My Wicked Marquess (25 page)

Carissa hurried alongside her.

“I know Her Grace will take me in. As rich as she is, maybe the Dowager Duchess can help to shore up Papa's financial situation. Whatever happens, I know she won't let them force me into this match. I must fly to her.” She turned to her friend. “Whatever you do, don't tell them where I've gone—neither Lord Rotherstone nor Papa.”

“Never!” Carissa held up her right hand, swearing. “If they come asking for you, I'll make sure that I am not at home to answer them. Look!” She suddenly pointed to another carriage with two white horses just now dashing up the drive, a late arrival. “It's Jonathon!”

“Jono!” She really must be turning into a watering pot, Daphne thought, for the sight of her happy-go-lucky childhood friend brought another wave of tears into her eyes.

Never had she felt more grateful to see him than she was at that moment, when he drove up in his phaeton with a grin and a loud “Cheerio, girls!”

“Jonathon!” Daphne wailed, rushing up to the side of his halted carriage, crying.

“Oh, my darling dear, whatever is the matter?” he exclaimed. He had hardly set the brake and leaped down from the carriage before Daphne flung herself into his arms and hugged him tightly. “What on earth—?” he mumbled, returning her embrace uncertainly. “What the devil's wrong?”

“It's a long story,” she sobbed out in a woeful tone against
his shoulder. “Carissa will tell you all. Jonathan, do you love me?”

“'Course, I do, old girl.”

“Oh—!” She hugged him harder, prepared to ask him right then and there to go ahead and marry her after all these years.

“You're like a sister to me,” he added, giving her a fond squeeze about the shoulders.

“A
sister
?” Daphne lifted her tearstained face in irritation and looked up into his guileless blue eyes.

Her heart sank, but it was all too plain that there was nothing between them like the fireworks she had experienced in Max's arms.

It struck her with sudden, overwhelming force just then that it was obscene of her to complain about Max wanting to marry her for the wrong reasons, when she was blithely, blindly prepared to do the exact same thing to dear old hapless Jonathon.

A wave of confusion washed over her. She thought Max was the villain and she the victim, but now…? She pulled back from Jono's embrace, feeling like a miserable hypocrite.

After all, wasn't her foppish chum entitled to a chance at the same true love that she claimed to want?

It seemed glaringly obvious now that she had been prepared to offer Jono no more of her deepest heart than what Max had offered her. Maybe less. Indeed, she had wanted to marry him only because she could control him.

Control, control, control.

Max would not let her have that. He was too strong. Was that why she kept running away from him?

“I say.” Jono glanced nervously at Carissa. “What's with all the waterworks? This is so unlike her. Here, Star, take my handkerchief before your snot gets on my coat.”

She frowned at him through her tears. “That's vulgar, Jonathon.” But she took it gratefully and wiped her nose.

“Is she all right?” he asked.

Carissa folded her arms across her chest. “She will be soon.”

“Oh, Jono.” With a sniffle, Daphne pulled back from his brotherly embrace. “I'm so sorry for how rotten I've been to you,” she forced out, distraught and utterly penitent for her unwitting selfishness. “I never meant any harm.”

“Right.” He furrowed his brow. “I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm sure all is forgiven.”

“You've always been so good to me.” She looked at his handkerchief. Case in point. “I really do adore you,” she added.

“Oh, I see.” His gaze slid to Carissa. “She's been drinking, hasn't she?”

“No,” Carissa said wryly. “It's a bit more complicated than that.”

“Well, what then?” he exclaimed. “Would one of you ladies explain, by Jove? I am beginning to worry!”

“I'm fine,” Daphne said with a sniffle. “Really.”

Carissa hesitated, then looked from her to Jonathon and murmured, “She's in love with a man she can't manage.”

Daphne turned to her friend in utter shock.

“I have eyes, my dear.”

“No!” She gazed at the all-knowing Carissa in questioning dread. “
No!
” she cried again, refusing to believe it.

Carissa pressed her lips shut and lowered her gaze discreetly.

“Ah, we're talking about Lord Rotherstone again?” Jono asked without a care.

Daphne turned to him in horror. “You, too?”

“Well, of course.” Jono grinned. “You've talked of little else since the bloody Edgecombe ball.”

