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

in his hand. “If you must know Black Cavendishs do not receive many marriage proposals. Certainly not from respectable gentlemen! I dare say you are not respectable or I wouldn’t have found you bleeding to death from a sword wound and you certainly would not have offered me marriage.”
    He quickly put away the handkerchief. “I assure you, it was not my object to offend you, Miss Cavendish. I am merely curious to know of any potential rivals for your hand.”
    “Is that so?” she said, tongue in cheek. “As my hand is not engaged there is little point in divulging the names of my suitors to you. Now you must excuse me, M’sieur,” she said politely, addressing the old man who stood woodenly by the table transfixed by the conversation between the couple, “I have packing to do. Thank you for the breakfast. I hope to see you in the Pump Room before I leave for Paris. Au revoir .”
    “Leaving for Paris soon, Miss Cavendish?” Julian persisted, following Deb down the terrace steps to the pebbled path that led to the stables.
    Deb stopped and turned on him, the scowl returning. “If you must know, I am taking my nephew to Paris within the next few days, where, undoubtedly, I will receive more marriage proposals from dashing adventurers. Good day, sir!”
    “Not if I can help it,” Julian muttered, returning to the terrace. He propped one leg on the low wall and took snuff, maintaining a face of polite indifference under his godfather’s steady gaze. “Cousin Mary is in town,” he said conversationally. “I hope dull Gerry isn’t. I must pay her my respects. I’ll drive the chariot. Do you have any errands for Frew?”
    “Julian…” the old man said and faltered, trying to collect his thoughts. “Miss Cavendish isn’t the… She couldn’t possibly be… Mon Dieu . What a coincidence! It is quite a shock. I had no idea she ventured into the woods to play her viola. As for a loaded pistol… I cannot believe I did not discover these things before now.”
    The Marquis snapped shut his snuffbox, a hard brilliance to his emerald green eyes. “Don’t let it worry you, Martin.” He dared to smile to himself as the image of the thin shouldered girl in the overlarge nightgown faded, bringing into sharp relief a young woman straddled across his thighs in a transparent cotton chemise that failed to adequately cover her exquisite breasts. “You may leave the discovering to me…”

F OUR
    ‘ C OME TO KEEP an old lady company, Deb?” asked Harriet, Dowager Marchioness of Cleveland, shifting her heavy satin petticoats and her bulk to the end of the settee to allow Deb to sit beside her. “You won’t see much from back here. That Reigate creature, with her turban and plumes enough for a whole bird, is blocking everyone’s view of the floor. I’ve a mind to have Waverley shoot the thing to put it out of its misery!”
    General Waverley leaned across from the next settee and inquired calmly, “Bird or beast, my dear?”
    “Ha! Ha! I believe you’d do it too if you had your pistol,” laughed Lady Cleveland and gave his lace covered knuckles a playful rap with her fan. “Say hello to Deb, you rogue.”
    “How are you Miss Cavendish?” asked the General, kissing the gloved hand extended to him.
    “Better for escaping to the back of the room. I left Lady Mary talking to Lord Orminster. He pounced on us as soon as we entered the vestibule and insisted on finding us seats in the front row.” Deb peered over her fan, out across the sea of powdered heads. “Poor lamb; he’s still with her.”
    “Fred is a bore,” said Lady Cleveland. “I don’t suppose little Mary Cavendish will think so.”
    “Because she is married to one, my lady?” Deb inquired.
    Lady Cleveland looked about in alarm. “She didn’t bring him with her, did she?”
    “No.”
    “Knows a thing or two about horses,” opinioned the General with firm nod.
    Lady Cleveland and Deb exchanged a significant look, the ancient Marchioness