Page 38 of Made for the Marquess (Second Sons of London 4)

“I think it a marvelous idea, my lord. Of course, my niece will accompany you for a drive after tea. It was quite thoughtful of you to ask, my lord.”

Minta saw the satisfied smile on Lord Boxling’s sensual lips and the flash of anger that sparked in Lord Kingston’s eyes. She bit back a smile, thinking it wouldn’t hurt if the marquess was just a tiny bit jealous.

Uncle West escorted them to their carriage and once inside the vehicle, he said, “That was a most enjoyable evening.”

“It was beyond enjoyable,” Aunt Phyllis insisted. “Why, I do believe that Minta has garnered her first suitor even before the Season has begun. Viscount Boxling is everything a gentleman should be. Handsome. Attentive. Friendly. Any woman would be happy if he chose to court them.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think of him, my dear,” Uncle West pointed out. “Besides, you already have yourself an attentive husband. I believe it is Minta who should be deciding whether or not she is interested in the viscount’s company.”

He winked at her and Minta couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Well, what do you think of him?” insisted her aunt. “Do you have an interest in Lord Boxling after this evening’s dinner?”

Not wanting to commit, Minta merely said, “I find both Lord Boxling and Lord Kingston to be appealing.”

Her aunt sighed dramatically. “I do not see how you can compare the two and find them equal. However, your uncle is right. It is for you decide, Minta darling.”

She only wondered how tomorrow’s tea would turn out with both men seemingly in pursuit of her—and what her carriage ride with Lord Boxling would reveal.

*

The scream torefrom Percy’s throat as he quickly muffled it in his pillows. His body was drenched in cold sweat. He had hoped the nightmares would recede, replaced by sweet dreams of Minta Nicholls, but that had not been the case.

Seeing light pouring from the window, he rose and splashed cold water on his face.

He would have liked Lord Boxling under any other circumstances. The man had proven to be intelligent and amiable, as much at White’s as he was at last night’s dinner. The fact he was interested in Minta, though, let any idea of friendship between them fly out the window. He knew he could not compete with the friendly, outgoing viscount and shouldn’t even try to do so. His head told him that Boxling would be an ideal match for Minta.

Yet stubbornness filled him, his hackles raised. He didn’t want to think of wooing Minta as a competition but he realized most likely that was what the Season was all about. Bachelors becoming interested in women they wished to take as their brides. Sometimes, there would be no competition and other times, it might become fierce. Knowing the copper-haired beauty would draw much attention, it seemed ridiculous that he would try to vie for her hand. But he felt compelled to do so, even knowing in his heart he wasn’t the best candidate for her. Instead, he should choose some fresh-faced girl straight out of the schoolroom and remain polite but distant, both in courtship and marriage.

He wanted more, though. Much more. He wanted what his friends had.

He wanted love.

He had not felt an ounce of love from his parents, only seeing they did their duty toward him. He did experience fraternal love from both Rupert and the Second Sons but he yearned for more. He needed a strong partner who would help guide him through Polite Society and share his life with him.

He wanted—no, needed—Minta Nicholls to be that woman.

But how was he supposed to compete with a man such as Lord Boxling? Or the countless other bachelors of the Season, knowing how many would be attracted to Minta. Frustration filled him and yet determination did, as well. He would do his best in the two weeks leading up to the Season and see if he could make any progress with her. If he saw it was hopeless and Lord Boxling took the advantage, he would withdraw gracefully and direct his attention to other candidates.

Ringing for Huston, he asked for hot water to be sent up for a bath. Percy wanted to cleanse the nightmare from his body, mind, and soul.

An hour later, he was feeling refreshed as he headed downstairs to breakfast. He opened the newspaper resting beside his plate and perused it as he ate. Just as he finished his meal, Tate arrived with the post. The butler also said, “My lord, Bailey is waiting in your study. He says it is imperative to speak with you at once.”

Worry filled him. Bailey coming all the way from Essex to London meant bad news.

“I will see him at once,” Percy said, collecting the post and heading straight to his study.

He arrived and saw his country butler standing stiffly, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out the window.

Turning, he greeted Percy.

“My lord, I hope things are well with you here in town.”

“Have a seat, Bailey,” he said, taking one himself, thinking it better to receive bad news sitting down. “What brings you to town?”

“It regards Mr. Smith, my lord. He has suffered a heart attack, one so severe that the doctor said he will not survive but a day or so. With so much going on at the estate, I felt you should hear this news in person and act accordingly.”

Guilt flooded Percy, as he thought how the steward had wished to retire and stayed on as a favor to Percy. Now the man would never enjoy his golden years.

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