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Synopsis
A wounded beast . . . It took Marcus Bradley forever to find a suitable bride. And then he lost her-all because some meddling matchmaker with a crazy notion about "true love" helped her elope with another man. Now, to save his sister from a terrible marriage alliance, he needs a replacement-an heiress to be exact . . . and he knows just the woman to help him find one. A spirited beauty . . . Danielle Strafford believes everyone deserves a fairytale ending-even the monstrously scarred and notoriously brooding Marquis of Fleetwood. Not that he's left her a choice. If she doesn't help him secure a wife-by any means necessary-he'll reveal her scandalous secrets. A passion that will consume them both The more time Marcus spends with Danielle, the less interested he is in any other woman. But the Beast must do the impossible: keep from losing his heart to a Beauty he is destined to lose.
Release date: October 28, 2014
Publisher: Forever
Print pages: 400
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He's No Prince Charming
Elle Daniels
Chapter One
While Beauty smil’d as she took horse;
Yet smil’d thro’ many a generous tear,
To find the parting moment near!
—“Beauty and the Beast” by Charles Lamb
He had many names. The ton called him the Beast behind his back. To his face they called him my lord. If he could have stomached friends, they would have called him Fleetwood. His sister referred to him as a pain in her arse. He simply called himself Marcus.x
At the moment, everyone would have called him drunk.
And drunk was exactly what he wanted to be. Being drunk meant he felt nothing. It meant he remembered nothing. The blessed golden stuff meant that he could survive another day in his cage. But the relief didn’t last long. Even as he stepped along the rain-dampened path, he could feel the pleasant warmth leaving his veins. He could feel the shadows of the past slowly creeping back to the forefront of his mind. Keeping them at bay was too much effort, but facing those memories was the more terrifying of the choices.
The ringing of his champagne-polished Hessians ceased as he halted on the cobblestone sidewalk below. A gas lamp illuminated the darkness. He opened his coat to search his pockets, ignoring the chill hanging in the air.
“Where is that blasted flask?” he mumbled, grasping clumsily through his clothing.
His hands greedily clasped the smooth metal of the container and quickly brought the opened flask to his lips. In minutes, the warmth spread to his limbs and the quiet oblivion, the numbness, returned. His mind fogged, blurring the past and present to a comfortable degree, allowing him to continue his way home unfettered by memories.
He’d taken only half a dozen steps towards his destination before he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Marcus flinched, turning quickly with his fists raised, his heart beating erratically in his chest. For a moment, he’d thought…
He shook his head at his foolishness, fishing his flask out of his coat again. Goddamned memories!
He tipped the mouth of the flask against his lips, the cool surface like a kiss. But before the liquid relief slipped over the edge, he saw movement again. He jolted as if struck, his body spinning around to meet his assailant. The ring of metal on the ground set him jumping backward, his entire body on alert to defend himself from the lash of a knife or the sting of a whip.
Marcus found himself facing nothing but the empty street, the night shadows draping corners in darkness. He glanced down to find that his flask had hit the ground, causing the echoing ring. What had remained of his liquid relief now soaked the front of his overcoat and starched shirt.
His breath came in short gasps, his hand moved to hold his chest in an effort to control himself. He imagined that he looked exactly like the Beast the ton painted him—the whites of his eyes gleaming in terror and a wild look about him.
He bent to pick up his flask, but halted when a clatter echoed in the empty streets, followed by the flash of movement he’d seen before. With slightly unsteady hands, Marcus finished his task, debating whether he should investigate. Despite his constant quest for emotional numbness, he couldn’t stop the surge of concern that flooded him. What if the movement was a result of someone being hurt? Frowning, he pocketed his flask and moved in the direction of the noise. His steps were unsteady as he walked closer to the wrought iron gates of an imposing house. Something about the house struck him as familiar. Stepping back, Marcus realized it was the back garden at the home of his fiancée, Miss Anne Newport. He tilted his head, listening for the noise. It was soft this time, but it had the distinctive clang of metal against metal.
Marcus edged around the corner of the tall fence and watched in stunned silence as a trio of boys slipped unnoticed from the gardens. A gas lantern swung in the hands of the tallest as he held open a gate for the other two behind him. The trio then hurried down the dark alley, pausing only a moment as the last turned to close the gate. Without warning he looked up. Marcus ducked back behind the corner as quickly as he could, unsure if he’d been discovered. He waited for some sort of alarm to be raised, but when nothing happened, he looked back around the fence. The alley was deserted.
Without thinking about what he was doing, he turned down the alley to follow the miscreants. Even in his current state, he knew nothing good would come from three boys skulking about one of the finer residences in the area at this time of night. His lips twisted in a sneer as he walked; his plan was simply to give them a scare. Lord knew his face could frighten even the stoutest of hearts.
Unconsciously, he ran a hand down his cheek, feeling the bumps and ridges of the scars he would forever bear. A tendril of darkness threatened to invade his thoughts, sending his shaking hands for his flask before he realized he was wearing what he sought. Closing his eyes against the sting of the past, he beat it back as best he could before continuing. If he focused on what he was doing, he might be able to escape it.
Marcus halted at the point in the fence where the trio had emerged. It looked as if the fence was whole, but when he ran his fingers over the rain-slicked bars, he could feel the slight indents of where they had been separated to create a passage. It seemed that the boys were more than simple troublemakers.
In the face of such ingenuity, he should have sought a constable. Whether it was the drink’s false courage or his determination to never be cowed, Marcus couldn’t say, but he kept going down the alley. He paused at the other end of it to watch the scene unfolding before him. The alley opened onto a street, fully illuminated by the light coming from the lanterns surrounding a waiting coach. The well-sprung vehicle looked as if it was about to embark on a long journey, with luggage packed tight wherever it could fit. Before it stood the three boys. Only…
As Marcus peered closer at them, he discovered something he would have missed had the light not revealed their figures. Two of the three boys were not boys at all. They were actually petite women dressed as men. Curiosity blossomed, his mind running through the possibilities as to why women would risk their reputations in such a way.
