Page 21 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
Impossible man! She would rather marry an ogre than him. Even if hewashandsome. She snapped the book shut. Thinking about how blue his eyes were wasnotgoing to help. She needed answers, not for her mind to dwell on stupid things like the way his mouth looked when it formed her name. Heavens, she needed help. He was rude and obnoxious and selfish. And shedidn’tlike him.
The door to the library opened, and Evangeline glanced up from her window seat. This was her favorite place to escape to, especially now that the Marquess had taken over her gardens with his brooding, and the last thing she wanted was anyone else to invade her space.
To her eternal irritation, she discovered it was the Marquess who had entered; she caught a glimpse of his dark head passing between the shelves. But he hadn’t seen her here, or he would have approached, no doubt, to whittle away what little self-respect she retained.
Well, if he even so much asconsideredspeaking to her, she’d throw her book at him. It wasn’t a heavy thing—few circulating novels were—but it would leave a dent on his handsome face if she aimed it well enough.
To her surprise, however, he didn’t approach her. In fact, he seemed utterly oblivious to her existence. She uncurled and peeked around the corner. There, on one of the armchairs in the corner of the room, sat the Marquess, his head in his hands.
“Okay, Zac,” he said, and she started, ducking back out of sight again. But instead of approaching as she was certain he would have done if hehadseen her, he just sighed. “You need to get your act together.”
Oh. He wasn’t here to find her or to do anything devious. He just wanted to have some time alone—and wasn’t that exactly what she had been doing? Could she really, in good conscience, hate him for it?
It would have been so much easier if he’d done something truly obnoxious, and she could have had her excuse to throw her book. Everything would have made so much more sense.
“Just… Stop being a brute.” A laugh, followed by another sigh. “Not that they’ll ever stop thinking you’re a brute now. You idiot.”
Evangeline risked another peek. This wasn’t the Marquess she had come to know and despise. There was none of the arrogance in his face now, none of the entitlement she associated with him. He looked almost… Vulnerable.Sad. She felt sorry for him.
Which was a mistake, she told herself as she eased back. Not only should shenotbe here overhearing his private conversation—with himself—but she shouldn’t be pitying him. He was a monster who wanted to marry her sister out of nothing but spite, for she could see no other reason he would pursue the match.
Unless he truly did want to be close with her father… but if that was his intention, he was going to be disappointed.
Silently, she left the library.
* * *
Do not pit yourself against me.
Zachary groaned as he stared at his reflection. Since he was a boy, everyone had told him he looked like his father. It was a curse, now, to be reminded of everything he’d lost every time he looked in the mirror.
To know that behind the face, under the clothes, was the burned husk of a man who could never enjoy a woman’s touch without her revulsion.
But those were thoughts for another day. If he wished to marry Lady Emily, he needed to convince her that he was a prospect worth marrying—a difficult one if Evangeline had anything to do with it.
His valet placed his coat over his shoulders. At least his burns didn’t affect his shape, even if they made wearing clothes for long periods of time uncomfortable. Not that he ever allowed himself to shirk his duty; and if the burning, itching sensation shortened his temper, he would merely have to learn to keep it on a tighter leash.
No more outbursts, he told himself sternly as he left the room for the dining room.Just… Relax. An impossible request, but one he would attempt to adhere to anyway.
“Ah, my son made it after all,” his mother said, a trifle sharply in his opinion. Lady Pevton glowered at him. She still hadn’t collected herself to say more than three words in a row to him, but that was probably a good thing—if she said more, they would only be insults. He knew well what she thought of him.
“We had thought perhaps you weren’t intending to join us for dinner,” Evangeline said sweetly. Too sweetly—he couldn’t deceive himself into thinking they were hoping he would arrive.
He turned his attention to Emily, who sat placidly beside her sister. Yes, she would make a trouble-free wife. If he wished, he would hardly know she was there at all.
“You are looking well today,” he said, smiling at her. Emily’s cheeks reddened, and she sent a glance at Evangeline before trying to smile back at him.
“Thank you,” she choked. Evangeline glared at him.
Lady Pevton stared in outright horror. His mother smiled quietly into her napkin.
“It’s occurred to me, I’ve been in this house quite some time and yet have not received a tour,” he said, directing his words at Emily, who looked at him with surprise and—could that be—wonder in her eyes. “If it would not be asking too much, Lady Emily, would you be so good as to show me around? I should like to know the house’s history better.”
“A housekeeper would be better placed for that,” Evangeline grated over her soup.
“Ah, but a housekeeper would not be nearly as charming.” Zachary found himself almost enjoying the wrath on Evangeline’s face.
“Heavens,” Lady Pevton said faintly. “My salts. Someone find me my smelling salts.”
