The Marquess Method by Kathleen Ayers

Prologue

The Barrow, Duke of Granby’s estate, 1840

Lady Theodosia Barrington hurried down the tiled floor of the hallway. The strains of a waltz were just reaching her ears as she scurried in the direction of the Duke of Granby’s ballroom. Cursing under her breath, she envisioned Lady Meredith, eyelash-batting viper, taking advantage of Theo’s absence to sink her gloved claws into the Earl of Blythe.

“Bollocks,” she whispered to herself.

In the future, it would be best to watch her intake of punch. Perhaps stop sneaking wine from the Duke of Granby’s servants. Her goal was to have Blythe escort her into the cool night air for a walk about the terrace and to steal a kiss, not take yet another inconvenient trip to see to her personal needs.

A kiss. From Blythe.

“Drat,” she hissed as her toe made contact with one of the ornate, overly large candlesticks decorating nearly every inch of The Barrow. The return journey to the Duke of Granby’s ballroom was fraught with a multitude of obstacles, most of which Theo couldn’t see. At least not clearly. The fault of poor lighting and her decision not to wear her spectacles to the house party. Better to be clumsy, though, than to have Blythe see her in that blasted bit of metal and glass.

Blythe’s opinion of ‘bespectacled bluestockings’ was less than positive. At Lady Ralston’s ball, he had disparaged the looks of one such lady within Theo’s hearing. She’d vowed at that moment that Blythe would never see her wearing spectacles and promptly put the loathsome frames away. Far better to be thought a tad awkward than hideously unappealing.

Theo wore her bruises, scratches, and resulting embarrassment as a badge of honor. A courageous fight to maintain what attractiveness she possessed. During her week at the house party, she’d so far stubbed her toes at least a dozen times, waved enthusiastically at a selection of Grecian statues in the garden thinking them other guests, and tripped over a mop plus the maid wielding it.

Then there was the unfortunate incident involving Lord Haven and a glass of ratafia.

Ill-mannered. Uncouth. The Marquess of Haven was very unlikeable.

Despite the marquess’s presence, when Cousin Winnie had received an invitation to attend a house party given by the Duke of Granby and his aunt, Theo had jumped at the chance to attend.

Lord Blythe and the Duke of Granby were close friends. His attendance was assured. Granby’s friendship with the golden, sunny earl was really the only thing Theo liked about Granby. His friendship with Lord Haven, on the other hand, didn’t recommend him at all.

The Marquess of Haven was disreputable. Impoverished. Prone to fistfights and gambling. Fond of making unkind comments about young ladies who couldn’t see well. In short, there was nothing Theo liked about Haven. He reminded her of a brigand or a thief. At the slightest provocation, she thought he’d pull out a pistol and rob a coach. If one liked the appeal of, say, a highwayman or some other nefarious gentleman, Theo supposed a woman might find Haven attractive. But one would have to overlook his annoying sarcasm, unpleasant personality, and short temper.

The very first day at the duke’s estate, Theo had ruined Haven’s coat by spilling ratafia on him. Ratafia, unbeknownst to her, was an impossible stain. No amount of gentle dabbing or brushing had restored his coat. His best coat, Theo was certain. She had begged forgiveness. Most gentlemen would have graciously accepted her pretty speech.

Not Haven. He had thus far spent the whole of the house party glaring at her with his moss-colored eyes, flinging caustic comments at Theo whenever she had the poor fortune to come near him.

‘That elongated bit of marble isn’t what you think it is,’ Haven would whisper to Theo as he passed her in the garden or, ‘I’m not a coat rack, but a marquess,’ as her shawl touched his arm accidentally. And her personal favorite, uttered into her ear as she sat for dinner, ‘As you feel your way around the other guests, aren’t you terrified you’ll ruin yourself?’

“Ow.” This time it was her shin banging against a marble podium holding the bust of one of Granby’s ancestors. A rather ugly one. At least as far as she could see.

“Stay in the middle of the hall,” she muttered to herself, determined to avoid the monstrous candlesticks with their ornately carved leaves of iron. The candlesticks mocked her, reaching out to grab at the skirts of her gown. A slight tug halted her progress rather abruptly as one of the blasted leaves succeeded in catching her. Blythe was sure to be dancing the waltz with Lady Meredith by now.