She let out a huge gasp of indignation, her heart pounding with her denial. “That isn't true!”

“Oh, yes, it is,” they said in unison.

“No! You both are wrong—wrong, I say! You don't know what you're talking about!” she added.

They just looked at her.

Shaking her head, Daphne turned away, but then the high-perch phaeton in which Jono had just arrived caught her eye. “Jono,” she spoke up. “Could I ask you one little, tiny favor?”

He frowned at her in suspicion.

But a few minutes later, Daphne was driving his flashy phaeton homeward, almost as fast as madman Max had gone careening through Hyde Park that day on the afternoon of their infamous drive.

She put that blackguard out of her mind—for the last time.

Marry
him
? Ha! She would rather marry a toad.
In love with the Demon Marquess?

She scoffed.
Far from it.

He would see. So would the rest of them!

She would never even
speak
to him again.

M
ax took a sip of his morning tea as he sat in his study the next day; he stared unseeingly at the Tavistock papers that Virgil had given him to analyze. It was difficult to concentrate, however, because he was fairly sure that all dealings between him and Daphne were over, and that, quite rightly, he was banished from her world.

There was only one thing left to say—
I am sorry.
But he wasn't sure she even wanted to hear that. It might be more respectful at this point, finally, just to leave the girl alone, as she had long been asking him to do.

The worst realization of all, slightly sickening in its impact, though till now it had been invisible to him, was that he had blindly set out to do to Daphne almost the exact same thing that had been done to him when he was a boy. Just as his gambling father had handed him over to the Order for the sake of gold, so Max had sought to acquire Daphne from Lord Starling to fulfill his own plans.
Buy a wife.

He closed his eyes, barely able to believe his own selfish, callous cynicism. Who did he think he was, to impose his will on her?

As badly as he still yearned for her, by the cold light of day, he knew he must give up on this. He had tried every angle he knew, but since she clearly did not want him, he
had to let her go.

Yet it made him wonder…

If he had been gentler with her heart, more of a lover and less of a spy, might he have had a real chance to win her love?

So much for that.

His churlish display had alienated her. He regretted punching Albert. He had always thought it would bring him great satisfaction to do so, but quite the opposite was true. Letting the bastard goad him into losing his temper just like when they were boys had been no victory.

More like a defeat.

At least the eldest Carew brother, Hayden, the Duke of Holyfield, had enjoyed seeing Alby get a taste of his comeuppance.

Hayden had stopped Max on his way out with a hearty “Well done, Rotherstone! We both know he's had it coming for years.”

Very true. Nevertheless, Max knew he had upset Daphne, offended his hosts, and sunk to Albert's level. How could he ever have thought that he deserved her? He let out a sigh, put his pencil down, and rested his forehead in his hand. She was right, he concluded. He was no better than Albert. All the same, he thought, disheartened but as stubborn as ever, if he could not have Daphne, he no longer wanted to marry anyone.

Just then, a loud, angry knock on the front door echoed all the way back to Max's study. He lowered his hand from his brow and lifted his head as Dodsley went past his doorway with sedate strides to answer it. A moment later, Max heard Lord Starling's voice in the entrance hall.

He braced himself.

“Rotherstone! Are you here?” The viscount must have rushed past Dodsley, for he suddenly appeared in the doorway of Max's office, wild-eyed. “Is she here? Is she with you?”

Max furrowed his brow. “No. What is going on?”

“She must be here—my daughter! Tell me the truth, Rotherstone! If she came here last night to be with you—”

“Lord Starling, believe me—what is the matter?”

“Daphne's gone!” he burst out.

“Gone?” The blood drained from Max's face. He got up immediately from his desk and walked around it to the viscount. “Tell me whatever you know.”

“This morning we thought she slept in. She left early last night from the ball, claiming a headache. But when my wife went in to check on her this morning, she was not there! Her bed had not even been slept in!”

“Did she leave a note?”

“No, nothing!”

“Did anyone see anything?”

“The younger girls' governess heard her come in, but she, too, thought Daphne had retired. Not even my footman William knows where they went—he is the twin brother of Daphne's maid. Usually, the twins are inseparable, but this time Daphne took Wilhelmina with her. Not even the maid left word for her brother about where they planned to go.”

