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

when you’re in the greatest danger.” Nate splashed a little brandy into a glass and tossed it off in one gulp. It burned his throat and made his eyes water, but the discomfort felt good.
    â€œWould anyone care to tell me what you two are talking about?” Alex asked.
    â€œNo. Nate is making a mountain out of a molehill.”
    Nate was in the process of pouring himself some more brandy and knocked the decanter against his glass, causing a few drops to spill. How could Marcus say that?
    â€œThis molehill could be your death if word of your mad behavior gets out and you have to marry the girl.” Nate looked at Alex. “Marcus dragged the vicar’s daughter into the bushes, just as he did Miss Rathbone.”
    Marcus slammed his brandy glass down on the occasional table. “Bloody hell, Nate, I told you that incident in London was all Miss Rathbone’s doing.” He got up to pace, his steps taking him past the large portrait of the third duke, the man whose callous treatment of Isabelle Dorring had started the curse.
    â€œThat’s right.” How could he have forgotten? Marcus hadn’t been the instigator here, either. “Now that I think about it, it wasn’t you doing the dragging—it was Miss Hutting.” He shook his head. “The scheming minx. She had it all planned.”
    Marcus glared at him. If looks could kill, Nate would be measuring his length on the carpet.
    â€œEr, Nate,” Alex said, shifting on his uncomfortable chair, “you might want to sit down and relax.” He snorted. “Not that a fellow can relax on this infernal furniture. It manages to be both hard and lumpy, and it’s proportioned for some giant with dwarf legs.”
    â€œYou will not speak ill of Miss Hutting,” Marcus said, his eyes narrowed, teeth—and hands—clenched.
    Did Marcus wish to fight? Good. They hadn’t come to blows in years, but at the moment Nate would welcome the chance to pummel his cousin. “So she didn’t drag you into the bushes?”
    â€œI say, isn’t it time for supper?” Alex smiled bravely.
    They ignored him.
    â€œOf course she didn’t drag me into the bushes.”
    â€œThen why the hell were you in there with her?”
    Marcus glanced away. “She merely wished some privacy to discuss the Spinster House.”
    A woman did not do something as scandalous as disappear into the foliage with a man simply to discuss her living arrangements, unless those arrangements included the fellow’s regular visits to her bedchamber—and he could not believe Marcus was thinking to set up the vicar’s daughter as his mistress. That was too bizarre a plan even for a curse-addled brain.
    No, trips to the shrubbery were far from innocent. His trip with Miss Davenport, for example—
    He shoved Miss Davenport from his thoughts.
    â€œAnd nothing else occurred?” he asked. He couldn’t help himself. He needed Marcus to admit what he’d done.
    Marcus blinked, and when he looked at Nate again, his eyes were shuttered. “No. What would have occurred? I told you Miss Hutting is determined to be the next Spinster House spinster.”
    God! Nate felt as if a fist had slammed into his stomach. Something in Marcus’s voice or face made it clear: his cousin was lying.
    Marcus had never lied to him before.
    Marcus flushed and looked down quickly as if checking his hands for soot.
    Nate was suddenly blindingly angry. Marcus knew he was playing with fire. A sensible man would recognize the danger and take steps to avoid it. Females and shrubbery were a lethal combination. Look at what had happened to him when he’d gone into the Spinster House garden with Miss Davenport. What had started simply as a means to avoid scandal had ended up with him on the ground, his hands on Miss Davenport’s arse and his tongue in her mouth. If he hadn’t come to his senses, he’d have had her