He refocused his attention as the shorter of the two women stepped forward to greet the coachman when the man dropped down from the driver’s perch. The pair embraced tightly. Marcus dismissed him quickly enough, judging him to be mostly harmless. He was an average man of medium height, his only distinguishing feature an odd mustache that parted in the middle and curled at the ends. The woman, on the other hand, captured his full attention.
How he had mistaken the little sprite for a boy was beyond him. He could only blame the two bottles of very fine whiskey he had consumed. Marcus watched the seductive roll of her lush hips in the form-fitting trousers. His interest instantly piqued as his gaze roamed over the impossibly curvy figure on such a tiny frame. He felt his mouth suddenly go dry as her shirt stretched snugly across her bosom, showing it off in every detail.
How long had it been since he’d had a woman? His sudden lust sent his mind wandering down an avenue he did not wish to explore. He did not like to think about the sad circumstances he’d been reduced to in order to enjoy feminine company. The few times he’d attempted to take a mistress had resulted in rejection, the women claiming they couldn’t stomach him. He’d made a habit of paying a small fortune for a whore in the dark.
Just looking at the wee thing illuminated in flickering rays of light made him long for things he could never have. Things that were simply not for him. Ever.
“John! How have you been, old man?”
Her husky voice flowed across the cobbled street and his mind like cool water soothing a burn. It drowned his dark thoughts, dragging him back to the present, something very few people had ever been able to do. Despite his annoyance that this fraud and prowler could affect him in any way, he leaned forward to hear the conversation better.
“I’m doing as well as can be, Miss Danni. The two boys got into a scrape with ol’ man Howard the other day. Me wife damned near took off their ’ides.”
At this, Miss Danni shook her head with a soft clucking sound. “I do not blame her. Mr. Howard has threatened to send the constable after them.”
“They’ll be the end of us, I’m sure. Never have little ones yourself, if you know what’s best for you.”
It was then Miss Danni smiled. It changed her face from simply pretty to stunning. Marcus caught his breath, his hands clenching against the sudden urge to possess her. It was utter madness, but then again, he’d been mad for most of his life.
“Hush, John! Don’t let Hu hear you say that.” Her murmured chuckle was as smooth as her voice.
“Too late for him, anyway.” The amusement in his reply echoed across to Marcus. John glanced over to the other pair, who waited some steps away. Then, glancing skyward, “You picked a wonderful night for this, Miss Danni! The mud will slow us down.”
Her muffled laugh reached him as she inspected something on the carriage. “As if I conjured up this weather! Besides, the roads are still passable.”
John motioned about him as if the wet streets were all the evidence he needed to be concerned for the party’s welfare.
“Don’t fret. You’re worse than a mother hen,” she continued, ignoring his sudden glare. “We have not been seen and no alarm has been raised. You will all be halfway to Gretna before they even realize Anne is gone.”
Marcus tried not to feel emotions. They led to memories, but he could not stop the shock that rippled through him at the name. Anne. It couldn’t be the same. There were plenty of women bearing that name in London. Possibly even a maid in her household. With growing dread, his gut registered the impending doom before his mind would accept it.
His gaze flew to the other girl, standing beside the only real boy—or man—in the group, his burly build suggesting a much more mature age. He was off at one end of the street, lantern held aloft, casting the second girl in a soft glow as she scanned the night. An anxious expression clouded her angelic face, the face he’d looked at so often this past month. She had removed her cap in favor of twisting it in her hands, exposing a long rope of light-colored hair braided in seeming haste, nothing like her traditional coiffures. There was no doubt as to the woman’s identity. It was Miss Anne Newport, daughter of one of London’s wealthiest merchants. His fiancée. Running away from him.
He wasn’t sure what to feel. How could he have been so stupid? He’d known the marriage was contracted for convenience, but he’d begun to believe she might eventually see him in a favorable light. They’d had amicable conversations. He’d been kind, respectful—a gentleman. She’d seemed cooperative, if perhaps a bit hesitant. Apparently he’d been wrong, as the scene before him revealed the truth. Now he was going to suffer embarrassment on top of his crushing defeat, and he couldn’t bear to think about the repercussions for his sister.
Miss Danni bent forward to speak an aside with the coachman, her voice barely audible across the distance. “Where is the groom?”
The coachman shook his head, a worried expression crossing his face. Danni gave Anne a considering look before striding to stand beside her. “He knows that tonight is the night, right?”
Her voice shook as she spoke, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself. “Y-yes, I managed to speak with him in private today to confirm the details. He assured me he would be here. George is not one to change his mind at the last minute. ’Tis one of the reasons I fell in love with him.”
Love. Marcus choked back the laugh welling in his chest. He felt light-headed with the absurdity of the events he was witnessing. The vague thought that he was becoming hysterical collided with another sobering thought. There was no doubt that this groom was conning Anne, playing on her schoolroom fantasies and paying his three assistants a large sum to help him lay claim to her inheritance. Marcus could all too easily imagine such a thing happening to someone as naive as Anne. He had half a mind to halt this entire affair, but he couldn’t make himself move.
Anger snaked through his chest. That Anne would do this to him, that she so hated the idea of an alliance with him she would run away under the cover of night. Even as he stood there, knowing they had not loved each other, knowing the marriage was a mere business arrangement, he thought she could have at least showed him a little consideration. Revenge curled with anger in his gut. His cruel side wanted her to get what she deserved.
The fraud nodded reassuringly, staring down the avenue as she joined the girl and the lantern bearer in their vigil. “I’m sure he’ll be here.”
