Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Marcus Long, Duke of Lavisham, watched as his footman led out the Lady Willa and the deliciously furious Lady Josephine Harrington. He could see Josephine glaring at him through the window of the hack as the vehicle rolled away, lips moving. Probably uttering a curse.
He’d have to sternly instruct his staff to not breathe a word of Lady Josephine Harrington’s visit to his home tonight. Thank goodness she’d had the presence of mind to stop Marcus before he’d completely ruined her.
“Oh yes,” he hissed. “A pity indeed.”
Marcus had been sitting in his study after returning from Paris earlier than expected.
The city hadn’t delighted him as it once had, and his favorite brothel had no longer held much appeal.
So when he’d returned home early, anxious to sleep in his own bed, sipping on a brandy, he’d watched with interest as an oddly clumsy, rounded gentleman, whom he now knew to be Josephine, climbed over his garden wall, with a shocking lack of skill.
Honestly, it was a miracle she hadn’t stabbed herself on the wrought iron spikes.
Moments later, when a generously rounded woman had appeared in his study, Marcus had been annoyed…
but then amused. Anders, a friend of his from Eton, often indulged in pulling pranks on Marcus.
In the last year alone, Marcus had come home to find three courtesans naked and cavorting in his bed, cows in his garden—the smell had been horrendous—and a dinner party in Marcus’s own dining room, already in progress.
So it wouldn’t be that unusual for Anders to pay a courtesan to dress as a boy and break into Marcus’s home.
An image of Josephine, lying on his desk crying out as he stroked her to completion flashed before him, made his cock twitch. Dressed in men’s clothing. The breeches alone would make a priest weep.
He’d wanted her.
Damn Kenbrooks.
Thank god he hadn’t taken her like some trollop atop his desk, as he might well have had she not shouted out her name after being pleasured.
Marcus had never actually been introduced to Lady Josephine Harrington, but once the light from the lamp lit her features, he recognized her as the young lady who’d ruined the hyacinths at Lady Randall’s silly little garden party.
He might have seen her walking in the park.
And it was highly likely that Josephine was the ‘buxom young lady’ one of his footmen insisted kept eyeing the Duke of Lavisham’s home.
Damn Kenbrooks.
After the hack turned the corner, Marcus returned to his study for a brandy before bed.
Pouring out a glass, he sipped the amber liquid while straightening the ledgers on his desk, which had been knocked askew by Josephine’s near ruination.
Laughable she’d thought a ledger could hide that glorious bosom.
Once that was done, Marcus reached inside the drawer of his desk for the enameled box with his initials.
Searching through the stack of markers, he finally found the brooch at the bottom of the box.
Was it truly a peacock? He supposed it could be.
Marcus had thought it a rooster when he’d first seen it.
“A blind jeweler must had created this. Terrible craftmanship.”
He’d met the old duke of Kenbrooks at Brooks’, when the older man had asked if Marcus would like to share the bottle of claret on the table beside him.
Never one to pass on claret, he’d done so.
They hadn’t been friends, exactly. Hadn’t associated socially.
But some evenings, when Kenbrooks had been at the club, they had talked politics and played cards.
Bringing the light closer, he regarded the ugly thing laying in his palm, thinking he should have just given it to Josephine. He’d told Kenbrooks several times he wasn’t in the market for a wife. Didn’t want or need one. Too much work.
I have a daughter. Several, in fact.
Pity I’m not looking for a wife, Marcus had always answered.
They’d played cards and spoken of nothing important, as they often did. Kenbrooks lost, which wasn’t unusual, but on this occasion, he asked Marcus for one more chance to win back his gold, producing the peacock brooch from his pocket.
“Valuable. Just look at those sapphires and diamonds. A treasured family heirloom.”
Even with the poor lighting, Marcus could see the damned thing was mostly paste and glass, but he allowed Kenbrooks to wager it. He liked the older man and felt a great deal of sympathy for him at the prospect of having to marry off all those daughters.
I think you’d like her. My second youngest. Josephine.
Possibly, Kenbrooks. But I’ve no interest in meeting her as I’ve said. Nor do I want a wife. Perhaps when I’m ancient and in need of an heir. You’ve lost again.
Have I?
Marcus laughed. I’ll take your gold and that hideous dog.
It’s a peacock. Belonged to my mother. Have a care with it.
He never saw Kenbrooks again after that.
Later, he’d gotten word of the older man’s death and been saddened by it.
But now, Marcus was just plain annoyed. Lusting after Josephine was one thing, but any woman who went out of her way to dress as a man solely to break into his home to steal a brooch was bound to hold his interest.
Marcus took the peacock; good lord it hurt his eyes to look at it and placed it back in the drawer. He’d give Josephine the stupid thing.
Eventually.
“You scheming old bastard, Kenbrooks.”