Free An Exquisite Marriage by Darcie Wilde Page A

he’d seen, she was a remarkably steady individual.
    Until, that is, she met with Broadheathe.
    Marcus hadn’t meant to charge in to her rescue, until he saw Broadheathe grab her arm. Then, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. By the time he reached her, she was white as a ghost.
    No. It wasn’t high spirits that brought on her faint. It was shock. Whatever Broadheathe had said or done, it had so overwhelmed Helene’s steadiness and good sense, she’d collapsed. He’d lifted her in his arms, and his first thought was to get her to the retiring room. Fortunately, Miss Valmeyer had been on the spot to offer assistance. But even as he sent her running for their chaperone and maid, he was marveling at how light Helene had seemed, and how well shaped she was beneath that silver dress. How childlike and lost her expressive face had looked as he cradled her.
    A surge of protectiveness had risen in him then, and a surge of something else, far less gentlemanly and entirely inappropriate.
    â€œDid you hear what I said, Marcus?” demanded Aunt Kearsely.
    Marcus shook himself. No. He hadn’t. None of it. His thoughts of Lady Helene had blotted out the rest of the conversation. That was insupportable. It was, in fact, dangerous.
    Marcus was about to make some covering remark, when their butler, who was rather incongruously named Shepherd, stepped up to his chair and murmured an apology. Shepherd bent close and added, “Mrs. Darington is here.”
    Marcus felt the blood drain from his face.
    â€œMarcus, what’s the matter?” said Adele.
    â€œNothing.” Marcus blotted his mouth and folded his napkin. “A small matter of business. You will excuse me?”
    He left the table, ignoring the looks that flashed between the women who remained behind.
    â€œYou should have refused Mrs. Darington entry, Shepherd,” muttered Marcus as the man followed him up the stairs and through to his private study.
    â€œI tried, sir, but I was afraid she would make more of a scene if I insisted, and that would only attract attention.”
    Marcus sighed. “Yes, of course, and I’m sure she knew that, which was why she chose to come during breakfast.”
    â€œI’m very sorry, sir.”
    â€œIt’s not your fault, Shepherd. I’ll deal with her from here.”
    â€œYes, Your Grace.”
    Marcus took a moment to school his face into a calmer expression before he pushed open his study door.
    â€œBernadette,” he said by way of greeting for the woman who stood by the fireplace. “What are you doing here?”
    Bernadette Darington was a tall, dark, generously curved woman. She could have played a gypsy queen onstage. Her black hair fell in natural ringlets, and she could make her large, dark eyes as sultry or as pleading as circumstances called for. No one had taken her coat or her bonnet. No one had brought her a cup of tea while she waited. The staff knew her, and knew she was not a visitor to be made welcome.
    â€œDon’t be angry at me, Marcus, please don’t.” Bernadette clasped her gloved hands together. “I had to come. I had nowhere else to turn.”
    Of course not.
Marcus made sure the door was closed and locked behind them.
    â€œWhat’s Marius done this time?”
    In response, Bernadette burst into tears. Marcus folded his arms and waited. He had seen this much before.
    The fashionable world wondered why such an eligible and responsible man as the Duke of Windford chose to remain unmarried. That world speculated and it gossiped and it hinted, and when it did, the possibility of infatuation with inappropriate women was suggested. Possibly even married women.
    None of them had ever hit on the truth. The inappropriate women with whom Marcus concerned himself were those his father had taken to bed.
    Not all of them, of course. Just the ones upon whom the former duke had sired children.
    The extent of the old duke’s affairs