Read Online MISTRESS TO THE MARQUIS by Margaret McPhee - Free Book Online Page A

owed over this one.’
    Razeby smiled.
    Fallingham, Devlin, Monteith and a few others wandered up, glasses of champagne and large chunks of food in hand.
    ‘How goes the bride search, Razeby?’ Devlin asked.
    ‘Well enough.’ He felt himself tense just at the question.
    ‘Found one yet?’ Fallingham enquired.
    ‘Not yet.’ He kept his face impassive, his manner cool.
    ‘Don’t seem quite yourself of late, Razeby,’ Monteith observed.
    He smiled at the irony of Monteith’s remark. Would any man be the same were he to stand in Razeby’s shoes? ‘Can’t imagine why,’ he said drolly.
    ‘Losing one’s freedom, weddings, wives and nurseries,’ Devlin supplied and gave a shudder.
    The rest of the group chuckled as if that was the reason.
    ‘Not regretting giving up the delightful Miss Sweetly, are you?’ Monteith asked as he helped himself to a bottle of champagne from a passing footman and topped up all their glasses.
    Nonchalantly uttered words, yet they cut through everything to touch some raw inner part of Razeby. It was all he could do not to suck in his breath at the sensation.
    ‘Not at all,’ he said smoothly and held Monteith’s gaze, denying the suggestion all the more.
    ‘Do not know why.’ Monteith smirked. ‘The common consensus is that you have run mad. Dismissing such a little gem when all of London is panting after her.’
    It took every bit of willpower to keep his jaw from hardening and the basilisk stare from his eyes, and to prevent the curl of his fingers into a fist.
    ‘You could have kept her on,’ said Devlin. ‘I would have, had it been me.’
    ‘We all would have,’ said Monteith.
    ‘I am not you.’ And Alice deserved a damn sight more respect than that.
    ‘Why exactly didn’t you keep her on?’ asked Fallingham and stopped sipping his champagne to hear the answer.
    The rest of the group looked at Razeby expectantly, a speculation in their eyes that had not been there before.
    ‘Do you really have to ask?’ he drawled with a deliberate ambiguity that did nothing to answer the question.
    ‘What you need is to get her back in your bed,’ said Fallingham.
    ‘What I need is to get myself a wife.’ He gritted his teeth.
    ‘The two need not be mutually exclusive,’ Monteith commented.
    ‘For me they are,’ Razeby said it with nothing of his usual jest or charm. He smiled, but the smile was hard and his eyes cool. He saw the look that was exchanged between his friends. And he did not care.
    The awkwardness of the moment was alleviated by Bullford’s mother, the formidable Lady Willaston, who appeared amidst their circle. ‘Sorry to interrupt your little chat, gentlemen, but, Lord Razeby, Miss Frome is nigh on ready to swoon with hunger from waiting for the plate of food you went to fetch her some considerable time ago.’
    ‘My humble apologies, ma’am.’ Razeby gave a nod. ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen...’ Picking up the plate from the table next to him, he made his way back to Miss Frome and her friends.
    * * *
    On the day after the débutante picnic Alice’s visitors sat in her new little drawing room while she poured tea into the three china cups set on their saucers on the table before her.
    Ellen and Tilly were old friends—they worked secretly as Miss Vert and Miss Rose at the blot in Alice’s past, London’s infamous high class brothel, Mrs Silver’s House of Rainbow Pleasures, in which the courtesans each dressed in a different colour and hid their identities behind feathered Venetian masks.
    ‘You ain’t half landed on your feet, Alice,’ said Tilly, glancing wide eyed round at the warm yellow decor of the drawing room with its gilt-and-crystal chandelier and peering glasses. ‘Razeby must have seen you all right in his severance settlement.’
    Alice smiled and passed the teacups to each of her friends in turn. ‘Of course he did.’
    ‘What did you manage to wangle from him? A suitably large sum and a nice piece of expensive