Marcus stood waiting as well, his drunken thoughts swirling down a well of emotions. If this George was really a con man, then why was he not claiming his prize? Could it be he’d grown a conscience? Had regrets? A thought struck his befuddled brain. Could it be that George was the intended victim and not Anne?
His shoulder propped up against the damp brick wall, his mind slowly transformed Anne into his little sister. He could see the desperate hope in her green eyes, shining with worry and hopeful anticipation. In his imagination, he envisioned her returning to her room, devastated from being abandoned by her “true love.” Or, perhaps even worse, returning to her home, trapped in a miserable marriage for the rest of her life.
His concern won out over his desire for revenge. If it were Caro in Anne’s place, he’d hope her soon-to-be-ex-fiancé would have tried to stop this disaster. His lungs constricted with his anger. It wasn’t the sharp, blinding rage that he was so used to. It was a deep-seated, writhing storm, threatening to roll into a more malevolent force. He pushed off the brick, his feet seeming ready to fly him into the light, but a quiet shout from where the three “men” stood stopped him. He drew back as a slender figure stumbled out of the darkness. Marcus caught the gleam of glasses reflecting in the lamplight just before the youth fell forward, seeming to trip over nothing.
“Oh, Georgie! Are you all right, my love?”
Anne fell to her knees, trying to assist George up from the ground. He gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m so sorry to be late, Annie, but Mr. Hessler kept me, and I had to stay if I’m to continue to support us. But I came as fast as I could.”
As George spoke, his hands cast around for the glasses that had fallen off when he’d tripped. Danni scooped them up a few feet from him and pressed the wire rims into his hand. “There you go, George. Mind your feet now.”
“Yes, Miss Green. I’ll adapt to these new glasses at some point.”
Marcus wasn’t paying any attention. Pieces were clicking together in his head. And as he solved the puzzle, his rage shifted from defending Anne back to condemning her to hell. George was a clerk for his solicitor’s office. George was the man who’d been sent over to the Newport house to arrange the engagement documents. Mr. Hessler had mentioned him frequently. He’d said the boy had a bright future in law. With Marcus’s fury growing at yet another humiliation, he was in the mood to make sure George never reached his potential.
Marcus watched Danni and the lantern-bearer exchange a concerned glance. He’d wager they were worried they wouldn’t get paid if George killed himself in some sort of clumsy accident.
The clerk slid the spectacles back onto his nose before accepting a hand up from the ground by Anne and the burly man. Danni was already walking back towards the driver, her short legs taking quick and confident strides. She pulled a bag from her coat pocket and handed it up to John, the jangle of coins clear across the way. “This should take care of the expenses for the trip. Be careful, John.”
“Always am, Miss Danni.”
He watched as the couple climbed into the coach with Danni holding the door for them. Before they departed, she leaned inside to speak, giving Marcus a delicious view of her derriere. Her voice carried across the street. “Now remember what I said. You are two brothers going on holiday to the north of Scotland until John says it’s safe to change into more appropriate clothing. Then you are Mr. and Mrs. Jenner, on a trip to visit your family. Do not deviate from my plans. They’ve worked before. Is that all understood?”
“Oh, yes! And thank you so much!” Anne’s voice practically squealed with excitement from inside the carriage.
“It was no trouble. I expect to hear from you when you return, and do feel free to recommend my little bookshop to your acquaintances. Discreetly, of course.”
The reflection of light in glasses reached Marcus as the groom spoke. “We will, Miss Green. And again, Anne and I thank you for all your help.”
“Yes, well, off with you now.”
She shut the door and tapped it, giving the signal for the coachman to drive. As it moved forward, Danni waved, a watery smile on her face. “I always love happy endings, Hu. Don’t you?”
The lantern-bearer answered with a grunt. Marcus thought he caught a roll of her eyes as she turned away from the traveling coach. “Honestly, Hubert Tollman, can you do nothing more than grunt? I think I’ve only ever heard you speak one full sentence once in the entire two years I’ve known you.”
Silence reigned before a long-suffering sigh escaped the petite woman. “How in the world did a chatterbox like Annabel ever end up with a man like you, Hubert?”
Again there was no response and Marcus watched as they disappeared into the dark of the night. He stayed in place, waiting for the sound of their footsteps to fade into nothingness before he moved from his hiding spot. Once under the dim light where the event had occurred, he faced the way the coach had gone, and then glanced down the avenue where the two figures had disappeared. He wasn’t sure what to make of all that he’d witnessed, his emotions were still too raw, but one thing he knew for certain.
He needed a drink.
Chapter Two
“All that my castle own’d was thine,
“My food, my fire, my bed, my wine:
“Thou robb’st my Rose-tress in return,
“For this, base Plunderer, thou shalt mourn!”
—“Beauty and the Beast” by Charles Lamb
Thunder boomed overhead, followed promptly by the sound of shattering glass. Danni lifted her nose over the edge of the society column long enough to watch her friend storm down the stairs. Her carrot red hair stood at odd angles, her white muslin dress drenched down the front with afternoon tea. As she reached the bottom step, she slammed her foot down on the ground, grinding out a roar of frustration from the back of her throat.
Danni was thankful the newspaper hid her mouth. She doubted her dearest friend, Annabel, would appreciate the smile curling her lips. “I find it truly singular that your husband manages to avoid speaking even when he is nearly on his deathbed.”
Annabel’s brown eyes narrowed with her ire. “Would that be true. The man is the biggest baby I’ve ever met. Little Simon behaves better when he has a fever. That man only has the sniffles!”
“Those are the loudest sniffles I’ve ever heard. Does he save up his noise quota for them?”
As if to prove her point, thunder rolled through the shop again as Hu, Annabel’s husband, sneezed. Annabel stomped her foot in a helpless gesture, her fair skin flushing to match her hair.
