbot? He didn’t know any Talbots whatsoever. Nary a one.“She is with child!”“My felicitations on her forthcoming blessed event.”“With your child!”“Impossible. Your sister tells you tales, Miss Talbot.” The squabs shrieked beneath his weight, an obvious sign of a carriage which hadn’t seen a recent repair. It was too shadowy to see much, but he imagined there would be other such signs. Perhaps upholstery that had faded, or peeling paint. The little harridan scuttled in after him, somehow managing to keep the weapon trained upon him as she did.“You will not,” she said, in that tight, malicious voice, “call my sister a liar.”It was an ill-advised action, given that every bit of evidence suggested she would relish the chance to fire that weapon. Twitchy trigger finger if ever he’d seen one.Luke chose his words carefully, with that in mind. “Perhaps she was merely…mistaken,” he suggested. “I’ll admit my reputation is not