My Wicked Marquess by Gaelen Foley Read Free Book Online Page A

her, she waited there until he had passed. After all, she did not wish to be accused of spying.
    After a moment, she leaned her forehead against the closed door, not knowing what to think about Penelope’s claims that they were running short of funds.
    She knew her father had lost money in the great stock market plunge that had caught all London off guard right after the Battle of Waterloo, but he kept saying everything was fine, so why was she left feeling guilty?
    If Papa wasn’t going to come out and be honest with the family about their situation, then what was she to do? Read his mind? He was her father, and she had been raised to accept his word as law. If Papa said everything was fine, then she would take him at his word.
    If it was not—if there was a problem—then he had better speak up in plain English. He knows that I don’t play these sorts of games.
    In any case, it was no great mystery whom she intended to marry, anyway—Jonathon White, her dearest friend—when she was good and ready, and not one minute sooner.
    Jono and she had been as inseparable as the two Willies were since they both were knee-high to a bumblebee.
    Now that they were grown, it was true that Jonathon cared a bit too much for fashion and could not arrive on time at anevent to save his life, but he was always droll and agreeable, a nice-looking fellow with beautiful manners and a dashing sense of style. Like Papa, he would never duel.
    Above all, he was much too smart ever to try to tell Daphne Starling what to do. On the contrary, he had been content to follow her lead and to obey her wiser-headed orders since they were five years old.
    Most importantly of all, unlike Albert, Jono knew she was a human being. He treated her with respect, and in turn, she trusted him implicitly. They were two peas in a pod.
    She had been keeping a little distance from Jonathon lately, however, merely to keep him out of the line of fire of the Carew brothers.
    With a sigh, she turned and leaned her back against the door. At once, across the bedchamber, she saw her delicious new white ball gown hanging on the door peg of her closet in anticipation of the Edgecombe ball.
    She gazed at it for a long moment.
    It had just returned from the modiste’s shop with the final alterations. The sight of it reminded her afresh of the coming confrontation with Albert.
    The Edgecombe ball tomorrow night would be the first time since she had refused his offer of marriage that they would have to face each other publicly.
    She had it on good information that he was going to be there. Daphne intended to have a word with the cad and hopefully put a stop for once and for all to his petty carping against her good name. She was not looking forward to this.
    It was not her way to become embroiled in ugly public fights with anyone, but enough was enough.
    He was making a fool of himself in all this, and really, what did he want her to do?
    For heaven’s sake, she had tried to make the disappointment easier on him. Out of courtesy to him, and for modesty’s sake, she had stayed out of Society for a whole fortnight after his frankly embarrassing proposal.
    The horrid fop had barely looked at her throughout the ordeal, watching himself coyly in the mirror behind the sofawhere she had sat, smiling at himself in the reflection, that golden-haired beau of the ton.
    Daphne had nearly gagged on his attempt to kiss her, but somehow she had found the words to decline so great an honor. He had not taken it well. In fact, he had promised that she would be sorry before storming out.
    After that, she had been careful to avoid running into him in Town. But no longer would she stand by and let him keep working to turn people against her.
    But if tomorrow night was, indeed, to be battle, she had chosen her armor well. The exquisite, simple gown was made of the most tender crepe silk that she had ever touched, and it fit perfectly.
    With all eyes on her—and not