“Might I suggest a heavy dose of laudanum?”
“Hu won’t take it. I’ve even tried forcing it down his throat, but that only resulted in an argument.”
“Did the argument consist of glares and sullen stares?”
“Would it kill you to have some sympathy for me?”
“Probably,” she smirked.
Annabel stormed over to stand before Danni. Without warning, the redhead snatched the paper from her hands and proceeded to stomp it beneath her feet. When the paper was crinkled and torn beyond repair, her friend stopped, her color high and her chest rising and falling rapidly from her fury. Danni folded her hands in her lap, leaning back into her reading chair. “Are you quite done?”
Brown eyes narrowed to pinpoints. “I would be careful if I were you.”
Danni couldn’t help but grin with unrepentant glee. “Why is that?”
“You never know when one of your dinners might contain poison.”
Danni’s uproarious laughter was interrupted by the sudden cries of a baby. Her friend’s high color faded, replaced by fatigue. “Now Simon’s awake.”
Sighing, she took pity on Annabel. “Why don’t you go take care of the front for a little while? I’ll see to Simon and the big baby.”
Annabel’s warm arms wrapped around her. Her friend smiled with relief. “Thank you. Don’t pay Hu’s blustering any attention.”
“I never do. Now off with you.”
Her grateful friend rushed away without a backward glance. No doubt running before I change my mind. With a heavy sigh, Danni trudged slowly up the stairs, not looking forward to what awaited her.
She traversed the untidy sitting room, moving along the hall to the small room that belonged to Simon. Leaning over the crib, Danni gathered up the pink cherub, rocking the little one in her arms. The contentment she always felt when holding him washed over her quickly, followed by a sharp ache gripping the region of her heart. She wanted a baby of her own. At four and twenty, she was still young enough, but for years now she had been far too disillusioned with the opposite sex to attach herself to one long enough to procreate. Spending her first and only season surrounded by fortune hunters could do that to a woman.
She longed for her perfect match, her soul mate, a man made just for her, but that seemed a dream for only a few lucky couples. Caring for Simon always brought to mind the match her father wanted to arrange for her. His choice was a rising political star by the name of Michael Rathbourne, the Earl of Hemsworth. He was a perfect gentleman, who always treated her as if she were a princess. Lord Rathbourne was rather dashing, too, with stunning hazel eyes and a dazzling smile. In the past two months, he’d been her escort to balls and operas, earning her more than one envious glance from debutantes and their mothers. According to all, he was the catch of the decade, and she should be thrilled to marry him. She knew he would be a courteous husband and believed she could grow to love him. And, perhaps, with time, that grand passion she dreamed of would be hers as well.
Her father, a member of Parliament, would be thrilled to have the earl’s political connection and Danni wanted desperately to please him, to bring back the father he used to be. Perhaps, if she agreed to the match, her father would finally return to being the kind and warm man he had been before her mother’s death, not the distant, cold figure she’d grown so accustomed to.
Pushing away the crushing loss that she would no doubt carry for the rest of her life, she consoled herself with the love she felt for this little boy. She ran her finger over Simon’s crinkled brow, watching it smooth under her repeat strokes. His puppy brown eyes widened, and his favorite appendage—his big toe—popped into his mouth. She wanted a child just like him to love. And she could have that with the earl. All she had to do was say “yes” to her father. It all seemed so very easy, and yet…she hesitated to do so.
I’m such a fool.
With a soft smile and a sigh, she laid the bundle back in his wooden crib and handed him his carved blocks to gnaw. “Simon, I need you to behave for a few moments while I care for the real baby, all right?”
The one-year-old paid her no mind, already occupied by the chewable corners of the blocks. Leaving the room, she entered the one across the hall. A sputtered laugh escaped her when she spied Hu. He sat with his back propped up against the headboard, a lethal glare in his eyes, but a hot water pack draped over his head and his shiny red nose ruined the effect. Danni swallowed more laughter. She moved to his bed, rewrapping the layers of quilts around him and ignoring his glittering gaze. “Poor honey bear!”
His frown sharpened fiercely at the one endearment of Annabel’s she knew he despised. Danni had no doubt she would be dead if Hu had had the strength for it. Stifling another laugh, she grabbed the bottle of laudanum Dr. Peters had delivered. Hu’s jaw tightened at the sight, as if she could overpower him and force it down his throat.
She turned the brown bottle over in her hands, examining the barely touched contents inside. “Annabel needs a rest. She’s left you in my very capable hands.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw trepidation cross his face. Good. She and Hu both knew she would not put up with his self-pitying theatrics. “My first order of business is to entertain you, since you do not seem to need anything else at the moment. Shall I read the latest finding from the British Archaeological Association? Or perhaps you’d be more interested in Fordyce’s Sermons? As you know, I’m ever in need of improving my behavior.”
Resigned, Hu silently reached for the medicine. Danni handed him the bottle and grinned as he took a swig of the contents. Hu screwed on the cap and returned the bottle to her with a glare before settling deeper into the covers. “That’s what I thought. Have a good rest, honey bear.”
With that parting shot, Danni sailed out of the room and walked down the stairs. She was about to settle into her chair with the second copy of the paper she always kept on hand. If Annabel didn’t get to it in a fit of temper, Simon’s curious mouth did. She had just tucked it under her arm to gather a quill and ink when a frazzled Annabel returned to the backroom.
“What are you doing down here? Where are Hu and Simon?”
“Both are fast on their way to sleep.”
Annabel’s shock that her “boys” were behaving was interrupted by an angry ring from the bell above the front door. Her harried look returned. “I don’t know what to do. Several customers have asked for assistance and I can’t find anything in the store. Hu knows where all the stock is inventoried, not me.”
“So that bell was…” She trailed off.
“Another customer leaving!”