Theo tugged gently at her skirts.

The rush of air was instantaneous. The metal stand teetered dangerously in her direction. A candle dropped to the floor with a small thud before rolling away into the dark recesses of the hall. She struggled to grab at the heavy iron with one hand while attempting to untangle her skirts with the other.

The stand tipped wildly. Unlit candles pelted her arms and shoulders. She waited for the heavy stand to make contact with her head. Perhaps it would knock her to the floor and leave her unconscious. There Theo would lie on the cold marble, injured and unable to move, her absence unnoticed until another guest ventured out and tripped over her prone body.

“Drat,” she whispered.

A gloved hand, masculine in size and shape, caught the iron in a firm grip, surprising Theo and saving her from being bludgeoned. Due to the poor lighting and her bent position, Theo couldn’t make out her rescuer, but she recognized the buttons on his coat.

Her heart thumped in anticipation.

Blythe.

Every one of the handsome earl’s coats possessed buttons with the same distinct design: a bird about to take flight. There was a reason behind the bird, but when Blythe had related the story, Theo hadn’t been paying attention. She’d been too fascinated by the movement of his lips as he spoke.

“Lord Blythe,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering down as she carefully freed her skirts from a jagged iron leaf. “What a most timely rescue.”

Fingers wrapped firmly around her elbow. His touch warmed her entire arm.

“A moment, my lord. I’m almost free.” A playful, flirtatious laugh escaped her. “Much like our first encounter in the park when you came to my aid. Do you recall?”

A masculine sound of agreement came from above her.

Once her skirts were freed, the hand on her elbow pulled Theo up, even as his other arm settled around her waist. Fingertips pressed into her skin.

Theo kept her eyes focused on the buttons decorating his coat, overcome with shyness, an emotion she rarely exhibited around Blythe. Not knowing what was expected of her, she counted the small line of birds, afraid to take a breath lest this moment end.

He dropped his nose to the side of her neck, gently gliding his hand through her hair before taking a breath against her skin. A low rumble came from his chest as his fingers trailed along her cheek and down her jaw, tipping up her chin.

Theo’s eyes fluttered closed. She’d dreamt of this exact scenario for months. The press of Blythe’s mouth on hers. The tender adoration of his lips. The sheer romance of the act. Perhaps he’d even whisper poetry to her. Blythe adored poetry.

This kiss wasn’t at all what she’d imagined.

There was no hesitation or asking for permission before his lips caught at hers. The kiss was gentle but demanding. Lazy in the decadent exploration of her mouth. A nip at her bottom lip coaxed her mouth to part, and she did, unfurling like the bud of a rose. The sensual flick of his tongue, the subtle luring of her senses, filled Theo with such wicked thoughts.

She couldn’t even hear the musicians playing in the ballroom anymore, only the sound of her pulse beating in her ears.

A warm hand skimmed up the length of her spine, the spread of his fingers stopping when he reached the back of her neck. He squeezed ever so softly. A gentle warning for her not to move, only to surrender.

Her hands flew up to grasp the lapels of his coat, fingers sinking into the luxurious fabric. She pulled him closer until her aching breasts flattened against his chest. She sagged against him, hanging on for dear life, her legs no longer capable of holding her upright.

A low growl vibrated beneath her fingertips.

Mouth moving to the line of her neck, he cupped the underside of one breast in a tender caress.

A whimper left her.

The thick strands of his hair brushed seductively along the exposed skin of her shoulder, trailing over the tops of her breasts as his tongue trailed along her neck.

Theo gasped, eyes popping open in horror.

Blythe’s hair was short. Closely cropped to his skull. His hair would be unable to trail against her shoulder or anywhere else. And there was the aroma of spice in the air, not the citrus scent Blythe favored.

Theo turned her head, fingers curling into fists as she pushed back against the man who held her, so shocked, so outraged, she could barely speak. “You—”

“The Marquess of Haven,” he supplied.

“I know who you are. I’ve eyes.” Her mouth, still swollen, could barely form the words.

“Yes, and lovely eyes at that. But you should wear your spectacles, Lady Theodosia. I’m told you own a pair.” Haven’s hand still cupped her breast as if it were of no consequence. “I could have been one of the footmen.”

