Page 3 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
“You heard what Aunt Dorothea said—his entire body is covered in horrific burns.” Evangeline cast another glance around the ballroom in search of him, but she couldn’t find him. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was relieved or not. Whether the story about his burns was true, they certainly did not mar his face which remained one of the most coldly handsome ones she had seen. “And if he is so cruel to his servants that they all fear him…”
“Do you think he would be cruel to us?”
Evangeline hesitated. Of the three, Emily had taken the news of her father’s suicide the worst, and even now, her nerves were fragile. If Evangeline spoke the fear on her heart—that he would be cruel indeed if he became their guardian—she would only disturb her sister’s feelings more.
“I hope we shall not have to find out,” she said at last. “Aunt Dorothea is right about one thing—the sooner we marry well, the less we shall have to worry about any of it.”
Emily giggled—the first laugh she had given all evening. Perhaps all week. “In that case,” she said, “you ought not to have worn peach.”
ChapterTwo
The Marquess of Harley, Zachary Hanson, strode through the crowd in a futile attempt to avoid the debutantes. There were few things he liked less than insipid laughs and calculating smiles, and this ball abounded with them. It felt as though every eligible young lady had conspired to be present and—bizarrely—interested in dancing with him.
Zachary did not dance. He did few things society expected him to do, and truth be told, when he had returned to London on his friend Percy Riffy’s request, he hadn’t expected to be such an object of fascination.
A buxom lady stepped into his path, dragging her reluctant daughter after her. “My Lord,” she said. “I suspect you don’t remember me.”
“You would be correct, Madam.”
The smile hardened on her face. “I was friends with your late father.”
No doubt she had heard the rumors surrounding the circumstances of his father’s death. He held her gaze for a long moment, waiting for the inevitable moment for her to flinch. Everyone did after he stared at them long enough. His reputation did him few favors, but it did ensure no one spent time with him if he didn’t want them to.
Her resolve cracked, and she glanced away. “I suppose you are busy,” she murmured. “Come, Felicity.” The girl sent him a half-terrified, half-curious glance that he didn’t bother responding to. The end result would be the same: no one remained close with him for long, save his mother and Riffy.
It was easier to chase away any prospective brides now than to suffer their predictable changes of heart. The lady—whose name he could not bring to mind—and Felicity hurried from his path, leaving him unfettered access to the brandy and cards that were taking place in the adjoining room.
This room, filled with tables and the slightly inebriated concentration of the men disinterested in dancing, was Zachary’s haven. He was rarely happier than when he had a drink in hand and had the opportunity to lose himself in a game of whist or faro. Like his father before him, he had an admirable eye for the game, and he rarely lost. Something he had put to good use while on the Continent.
He had just won a game of whist and bid goodbye to the gentleman opposing him when Percy Riffy slid into the available chair. “Harley,” Riffy said. “What a surprise to see you here.”
“I can only presume you’re being facetious.”
“But of course—this is the only room you would be even remotely comfortable in.” Percy eyed him, and Zachary met his gaze with a combative one. Having already consumed some wine, with brandy now following it down, there was a warmth in the base of his stomach and a lightness to his limbs that promised he was well on the way to being drunk.
“Did my mother send you?” he asked.
“Your mother is concerned that you might be…” Percy paused contemplatively. Unlike Zachary, whose broadness was a result of many long hours of boxing, Percy was of a slim build. Their friendship was longstanding, but Zachary was not above calling Percy out when he was particularly drunk—and Percy was well aware of the possibility. “She did not want you to alienate theton,” he finished.
“Thatis somewhat too late, don’t you think?” Zachary shuffled the cards in a set of precise movements that hid the amount of alcohol in his system. “I am not a favorite among society, as you well know.”
“A title may provoke many to overlook some of the other rumors,” Percy said carefully.
Zachary raised his eyebrows. “What would you have me do, Riffy? Return out there and dance with a series of young ladies who have nothing to recommend themselves?”
“You are a little harsh. There are many lovely ladies in attendance tonight.”
“There are?” Zachary snorted. “Forgive me, but I saw none.”
“Perhaps you were not looking in the right directions.” Percy laid his hands over the cards Zachary was dealing. “I’m coming to you as a friend, not an opponent.”
“And yet your advice is for me to make a fool of myself.”
“Dancing is not so bad, you know.”
Zachary’s gaze flickered. The burns he had suffered across his body did not inhibit his movements too much now that they were healed, but dancing pained his legs, and when the reward was so little, he was disinclined to put himself through the process.
“If you are acting as my mother’s messenger, you may tell her not to fear,” he said gruffly. “I have no intention of marrying.”
