Read Online What Isabella Desires by Anne Mallory - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Mallory
Ads: Link
another missing, blood lust and resolve had taken hold.
“Yes we will, Kurp. You have my schedule for the next week?”
“Aye.”
“Good. Send someone tomorrow night around one. I’ll have some papers.”
“Aye.”
Marcus felt Kurp slip away, though the man was silent as usual. He looked at the terrace doors and saw a pair of dancers twirling inside, though music no longer played, the musicians having long since retired. The woman was blond, but his vision overlaid dark hair caressing a revealing navy dress that was more seductive than he was used to seeing against such dark hair and light skin. His grip on his watch tightened and he slipped it back into his pocket.
He felt old all of a sudden. Barely thirty-six, and old already. As if life was passing more rapidly then he could grasp.
At this age his father had already…well, best not to think of that.
He carefully placed the threatening note inside his jacket. He hoped they could find something there, but held little belief that they would. The man doing this was desperate, but clever. A dangerous combination. And he couldn’t discount the possibility that more than one person was involved.
On the other hand, if someone else had truly written the note—that person was a liability. If they could capture the note writer…
He smiled grimly.
Two men dead, and a third body most likely waiting to be found. He had too many enemies to list, but no one before had taken such systematic measures in eradicating his network of informants.
There were at least two bills in the House that could be the cause, and any number of actions on the streets or overseas—they all blended together at this point. He had ruined three men in the last year, all deserving of it, but all with justifiable reasons for revenge.
And now others were paying the consequences. People who counted on him. People with families that counted on him.
He loosened his fists as he strode back inside the nearly empty ballroom. At this point he would do anything to find the man responsible and make sure he was destroyed. And he would use anyone and anything in his path to make it happen.
Chapter 8
T he Hennings’ rout was a mix somewhere between acceptable and slightly scandalous. One could argue either way, depending on the level of one’s propriety.
Marcus watched with growing vexation as Isabella changed one partner for another on the dance floor. She was wearing some light blue gown that he had seen before but couldn’t remember being quite so low. He resisted the urge to walk over and tug the bodice up, and turned to James, who was watching him in amusement.
“Something on your mind, Angelford?”
“I can’t figure out whether you resemble a jealous husband or an irate father.”
“What the devil are you on about?”
“Every time Lady Willoughby comes within your sight, you get this sort of green-tinged, puckered expression on your face. It’s quite amusing.”
“I’m delighted for you.”
“So which is it?”
He flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Which is what?”
“You know very well what I’m asking.”
“Whether I’m green-tinged or puckered? Neither is very appealing.”
Unfortunately, James didn’t seem put off in the least. “Are you a jealous husband or an irate father?”
Marcus watched Isabella twirl. “Last I recall, I was neither married nor a father to some poor bastard.”
“I think you’re jealous.”
“That is your prerogative, of course.”
James whistled. “Damn, but you are a closemouthed bastard.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” a voice chimed in from the side. The Duke of Wellington stepped into view. “What is Roth being a bastard about now?”
Marcus didn’t move, but his eyes tried to encase James in ice.
“We were discussing the vote last month,” James said smoothly.
Marcus decided his friend could live another day.
“Ah, yes. Bit of a mangy beast that.”
“Always said you were a mangy beast, Wellington,”
“Yes we will, Kurp. You have my schedule for the next week?”
“Aye.”
“Good. Send someone tomorrow night around one. I’ll have some papers.”
“Aye.”
Marcus felt Kurp slip away, though the man was silent as usual. He looked at the terrace doors and saw a pair of dancers twirling inside, though music no longer played, the musicians having long since retired. The woman was blond, but his vision overlaid dark hair caressing a revealing navy dress that was more seductive than he was used to seeing against such dark hair and light skin. His grip on his watch tightened and he slipped it back into his pocket.
He felt old all of a sudden. Barely thirty-six, and old already. As if life was passing more rapidly then he could grasp.
At this age his father had already…well, best not to think of that.
He carefully placed the threatening note inside his jacket. He hoped they could find something there, but held little belief that they would. The man doing this was desperate, but clever. A dangerous combination. And he couldn’t discount the possibility that more than one person was involved.
On the other hand, if someone else had truly written the note—that person was a liability. If they could capture the note writer…
He smiled grimly.
Two men dead, and a third body most likely waiting to be found. He had too many enemies to list, but no one before had taken such systematic measures in eradicating his network of informants.
There were at least two bills in the House that could be the cause, and any number of actions on the streets or overseas—they all blended together at this point. He had ruined three men in the last year, all deserving of it, but all with justifiable reasons for revenge.
And now others were paying the consequences. People who counted on him. People with families that counted on him.
He loosened his fists as he strode back inside the nearly empty ballroom. At this point he would do anything to find the man responsible and make sure he was destroyed. And he would use anyone and anything in his path to make it happen.
Chapter 8
T he Hennings’ rout was a mix somewhere between acceptable and slightly scandalous. One could argue either way, depending on the level of one’s propriety.
Marcus watched with growing vexation as Isabella changed one partner for another on the dance floor. She was wearing some light blue gown that he had seen before but couldn’t remember being quite so low. He resisted the urge to walk over and tug the bodice up, and turned to James, who was watching him in amusement.
“Something on your mind, Angelford?”
“I can’t figure out whether you resemble a jealous husband or an irate father.”
“What the devil are you on about?”
“Every time Lady Willoughby comes within your sight, you get this sort of green-tinged, puckered expression on your face. It’s quite amusing.”
“I’m delighted for you.”
“So which is it?”
He flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Which is what?”
“You know very well what I’m asking.”
“Whether I’m green-tinged or puckered? Neither is very appealing.”
Unfortunately, James didn’t seem put off in the least. “Are you a jealous husband or an irate father?”
Marcus watched Isabella twirl. “Last I recall, I was neither married nor a father to some poor bastard.”
“I think you’re jealous.”
“That is your prerogative, of course.”
James whistled. “Damn, but you are a closemouthed bastard.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” a voice chimed in from the side. The Duke of Wellington stepped into view. “What is Roth being a bastard about now?”
Marcus didn’t move, but his eyes tried to encase James in ice.
“We were discussing the vote last month,” James said smoothly.
Marcus decided his friend could live another day.
“Ah, yes. Bit of a mangy beast that.”
“Always said you were a mangy beast, Wellington,”
Similar Books