Danni sighed. She didn’t know what books they carried either. Hu was the one who usually ran the bookstore and Annabel assisted him with the transactions on occasion. Danni always entered through the back alleys and didn’t even order the new books when inventory needed replenishing. She only cared about what happened in the back.
To unsuspecting society, G. Green Books was a reputable establishment on Bond Street, in possession of fine quality reading, but Gretna Green Bookings, the illicit elopement agency for f. . .
While Beauty smil’d as she took horse;
Yet smil’d thro’ many a generous tear,
To find the parting moment near!
—“Beauty and the Beast” by Charles Lamb
He had many names. The ton called him the Beast behind his back. To his face they called him my lord. If he could have stomached friends, they would have called him Fleetwood. His sister referred to him as a pain in her arse. He simply called himself Marcus.x
At the moment, everyone would have called him drunk.
And drunk was exactly what he wanted to be. Being drunk meant he felt nothing. It meant he remembered nothing. The blessed golden stuff meant that he could survive another day in his cage. But the relief didn’t last long. Even as he stepped along the rain-dampened path, he could feel the pleasant warmth leaving his veins. He could feel the shadows of the past slowly creeping back to the forefront of his mind. Keeping them at bay was too much effort, but facing those memories was the more terrifying of the choices.
The ringing of his champagne-polished Hessians ceased as he halted on the cobblestone sidewalk below. A gas lamp illuminated the darkness. He opened his coat to search his pockets, ignoring the chill hanging in the air.
“Where is that blasted flask?” he mumbled, grasping clumsily through his clothing.
His hands greedily clasped the smooth metal of the container and quickly brought the opened flask to his lips. In minutes, the warmth spread to his limbs and the quiet oblivion, the numbness, returned. His mind fogged, blurring the past and present to a comfortable degree, allowing him to continue his way home unfettered by memories.
He’d taken only half a dozen steps towards his destination before he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Marcus flinched, turning quickly with his fists raised, his heart beating erratically in his chest. For a moment, he’d thought…
He shook his head at his foolishness, fishing his flask out of his coat again. Goddamned memories!
He tipped the mouth of the flask against his lips, the cool surface like a kiss. But before the liquid relief slipped over the edge, he saw movement again. He jolted as if struck, his body spinning around to meet his assailant. The ring of metal on the ground set him jumping backward, his entire body on alert to defend himself from the lash of a knife or the sting of a whip.
Marcus found himself facing nothing but the empty street, the night shadows draping corners in darkness. He glanced down to find that his flask had hit the ground, causing the echoing ring. What had remained of his liquid relief now soaked the front of his overcoat and starched shirt.
His breath came in short gasps, his hand moved to hold his chest in an effort to control himself. He imagined that he looked exactly like the Beast the ton painted him—the whites of his eyes gleaming in terror and a wild look about him.
He bent to pick up his flask, but halted when a clatter echoed in the empty streets, followed by the flash of movement he’d seen before. With slightly unsteady hands, Marcus finished his task, debating whether he should investigate. Despite his constant quest for emotional numbness, he couldn’t stop the surge of concern that flooded him. What if the movement was a result of someone being hurt? Frowning, he pocketed his flask and moved in the direction of the noise. His steps were unsteady as he walked closer to the wrought iron gates of an imposing house. Something about the house struck him as familiar. Stepping back, Marcus realized it was the back garden at the home of his fiancée, Miss Anne Newport. He tilted his head, listening for the noise. It was soft this time, but it had the distinctive clang of metal against metal.
Marcus edged around the corner of the tall fence and watched in stunned silence as a trio of boys slipped unnoticed from the gardens. A gas lantern swung in the hands of the tallest as he held open a gate for the other two behind him. The trio then hurried down the dark alley, pausing only a moment as the last turned to close the gate. Without warning he looked up. Marcus ducked back behind the corner as quickly as he could, unsure if he’d been discovered. He waited for some sort of alarm to be raised, but when nothing happened, he looked back around the fence. The alley was deserted.
Without thinking about what he was doing, he turned down the alley to follow the miscreants. Even in his current state, he knew nothing good would come from three boys skulking about one of the finer residences in the area at this time of night. His lips twisted in a sneer as he walked; his plan was simply to give them a scare. Lord knew his face could frighten even the stoutest of hearts.
Unconsciously, he ran a hand down his cheek, feeling the bumps and ridges of the scars he would forever bear. A tendril of darkness threatened to invade his thoughts, sending his shaking hands for his flask before he realized he was wearing what he sought. Closing his eyes against the sting of the past, he beat it back as best he could before continuing. If he focused on what he was doing, he might be able to escape it.
Marcus halted at the point in the fence where the trio had emerged. It looked as if the fence was whole, but when he ran his fingers over the rain-slicked bars, he could feel the slight indents of where they had been separated to create a passage. It seemed that the boys were more than simple troublemakers.
In the face of such ingenuity, he should have sought a constable. Whether it was the drink’s false courage or his determination to never be cowed, Marcus couldn’t say, but he kept going down the alley. He paused at the other end of it to watch the scene unfolding before him. The alley opened onto a street, fully illuminated by the light coming from the lanterns surrounding a waiting coach. The well-sprung vehicle looked as if it was about to embark on a long journey, with luggage packed tight wherever it could fit. Before it stood the three boys. Only…
As Marcus peered closer at them, he discovered something he would have missed had the light not revealed their figures. Two of the three boys were not boys at all. They were actually petite women dressed as men. Curiosity blossomed, his mind running through the possibilities as to why women would risk their reputations in such a way.
He refocused his attention as the shorter of the two women stepped forward to greet the coachman when the man dropped down from the driver’s perch. The pair embraced tightly. Marcus dismissed him quickly enough, judging him to be mostly harmless. He was an average man of medium height, his only distinguishing feature an odd mustache that parted in the middle and curled at the ends. The woman, on the other hand, captured his full attention.