Theo smacked his arm, his chest. Basically, any part of Haven she could reach. “Release me. This instant.” Heat flamed her cheeks. My God. The audacity of him. What if someone had come upon them? “How dare you pretend to be Blythe.”

“Pretend?” His hands released her. “I did not. It isn’t my fault you can’t see anything. I could have left you to be hit in the temple by this”—he motioned to the towering candlestick—“but I very gallantly did not. Though it might have knocked some sense into you.”

Theo’s lips and body were still throbbing from Haven’s kiss. Which did nothing to improve her mood. “That’s Blythe’s coat,” she accused.

“Correct. It appears you can see quite clearly when you choose to.” He lifted his broad shoulders in a careless shrug. “He was kind enough to lend me a coat for tonight. Mine,” he said, glaring down at her, “was ruined.”

Haven was intolerable. “You—” She took a deliberate step back.

“You’re having trouble speaking, my lady. Are you sure you didn’t run into the wall on your way to me?”

“I wasn’t coming to you,” she spat, humiliated to the very roots of her hair. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

Haven. I’ve kissed Haven.

“Exactly. Much like the day you ruined my coat.” He crossed his arms across his chest.

Theo’s fingers tingled, remembering the feel of all that warm muscle. “It was an accident. I’ve apologized. Besides, the coat I unintentionally ruined would not have been appropriate for this evening, as well you know.”

Another roll of his shoulders.

“I assumed you to be Blythe,” she informed him again.

“No one else confuses the two of us.”

Haven was a horrible person. He deserved his impoverishment. Even if he looked somewhat magnificent in Blythe’s borrowed evening wear.

“You are a —” She choked, trying to find the appropriate word.

“Bastard? Rogue?” he supplied. “Personally, I prefer libertine. Has a nice ring to it.” He cocked his head. “Come, Lady Theodosia, you can do better than that. Your brother owns a pleasure palace.”

“Gambling hell,” she corrected automatically. None of the Barringtons liked to acknowledge that the club owned by Theo’s two brothers, Leo Murphy and His Grace, the Duke of Averell, was more than a place to play cards and roulette. A gambling hell was marginally more acceptable. “I should slap you for the liberties you’ve taken.”

Haven turned so his cheek faced her, waving her forward. “Have at it.” A bit of light bathed his roguish features and glinted on the dusting of dark hair along his jaw. “Won’t change a thing.”

He had a very strong jaw. Lovely lines. Lots of contrast. Interesting little details like the scar on his chin. He’d make a fabulous drawing in charcoal. Possibly a miniature. Though she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to cart around a picture of Haven in the pocket of their gown.

“You’re only put out because you enjoyed it.”

Heat washed up her cheeks. She had enjoyed it. Theo could still feel the press of his mouth against hers and the responding ache sliding down her midsection.

“Did I enjoy it?” Theo leaned forward before making a great show of wiping his taste from her lips with one gloved hand. “You overestimate your meager charms. Step aside, my lord.”

The amusement faded from his roughly hewn features. Insults didn’t sit well with Haven. One only had to count the number of fistfights and duels he was rumored to engage in. Theo’s gaze took in the tiny bump on his otherwise perfect nose.

Probably where that came from. A fistfight.

“Wear your bloody spectacles, Lady Theodosia,” he snarled at her. “Else there’s no telling who else you’ll mistake for Blythe.”

“As long as it isn’t you,” she said. No one at the house party save her sister Romy knew Theo wore spectacles. Not even Cousin Winnie had ever seen her wear them. How in the world did Haven know?

They glared at each other, unmoving, as the air around them crackled and popped, thickening as if a thunderstorm would erupt in Granby’s hallway.

His eyes drifted to her mouth.

Theo swallowed and took a careful step back. She had the most terrible urge to leap into his arms and allow him to kiss her again.

His fingers stretched out to her. “Theodosia.” The soft whisper was like a wisp of smoke snaking along her body.

Theo danced away, shaking her head to dispel any notion of being close to Haven. She turned her back on him and fled in the direction of the ballroom. The intoxication of his kiss still lingered, though she willed it away.

For the first time since the house party had begun, Theo couldn’t wait to leave.