Max's heart thundered. All of this was his fault. “Sir, did you check with Miss Portland? If she is not with that young lady, at the least, the girl will know where Daphne is.”

“No, I came here first. I assumed my daughter stole away here last night to, er, to be with you!”

“With me? Sir, she would never do something like that.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Rotherstone, I was young once, too,” he snapped. “Besides, there is no telling what a young girl in love will do.”

“In love?” The words pained him. “Sir, I must be blunt. I am persona non grata with your daughter at the moment. In fact, far from being in love, I am fairly sure she hates me, with good reason.” Max lowered his head. “We had a bit of a quarrel last night.”

“Ah. Well, then. Perhaps that explains her flight.”

“Indeed. My lord, there's something else. I accidentally revealed the, er, financial aspects of our arrangement.”

“You did what?” Lord Starling paled with a guilt-stricken look. “I did not want her to know, Rotherstone! I did not want her to worry!”

Or to know about her proud father's financial embarrass
ment, Max thought. “I realize that, my lord. I am deeply sorry. Whatever happens, know that I am your friend. I don't want anything back from you. I still care for her, and whatever helps you helps her, so…so be it.” He paused, gathering his will to do the right thing. “As much as I admire her, your daughter does not want me. I can no longer press my suit, as it only appears to infuriate her. I will find her and tell her there is no more need for her to flee or to hide. I know she doesn't want to see me, but I have some expertise in locating people who don't necessarily wish to be found. I will bring your daughter home to you safely.”

The poor old gentleman appeared to be in shock over it all. Max quickly pulled over a chair for him. “Do sit down, Lord Starling. Dodsley! Get him something to drink.”

“Yes, milord.” His butler eyed the shaken viscount with worry and glided over to pour the man a brandy.

“My poor girl.” Lord Starling dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief. “Where can she have gone?”

“Probably to Miss Portland or Jonathon White,” Max said. “That would be my guess.”

“Oh, she must hate me now,” her otherwise doting father moaned. “I really thought that you two would be quite perfect for each other.”

“So did I,” Max mumbled, but he cleared his throat when Dodsley brought over the drink, and resumed his businesslike manner. “You're sure there was no sign of an intruder?” he clarified.

“No, of course not,” the viscount said impatiently.

“You checked the grounds, the windows?”

“She took a goodly number of her dresses, Max. The chit's run off, believe me. Now at least I have an inkling why.”

Max nodded in relief. “Try not to worry, then. I will find your daughter soon. Do you know where Miss Portland lives?”

He shrugged. “I believe she is the niece of the Earl of Denbury.”

“Denbury House stands on the east side of Belgrave Square,” Dodsley spoke up.

Lord Starling nodded. “And Jonathon White takes bach
elor lodgings at the Althorpe in Piccadilly.”

“Then I can be there in no time at all.”

“Let me know at once if you hear anything, Max! Send word to my home. Penelope is there. She is beside herself, as well.”

Dodsley sent him off with a worried frown. “Godspeed, sir.”

Max nodded as he pulled on his coat and paused on his way out the door. “Lord Starling, do not worry. I promise you, I will bring her back with all due haste.” Then he went out to saddle his horse and rode off to Denbury House.

A very short while later, he was banging on the door of the stately Town mansion on Belgrave Square.

A butler answered. “May I help you, sir?”

“I am the Marquess of Rotherstone,” he clipped out. “I must speak to Miss Carissa Portland immediately.”

The butler's eyes widened; Max read the protest in them and rushed to head it off.

“I am afraid this is something of an emergency. Miss Portland's friend, Miss Starling, has gone missing. The girl could be in danger. I am here on Lord Starling's behalf to try to help him find his daughter. Did Miss Starling come here? Please, I must know,” he said urgently. “Her family is frantic.”

“I-I do not know, my lord,” the butler replied, looking slightly rattled at this news. “I did not see Miss Starling here today. But I'm afraid Miss Portland is not at home.”

“Not at home?” he challenged.

“Truly! She has gone out with her cousins!”

He narrowed his eyes at him. “Where?”

“Shopping!”