How he had mistaken the little sprite for a boy was beyond him. He could only blame the two bottles of very fine whiskey he had consumed. Marcus watched the seductive roll of her lush hips in the form-fitting trousers. His interest instantly piqued as his gaze roamed over the impossibly curvy figure on such a tiny frame. He felt his mouth suddenly go dry as her shirt stretched snugly across her bosom, showing it off in every detail.
How long had it been since he’d had a woman? His sudden lust sent his mind wandering down an avenue he did not wish to explore. He did not like to think about the sad circumstances he’d been reduced to in order to enjoy feminine company. The few times he’d attempted to take a mistress had resulted in rejection, the women claiming they couldn’t stomach him. He’d made a habit of paying a small fortune for a whore in the dark.
Just looking at the wee thing illuminated in flickering rays of light made him long for things he could never have. Things that were simply not for him. Ever.
“John! How have you been, old man?”
Her husky voice flowed across the cobbled street and his mind like cool water soothing a burn. It drowned his dark thoughts, dragging him back to the present, something very few people had ever been able to do. Despite his annoyance that this fraud and prowler could affect him in any way, he leaned forward to hear the conversation better.
“I’m doing as well as can be, Miss Danni. The two boys got into a scrape with ol’ man Howard the other day. Me wife damned near took off their ’ides.”
At this, Miss Danni shook her head with a soft clucking sound. “I do not blame her. Mr. Howard has threatened to send the constable after them.”
“They’ll be the end of us, I’m sure. Never have little ones yourself, if you know what’s best for you.”
It was then Miss Danni smiled. It changed her face from simply pretty to stunning. Marcus caught his breath, his hands clenching against the sudden urge to possess her. It was utter madness, but then again, he’d been mad for most of his life.
“Hush, John! Don’t let Hu hear you say that.” Her murmured chuckle was as smooth as her voice.
“Too late for him, anyway.” The amusement in his reply echoed across to Marcus. John glanced over to the other pair, who waited some steps away. Then, glancing skyward, “You picked a wonderful night for this, Miss Danni! The mud will slow us down.”
Her muffled laugh reached him as she inspected something on the carriage. “As if I conjured up this weather! Besides, the roads are still passable.”
John motioned about him as if the wet streets were all the evidence he needed to be concerned for the party’s welfare.
“Don’t fret. You’re worse than a mother hen,” she continued, ignoring his sudden glare. “We have not been seen and no alarm has been raised. You will all be halfway to Gretna before they even realize Anne is gone.”
Marcus tried not to feel emotions. They led to memories, but he could not stop the shock that rippled through him at the name. Anne. It couldn’t be the same. There were plenty of women bearing that name in London. Possibly even a maid in her household. With growing dread, his gut registered the impending doom before his mind would accept it.
His gaze flew to the other girl, standing beside the only real boy—or man—in the group, his burly build suggesting a much more mature age. He was off at one end of the street, lantern held aloft, casting the second girl in a soft glow as she scanned the night. An anxious expression clouded her angelic face, the face he’d looked at so often this past month. She had removed her cap in favor of twisting it in her hands, exposing a long rope of light-colored hair braided in seeming haste, nothing like her traditional coiffures. There was no doubt as to the woman’s identity. It was Miss Anne Newport, daughter of one of London’s wealthiest merchants. His fiancée. Running away from him.
He wasn’t sure what to feel. How could he have been so stupid? He’d known the marriage was contracted for convenience, but he’d begun to believe she might eventually see him in a favorable light. They’d had amicable conversations. He’d been kind, respectful—a gentleman. She’d seemed cooperative, if perhaps a bit hesitant. Apparently he’d been wrong, as the scene before him revealed the truth. Now he was going to suffer embarrassment on top of his crushing defeat, and he couldn’t bear to think about the repercussions for his sister.
Miss Danni bent forward to speak an aside with the coachman, her voice barely audible across the distance. “Where is the groom?”
The coachman shook his head, a worried expression crossing his face. Danni gave Anne a considering look before striding to stand beside her. “He knows that tonight is the night, right?”
Her voice shook as she spoke, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself. “Y-yes, I managed to speak with him in private today to confirm the details. He assured me he would be here. George is not one to change his mind at the last minute. ’Tis one of the reasons I fell in love with him.”
Love. Marcus choked back the laugh welling in his chest. He felt light-headed with the absurdity of the events he was witnessing. The vague thought that he was becoming hysterical collided with another sobering thought. There was no doubt that this groom was conning Anne, playing on her schoolroom fantasies and paying his three assistants a large sum to help him lay claim to her inheritance. Marcus could all too easily imagine such a thing happening to someone as naive as Anne. He had half a mind to halt this entire affair, but he couldn’t make himself move.
Anger snaked through his chest. That Anne would do this to him, that she so hated the idea of an alliance with him she would run away under the cover of night. Even as he stood there, knowing they had not loved each other, knowing the marriage was a mere business arrangement, he thought she could have at least showed him a little consideration. Revenge curled with anger in his gut. His cruel side wanted her to get what she deserved.
The fraud nodded reassuringly, staring down the avenue as she joined the girl and the lantern bearer in their vigil. “I’m sure he’ll be here.”
Marcus stood waiting as well, his drunken thoughts swirling down a well of emotions. If this George was really a con man, then why was he not claiming his prize? Could it be he’d grown a conscience? Had regrets? A thought struck his befuddled brain. Could it be that George was the intended victim and not Anne?
His shoulder propped up against the damp brick wall, his mind slowly transformed Anne into his little sister. He could see the desperate hope in her green eyes, shining with worry and hopeful anticipation. In his imagination, he envisioned her returning to her room, devastated from being abandoned by her “true love.” Or, perhaps even worse, returning to her home, trapped in a miserable marriage for the rest of her life.
