Free The Misfit Marquess by Teresa DesJardien Page B

likely would have married by now. She might have no dowry, for all he knew, but her face was pretty, and that could serve well enough as a girl's dowry to a man who liked what he saw. No, pretty was not the correct word —striking, or unique was perhaps the better word. She was apple-cheeked without appearing heavy, perhaps because her nose was a tad thin, making a balance. Her mouth was well shaped, the lips of even size and not too wide, and she had good teeth. She was fortunate enough not to be terribly pale, even though that was all that was fashionable, because with her dark hair it would have made her appear sickly rather than genteel.
    What a waste, Gideon thought, that this charming package should contain a befuddled mind. She claimed otherwise, but then the afflicted always did.
    In her slumber, all was innocence, and even her strange positioning at the foot of the bed seemed innocuous. But how many times had Gideon looked upon the seemingly innocuous only to later recognize a symptom of disordered thinking? Disorder, disease, mania —they were cruel, unforgiving of even the most blameless of victims. Mama had been blameless. Mama, curled on her bed, an unearthly keening accompanying endless tears. .. .
    He reached down and touched Elizabeth's shoulder, shaking her lightly. "Elizabeth," he spoke quietly, knowing that the dreams of the disturbed ought not be intruded upon abruptly.
    Elizabeth blinked once, then appeared for two heartbeats to slip back into slumber, only to open her eyes and focus with instant clarity upon his face. For a moment, disappointment crossed her features, and he knew she had dreamed she was someplace other than here in his home. He could hardly begrudge her that, since it was his own dream to escape this house, but something in the vulnerability on her face tugged at him, making the lump reform in his chest, making him feel un-befittingly angry.
    "I have come to inform you that callers have arrived," he said, and at least his voice remained gentle even if he was not so at his core.
    "Callers?" she murmured, her brow wrinkling in bewilderment. "For me?"
    "Local women, from the parish. St. Bartholomew's. They were told that you could not recall your family name. They are concerned, and wished to meet with you."

    "I am nobody," she said, and the anger in him flared and danced, then died out, becoming nothing more than a dim pain between his temples. Mama had claimed the same, had been made to feel useless and worthless, a nobody. Echoes—this house had too many echoes.
    "You are somebody," he said firmly. He extended his hand to her, and felt a tiny measure of victory when she placed her fingers there. He helped her sit up, the coverlet and her hair both falling to pool around her hips. The fabric of the night rail she wore was well used and thinning, and in the morning light it was possible to see where the fabric ended and her form began. The cool morning air had brought her nipples erect, and a dusty pink shadow showed through the material as well. Gideon forgot for a moment to avert his gaze, struck by the sight of a luscious form surrounded by dark tresses, but then he recalled himself. He had seen many a night rail over the years. He knew how to work without letting his mind take in what the eyes must see.
    "Your own clothes were ruined beyond repair, except for your slippers," he told her, "but I will have a dressing gown sent in for your use, for modesty's sake. Would you mind if a maid put your hair up? Or at least plaited it? It would be more seemly."
    "Must I see them? These callers?" Elizabeth asked, her distress clear to read in her gaze.
    "Yes," he answered simply, with gentle firmness, as one would to a frightened child. "They only wish to be sure you are well cared for here." At her continued anxious stare, he added, "It is good of them to come."
    "Just tell them I am well."
    He shook his head, and before she could say anything more, he scooped her into his arms. She gave a