Page 87 of To Catch a Viscount

And Marciafeltlike she was going to cast up her biscuits. “I am fine,” she reassured them.

“Then why did Lord Rutland’s servant come and Papa shout for his horse and carriage, and why was Mama crying?”

Oh, God. She’d reduced her mother to tears.

What did you expect? And are you really capable of anything but bringing them misery?

Misery that was about to come all the worse when Lord Atbrooke paid a visit, seeking money to stay away from them.

“It is my fault,” Flora whispered, and Marcia and her siblings swung their gazes her way. “I was worried after I saw you going out the other night, and I told Papa and—” A little sob escaped her.

“Shh,” Marcia said, drawing her sister close. She’d not allow Flora that misplaced guilt. “This is not your fault. It is mine.” She’d been the one who’d wronged them. All of them.

As she held her younger sister, and her somber siblings looked on, Marcia stared over the tops of their heads into the flames dancing in the hearth.

What was she going to do?

Chapter 14

Well, this was decidedly not good.

Not good at all.

The next morning, Andrew sat on the edge of his bed, the latest note he’d received from the gaming hell owner, DuMond, seeking to collect his debts, forgotten on his nightstand.

What in hell had he done?

He’d almost made love to Marcia.

Innocent, virtuous Marcia.

And it was a certainty that he would have if her father hadn’t arrived. Andrew would have slipped her gown off her and explored all of her.

What was worse… he still wanted to. He could not rid his mind of the memory of the feel and taste of her—strawberries and honey, and sweeter than any fruit that equally weak Adam had been presented with in the Garden of Eden.

With a groan, Andrew flopped down on his back and dragged a pillow over his head. A good suffocating. That was what he deserved. It would save Marcia’s father the bullet he no doubt intended to put into his black heart.

A knock sounded at the door, and Andrew removed the pillow. “Enter,” he called.

His valet ducked his head in the room. “Lord Rutland and His Grace, the Duke of Huntly, are here to see you.”

Following Wessex’s discovery of Andrew and Marcia, this meeting had been just as certain as the sun rising and setting.

Andrew grabbed his timepiece.

Thirty minutes past five o’clock in the morning.

He’d just not expected it would happen so quickly.

Or thatbothmen should be here.

Rutland, yes.

Huntly, no.

His brothers-in-law.

Bloody hell.

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