His concern won out over his desire for revenge. If it were Caro in Anne’s place, he’d hope her soon-to-be-ex-fiancé would have tried to stop this disaster. His lungs constricted with his anger. It wasn’t the sharp, blinding rage that he was so used to. It was a deep-seated, writhing storm, threatening to roll into a more malevolent force. He pushed off the brick, his feet seeming ready to fly him into the light, but a quiet shout from where the three “men” stood stopped him. He drew back as a slender figure stumbled out of the darkness. Marcus caught the gleam of glasses reflecting in the lamplight just before the youth fell forward, seeming to trip over nothing.
“Oh, Georgie! Are you all right, my love?”
Anne fell to her knees, trying to assist George up from the ground. He gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m so sorry to be late, Annie, but Mr. Hessler kept me, and I had to stay if I’m to continue to support us. But I came as fast as I could.”
As George spoke, his hands cast around for the glasses that had fallen off when he’d tripped. Danni scooped them up a few feet from him and pressed the wire rims into his hand. “There you go, George. Mind your feet now.”
“Yes, Miss Green. I’ll adapt to these new glasses at some point.”
Marcus wasn’t paying any attention. Pieces were clicking together in his head. And as he solved the puzzle, his rage shifted from defending Anne back to condemning her to hell. George was a clerk for his solicitor’s office. George was the man who’d been sent over to the Newport house to arrange the engagement documents. Mr. Hessler had mentioned him frequently. He’d said the boy had a bright future in law. With Marcus’s fury growing at yet another humiliation, he was in the mood to make sure George never reached his potential.
Marcus watched Danni and the lantern-bearer exchange a concerned glance. He’d wager they were worried they wouldn’t get paid if George killed himself in some sort of clumsy accident.
The clerk slid the spectacles back onto his nose before accepting a hand up from the ground by Anne and the burly man. Danni was already walking back towards the driver, her short legs taking quick and confident strides. She pulled a bag from her coat pocket and handed it up to John, the jangle of coins clear across the way. “This should take care of the expenses for the trip. Be careful, John.”
“Always am, Miss Danni.”
He watched as the couple climbed into the coach with Danni holding the door for them. Before they departed, she leaned inside to speak, giving Marcus a delicious view of her derriere. Her voice carried across the street. “Now remember what I said. You are two brothers going on holiday to the north of Scotland until John says it’s safe to change into more appropriate clothing. Then you are Mr. and Mrs. Jenner, on a trip to visit your family. Do not deviate from my plans. They’ve worked before. Is that all understood?”
“Oh, yes! And thank you so much!” Anne’s voice practically squealed with excitement from inside the carriage.
“It was no trouble. I expect to hear from you when you return, and do feel free to recommend my little bookshop to your acquaintances. Discreetly, of course.”
The reflection of light in glasses reached Marcus as the groom spoke. “We will, Miss Green. And again, Anne and I thank you for all your help.”
“Yes, well, off with you now.”
She shut the door and tapped it, giving the signal for the coachman to drive. As it moved forward, Danni waved, a watery smile on her face. “I always love happy endings, Hu. Don’t you?”
The lantern-bearer answered with a grunt. Marcus thought he caught a roll of her eyes as she turned away from the traveling coach. “Honestly, Hubert Tollman, can you do nothing more than grunt? I think I’ve only ever heard you speak one full sentence once in the entire two years I’ve known you.”
Silence reigned before a long-suffering sigh escaped the petite woman. “How in the world did a chatterbox like Annabel ever end up with a man like you, Hubert?”
Again there was no response and Marcus watched as they disappeared into the dark of the night. He stayed in place, waiting for the sound of their footsteps to fade into nothingness before he moved from his hiding spot. Once under the dim light where the event had occurred, he faced the way the coach had gone, and then glanced down the avenue where the two figures had disappeared. He wasn’t sure what to make of all that he’d witnessed, his emotions were still too raw, but one thing he knew for certain.
He needed a drink.
Chapter Two
“All that my castle own’d was thine,
“My food, my fire, my bed, my wine:
“Thou robb’st my Rose-tress in return,
“For this, base Plunderer, thou shalt mourn!”
—“Beauty and the Beast” by Charles Lamb
Thunder boomed overhead, followed promptly by the sound of shattering glass. Danni lifted her nose over the edge of the society column long enough to watch her friend storm down the stairs. Her carrot red hair stood at odd angles, her white muslin dress drenched down the front with afternoon tea. As she reached the bottom step, she slammed her foot down on the ground, grinding out a roar of frustration from the back of her throat.
Danni was thankful the newspaper hid her mouth. She doubted her dearest friend, Annabel, would appreciate the smile curling her lips. “I find it truly singular that your husband manages to avoid speaking even when he is nearly on his deathbed.”
Annabel’s brown eyes narrowed with her ire. “Would that be true. The man is the biggest baby I’ve ever met. Little Simon behaves better when he has a fever. That man only has the sniffles!”
“Those are the loudest sniffles I’ve ever heard. Does he save up his noise quota for them?”
As if to prove her point, thunder rolled through the shop again as Hu, Annabel’s husband, sneezed. Annabel stomped her foot in a helpless gesture, her fair skin flushing to match her hair.
“Might I suggest a heavy dose of laudanum?”
“Hu won’t take it. I’ve even tried forcing it down his throat, but that only resulted in an argument.”
“Did the argument consist of glares and sullen stares?”
“Would it kill you to have some sympathy for me?”
“Probably,” she smirked.
Annabel stormed over to stand before Danni. Without warning, the redhead snatched the paper from her hands and proceeded to stomp it beneath her feet. When the paper was crinkled and torn beyond repair, her friend stopped, her color high and her chest rising and falling rapidly from her fury. Danni folded her hands in her lap, leaning back into her reading chair. “Are you quite done?”