Hiding from me
, he thought. So, the little redhead must be in on it. “Do you know where?”

“No, sir, the ladies did not tell me. Bond Street, maybe, the Burlington Arcade. It is difficult to say.”

“Very well, when do you expect them back?”

“By teatime, I should think, sir.”

“When Miss Portland returns, I would ask you to give her these instructions, from me. Tell her Lord Rotherstone
said to send whatever information she may have of Daphne's whereabouts to the Starling home. As Miss Starling's closest friend, she may be the only one who knows where Daphne is. Oh, and do please warn Miss Portland that if I don't hear from her, I will be back to question her myself. Have you got that?”

The butler nodded. “Yes, my lord, indeed.”

“Thank you.” Max gave the butler a taut nod, then he pivoted and returned to his horse, quickly mounting up again.

Next stop—the fashionable Althorpe.

An inquiry at the small gatehouse that stood guard at the entrance of the elegant, fenced compound revealed which of the many apartments belonged to Jonathon White.

Max pounded on the door; Daphne's first choice of husbands answered quickly, wearing little curler strips of cloth in his hair as he waited for his perfect Grecian curls to dry. The man was quite the dandy.

“Rotherstone?” White frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Daphne's disappeared,” he said bluntly. “If you know where she's gone, you had better tell me now.”

“Disappeared?” He paled behind his freckles. “What do you mean?”

“I mean disappeared!” As Max quickly explained what had happened, White began to panic.

“I saw her last night. She was crying. It was awful. So I let her take my carriage. I thought she was just going home!”

“Did she tell you where she was headed?”

“No. Did you ask Carissa?”

“She wasn't home. Damn it, you let her drive off in your carriage while she was crying?”

“Well, don't complain to me, you're the one who made her cry in the first place! Good God, I hope she didn't have an accident on the road on her way home. It was dark, and she's not a terribly experienced driver.”

“What kind of carriage?” Max asked.

“A high-perch phaeton,” he said uneasily.

You fool
, Max thought, staring at him. Those things were made for tipping over if you took a turn too fast.

“It wasn't as if I could say no to her, especially with the tears!”

“Are you going to help me look for her?”

Jonathon blinked. “What, right now?”

Max narrowed his eyes at him. “She wants to marry you, you know. You could show some concern.”

He snorted. “For your information, Daphne can take care of herself. Furthermore, I think you know by now that she and I are merely friends.”

Max harrumphed and turned to go, but paused. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What is it?”

“You know her better than anyone. Do I have…any chance left at all with her?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“How good are you at groveling?”

Max absorbed this, then gave him a wry look. “If you hear from her, tell her to send word to her father. Old man's distraught.”

“I will,” Jonathan said. “And if you see her first, tell her I want my blasted carriage back!”

Max waved him off as he strode back to his horse. He considered retracing her route from the location of the ball in Richmond-upon-Thames, but her father had said the younger girls' governess had heard Daphne come home last night. Max decided instead to go back to the Starling villa and see if there was any news of her yet. No matter how angry she was, it seemed unlike her to let her family worry.

As he galloped the stallion along the flat stretches of road toward South Kensington, he was beginning to feel rather frantic with worry for the girl, to say nothing of his guilt to know he was the cause of her running away.

At last, he cantered up to the Starling estate, his horse in need of water. Trying not to wallow too much in remorse—after all, he would need a clear head—he braced himself to go into her house and see if there was any word of her. Perhaps she had come to her senses and returned in the meanwhile. He prayed it was so as Penelope, Lady Starling,
answered the door.

She was in a tizzy already, so Max did not bother addressing right now the issue of her prematurely sharing the news of their engagement with Society. The matronly troublemaker had made everything more complicated, but Max put it aside for now as Lady Starling confirmed that her husband and his trusty footman William were not yet back from making more inquiries.

While they were talking, however, a messenger arrived, delivering a note for footman William. Max's heart leaped as Lady Starling announced it was from his twin sister, Wilhelmina.

Max remembered both twins, Daphne's country maid and footman, from his observations that day in Bucket Lane.

Mentally begging footman William's pardon, he took the letter from Penelope, and with her permission, he quickly tore the note open and read it, his heart pounding.