Free Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) by Lucinda Brant

worth as a gentleman.”
    The Marquis nodded absently, looked unconvinced and sighed in feigned resignation. Her frown of embarrassment at speaking so candidly made him smile to himself but he said perfectly seriously,
    “If you feel I must acknowledge your boring brother then I suppose we will have to invite him to dinner upon occasion. But I put my foot down at having him to stay over a weekend. I loathe trencherflies as much as you do.”
    “Will you be serious?” she demanded.
    “I’ve never been more so. Drink your coffee, or do you want a fresh dish? That one you’ve let go cold.”
    Deb decided it was impossible to talk to a lunatic. She put his silly mood down to the effects of the medicinal drugs he’d been given to dull the pain of his injury. He was obviously an outrageous flirt who was not to be taken seriously. She suspected that he was being familiar with her because she had come to his rescue and thus was deserving of his attentions for the moment. Yet there was no denying that for the briefest of moments the prospect of accepting his outlandish offer of marriage exhilarated her. Of course she banished the thought as soon as she had conjured it up. And mentally upbraided herself for allowing this handsome stranger to so easily put her off-balance.
    Why couldn’t she control the heat in her face?
    Martin Ellicott saw her heightened color as he stepped out on to the terrace from the French windows. He had been hovering in the back parlor, awaiting his opportunity to join the Marquis and his guest, and as he sat down at the table he wondered what his godson had said to make the young woman blush and look coy. But he kept his thoughts to himself and his face suitably blank and signaled to Fibber and two lackeys to bring out the breakfast things.
    “Back from Paris so soon, mon parrain ?”
    “A minor disaster in the kitchen,” the old man lied. “ Excusez-moi , mademoiselle . I hope my godson has kept you suitably entertained in my absence? Try one of these excellent rolls.”
    “Thank you, M’sieur. Entertained , yes,” Deb answered, an eye on the Marquis who was plying his plate with roast beef, eggs, slices of bread and a sliver of pie. “A roll and perhaps a little butter. Merci .”
    Julian glanced up from inspecting the contents of a covered dish. “Fussy appetite, eh?”
    “Not at all! I usually eat a good breakfast. It’s just that I—I seem to be drowning in coffee.” His sad shake of the head goaded her into retorting, “I see you possess a bottomless pit for a stomach!”
    “Yes,” he answered with a laugh and devoured a slice of roast beef.
    Martin Ellicott listened to these exchanges, saw the looks that passed between his godson and Miss Cavendish, and felt a stranger at his own table. The two young people spoke with a familiarity of long standing, which pleased him more than he cared to admit. Miss Cavendish might maintain a semblance of decorum in her demeanor but her replies to his lordship’s playful banter stripped away her façade of indifference. As for his godson, he was enjoying himself hugely, no doubt because he had the upper hand in this meeting. The old man was of the opinion that Miss Cavendish’s exceptional beauty was the reason his godson had the appearance of a well-satisfied cat who has discovered that the bowl of water put before it is in fact a dish of fresh rich cream.
    “Martin will vouch that mon père refuses to sit down with me at the breakfast table. He positively shudders to watch me tuck into a hearty meal such as this at so early an hour. Is that not so, mon parrain ?”
    “Your father must be a gentleman of infinite sensibility,” Deb teased.
    “M’sieur le du—” Martin began, stumbled on the name and immediately corrected himself. A sharp, open look from the Marquis warned him to be on his guard. “M-My godson has an appetite beyond his father’s comprehension.”
    Julian finished off the pie with the last of the coffee, an appreciative