Brown eyes narrowed to pinpoints. “I would be careful if I were you.”
Danni couldn’t help but grin with unrepentant glee. “Why is that?”
“You never know when one of your dinners might contain poison.”
Danni’s uproarious laughter was interrupted by the sudden cries of a baby. Her friend’s high color faded, replaced by fatigue. “Now Simon’s awake.”
Sighing, she took pity on Annabel. “Why don’t you go take care of the front for a little while? I’ll see to Simon and the big baby.”
Annabel’s warm arms wrapped around her. Her friend smiled with relief. “Thank you. Don’t pay Hu’s blustering any attention.”
“I never do. Now off with you.”
Her grateful friend rushed away without a backward glance. No doubt running before I change my mind. With a heavy sigh, Danni trudged slowly up the stairs, not looking forward to what awaited her.
She traversed the untidy sitting room, moving along the hall to the small room that belonged to Simon. Leaning over the crib, Danni gathered up the pink cherub, rocking the little one in her arms. The contentment she always felt when holding him washed over her quickly, followed by a sharp ache gripping the region of her heart. She wanted a baby of her own. At four and twenty, she was still young enough, but for years now she had been far too disillusioned with the opposite sex to attach herself to one long enough to procreate. Spending her first and only season surrounded by fortune hunters could do that to a woman.
She longed for her perfect match, her soul mate, a man made just for her, but that seemed a dream for only a few lucky couples. Caring for Simon always brought to mind the match her father wanted to arrange for her. His choice was a rising political star by the name of Michael Rathbourne, the Earl of Hemsworth. He was a perfect gentleman, who always treated her as if she were a princess. Lord Rathbourne was rather dashing, too, with stunning hazel eyes and a dazzling smile. In the past two months, he’d been her escort to balls and operas, earning her more than one envious glance from debutantes and their mothers. According to all, he was the catch of the decade, and she should be thrilled to marry him. She knew he would be a courteous husband and believed she could grow to love him. And, perhaps, with time, that grand passion she dreamed of would be hers as well.
Her father, a member of Parliament, would be thrilled to have the earl’s political connection and Danni wanted desperately to please him, to bring back the father he used to be. Perhaps, if she agreed to the match, her father would finally return to being the kind and warm man he had been before her mother’s death, not the distant, cold figure she’d grown so accustomed to.
Pushing away the crushing loss that she would no doubt carry for the rest of her life, she consoled herself with the love she felt for this little boy. She ran her finger over Simon’s crinkled brow, watching it smooth under her repeat strokes. His puppy brown eyes widened, and his favorite appendage—his big toe—popped into his mouth. She wanted a child just like him to love. And she could have that with the earl. All she had to do was say “yes” to her father. It all seemed so very easy, and yet…she hesitated to do so.
I’m such a fool.
With a soft smile and a sigh, she laid the bundle back in his wooden crib and handed him his carved blocks to gnaw. “Simon, I need you to behave for a few moments while I care for the real baby, all right?”
The one-year-old paid her no mind, already occupied by the chewable corners of the blocks. Leaving the room, she entered the one across the hall. A sputtered laugh escaped her when she spied Hu. He sat with his back propped up against the headboard, a lethal glare in his eyes, but a hot water pack draped over his head and his shiny red nose ruined the effect. Danni swallowed more laughter. She moved to his bed, rewrapping the layers of quilts around him and ignoring his glittering gaze. “Poor honey bear!”
His frown sharpened fiercely at the one endearment of Annabel’s she knew he despised. Danni had no doubt she would be dead if Hu had had the strength for it. Stifling another laugh, she grabbed the bottle of laudanum Dr. Peters had delivered. Hu’s jaw tightened at the sight, as if she could overpower him and force it down his throat.
She turned the brown bottle over in her hands, examining the barely touched contents inside. “Annabel needs a rest. She’s left you in my very capable hands.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw trepidation cross his face. Good. She and Hu both knew she would not put up with his self-pitying theatrics. “My first order of business is to entertain you, since you do not seem to need anything else at the moment. Shall I read the latest finding from the British Archaeological Association? Or perhaps you’d be more interested in Fordyce’s Sermons? As you know, I’m ever in need of improving my behavior.”
Resigned, Hu silently reached for the medicine. Danni handed him the bottle and grinned as he took a swig of the contents. Hu screwed on the cap and returned the bottle to her with a glare before settling deeper into the covers. “That’s what I thought. Have a good rest, honey bear.”
With that parting shot, Danni sailed out of the room and walked down the stairs. She was about to settle into her chair with the second copy of the paper she always kept on hand. If Annabel didn’t get to it in a fit of temper, Simon’s curious mouth did. She had just tucked it under her arm to gather a quill and ink when a frazzled Annabel returned to the backroom.
“What are you doing down here? Where are Hu and Simon?”
“Both are fast on their way to sleep.”
Annabel’s shock that her “boys” were behaving was interrupted by an angry ring from the bell above the front door. Her harried look returned. “I don’t know what to do. Several customers have asked for assistance and I can’t find anything in the store. Hu knows where all the stock is inventoried, not me.”
“So that bell was…” She trailed off.
“Another customer leaving!”
Danni sighed. She didn’t know what books they carried either. Hu was the one who usually ran the bookstore and Annabel assisted him with the transactions on occasion. Danni always entered through the back alleys and didn’t even order the new books when inventory needed replenishing. She only cared about what happened in the back.
To unsuspecting society, G. Green Books was a reputable establishment on Bond Street, in possession of fine quality reading, but Gretna Green Bookings, the illicit elopement agency for f. . .
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He's No Prince Charming
Elle Daniels
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