Read Online What A Gentleman Wants by Caroline Linden - Free Book Online

from lack of sleep. Only fury was keeping him moving at this point: fury at a vicar who shook his hand and inquired after his bride, fury at a woman who told him to leave his own house, fury at a brother who could do this to him. It had been a long time since Marcus truly regretted having a twin. David’s previous pranks had been limited to tricking creditors into transferring his debts to Marcus, and that time at Oxford when he had tried to pass as Marcus to avoid being sent down. Marcus had promised to cut his throat if he ever tried it again, and David hadn’t, until now.
    He wished David had at least had the courtesy to choose someone obviously impossible, who would realize her proper place and be glad to go back to it. Instead David found a woman who already had all the self-confidence and bearing of a duchess, just above medium height with glossy black curls, snapping blue eyes, and a full mouth that Marcus might have found appealing under different circumstances. As it was, he had to get rid of her and have the register altered before anyone else got wind of this.
    The carriage stopped in front of Exeter House, and the footman swept open the door. Marcus unfolded himself from the seat, collecting the register and letter. The buder bowed as he strode through the door, the footman took his gloves as he removed them, and another servant was waiting for his hat. They operated in silent efficiency, the way Marcus preferred things, and he was turning toward the stairs when the butler broke protocol. He cleared his throat.
    “Your Grace, Lady Willoughby is here.” Marcus turned and looked at the butler. Harper bowed his head and waited.
    “Was she told I was at home?”
    “No, Your Grace. She insisted on waiting.” Marcus waited. The butler bowed lower. “I shall tell her you are not at home for the rest of the day.” Marcus inclined his head, and turned to go. Harper knew he didn’t like people waiting for him when he returned home. He was halfway through the cavernous hall when the drawing room door opened with a resounding crash.
    “How dare you!” cried Susannah, Lady Willoughby, in a dramatic tone. Marcus stopped, leveling a cool stare at her. God, he hated female theatrics. She crossed the hall with smooth, measured steps, her narrow skirts clinging to her legs. She came to a halt within arm’s reach, drew back her hand, and slapped him full across the face.
    “How dare you do this to me!” she hissed at close range. “You lying, arrogant, manipulating scoundrel!”
    Marcus was glad he hadn’t promised her anything. She had handed him the perfect excuse to get out of the assumptions she had drawn and he had not corrected. “Then I bid you good day, madam,” he said coolly, turning on his heel.
    “Exeter! Wait!” she screeched, flinging herself at him. “How could you? After all we’ve meant to each other—to find out like this—I’m humiliated in front of all society!” She pressed her face, and her breasts, into his arm and sobbed, her hands like an iron band around his wrist
    “And you decided to make a spectacle of yourself in front of my servants as well? I fail to see how that improves your situation.” He had a sinking feeling he knew what she had found out, and wanted to know how.
    She shoved away from him, her bosom heaving. “It was in the
Times
, of all places,” she went on in the same tragic voice. “Everyone will know that I won’t be your duchess. How can I hold my head up? How can you expect me to suffer this?”
    “I myself never knew you were to be my duchess,” said Marcus in clipped tones. “How, I wonder, did the rest of London know it?” She jerked backward, a flash of dismay in her eyes. “Perhaps you were indiscreet, and rash, in telling your friends of your hopes, for that is all they ever were. I make no apologies, for I made no promises to break.”
    “You’re cold,” she said under her breath. “You’ve ice in your veins, just as everyone says. I never