Free My Wicked Marquess by Gaelen Foley

barbarians!”
    Daphne suppressed a polite cough. “I’m sure they could never think that, ma’am,” she murmured.
    Her father gave her a stern look askance.
    â€œIt’s enough of an honor, surely, that they have invited us at all, George!”
    Daphne had no doubt that her stepmother had invited herself. “It’s all right,” she spoke up. “I will just sit with my friends.”
    â€œYes, let her sit with the young people, George. That is as it should be. Come, we must not keep the Edgecombes waiting!” Without further discussion, Penelope dragged him away.
    Daphne was left standing there, but thankfully, Jono returned just then with the punch.
    â€œYour father’s a saint,” he remarked as he handed her the goblet, apparently having overheard their exchange.
    â€œI’m not sure that’s what you call it,” she said in a wry, philosophical tone. “Why does he let her run roughshod over him like that, do you suppose?”
    Jono shrugged. “She is a woman of mighty will.”
    â€œWell, fortunately, so am I. Otherwise, right now, I’d be engaged to Albert Carew.” She shuddered. “If that domestic tyranny is marriage, I want no truck with it.”
    â€œNor I.” Jonathon raised his glass. “To the single state, my dear.”
    Daphne nodded at him, clinked her glass against his, and they drank to that, in perfect amiable harmony with each other, as usual.
    When her female best friend, Carissa Portland, joined them, they all three went into the long, rectangular dining hall, which was filled with damask-covered tables for the guests.
    They made their way over to a table ringed by more of their friends, a colorfully garbed array of belles and bucks of the ton. She had noticed a few judgmental looks here and there tonight and had received and few terse, chilly greetings, but here was a fine group of friends that Albert had still failed to turn against her.
    They made up a gay and fashionable company, while various chaperones kept an eye on their female charges from nearby. As the others engaged in brisk repartee, Daphne kept furtively scanning the dining hall for the mysterious Lord Rotherstone. Why did they call him the Demon Marquess? Then again, did she really have to ask, after all that she had seen of him so far? She was actually a little put off to find that he was friends with Albert.
    Just then, she spotted the four of them, Lord Rotherstone, Lord Albert, and the two younger Carew brothers. They were congregating on the threshold of the dining hall, standing in one of the many arched doorways of the adjoining colonnade. They appeared to be catching up on old times while the other guests kept ambling in past them, finding seats at all the various tables.
    Daphne’s expression darkened with worry as she furtively watched their exchange. She froze when she saw Lord Rotherstone point her out discreetly to Albert.
    When they put their heads together, obviously discussing her, she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Lord Rotherstone folded his arms slowly across his chest.
    As he lowered his head, listening intently to Albert’s gossip about her, Daphne felt her heart sink. No! she thought in helpless anger. Don’t believe his lies about me! She looked away, her heart pounding, but that was the moment she had to face up to the fact that she liked this Rotherstone man.
    For the life of her, she could not say why. He visited horrid brothels. He brawled like a wild barbarian. He possessed strange, slippery skill in managing other people, as he hadjust demonstrated with Albert. And he had looked at her in the ballroom as if he was imagining her naked.
    But she had never before in her life seen anyone like him—the brash, bold grandeur of the man, his quick mind, his unhesitating courage and smooth style.
    He made her quite breathless.
    But now, before they had even been introduced, Albert was going to ruin it for her.