How to Manage a Marquess by Sally Mackenzie Read Free Book Online Page A

Don’t you want your own home?”
    Yes—the Spinster House!
    â€œI would love to have my own home—it’s the husband I don’t want.” She clasped her hands, firmly pushing a certain marquess’s image from her thoughts. The supercilious, aggravating idiot. “I would far rather be on the shelf than chained to some man, at his beck and call, forced to share his be—” No, she couldn’t say it. “Forced to share my life with him and do his bidding until I die.”
    Papa looked as if he wished to say something—likely to point out the amount of time and money he’d spent dragging her to house parties in search of an acceptable husband—but fortunately he did not. “Most men aren’t such tyrants, Anne. I’m not, am I?”
    â€œNo, but you aren’t a great advertisement for marriage either.”
    He flushed. “Your mother and I rubbed along well enough. Marriage isn’t the constant hearts and flowers the poets like to pretend it is.” He frowned. “Surely you don’t want to live at Davenport Hall forever? What will you do when I—” He stopped. Clearly his emotions had carried him further than he’d intended to go.
    â€œWhen you marry Mrs. Eaton?”
    â€œThis is not about El—Mrs. Eaton.”
    But it was. Oh, God, she knew for certain now. Papa had looked away, a clear sign he was prevaricating.
    She grasped her hands together to keep from wrapping them around his neck. “Everything was fine until you met her . Ever since then, you’ve been desperate to get rid of me.” Blast, she was going to cry.
    â€œAnne.” Papa reached for her, but she stepped back quickly to avoid him. “I only want you to be happy. To find love.”
    â€œI am not marrying just to get out of Mrs. Eaton’s way.”
    Papa rubbed his face. “Anne.”
    â€œI’m going to my room.”
    â€œBut you haven’t touched your supper.”
    â€œI’m not hungry.”
    It might be juvenile, but slamming the study door behind her felt very, very good.
    * * *
    â€œWhat the hell were you thinking, Marcus?” Nate stepped into the castle’s study, where Marcus sat with Alex. He was tempted to slam the door behind him. He needed another way to rid himself of his anger besides wrapping his hands around Marcus’s throat.
    He settled for gripping his fingers tightly behind his back.
    â€œAnd good evening to you, too, Nate,” Alex said, raising his glass along with his brows. “Why don’t you help yourself to some brandy? A drink might settle your spleen.” Then he, too, looked at Marcus.
    Marcus was scowling. “Damnation, Nate, were you spying on me again?”
    At least he didn’t pretend not to know what Nate meant.
    â€œNo. There was no need to spy. Anyone walking down the street could see you.”
    And anyone had.
    Surely Miss Davenport will hold her tong—that is, keep silent.
    He could not think about Miss Davenport’s tongue, about how sweet it had tasted, how shyly it had slipped over his and then, with his encouragement, grown bolder—
    Enough. As far as he could tell, the woman hated him.
    But she liked Miss Hutting. They were friends . Surely she wouldn’t do anything to tarnish her friend’s reputation.
    He just wished he felt more certain of that.
    â€œI’m a grown man, for God’s sake, Nate. My activities are none of your concern.”
    â€œThe hell they aren’t.” If he grasped his fingers any tighter, he might break some. Perhaps a glass of brandy was a good idea.
    He strode over to the decanter and jerked out the stopper.
    Marcus sighed. “But they aren’t, Nate. I know your mother drummed it into your head that you are my keeper, but I absolve you of that duty.”
    â€œYou can’t absolve me. I’ve watched out for you ever since we were boys. I’m not going to stop now