In the Arms of a Marquess Read Free Page B

marquess remained deceptively calm, his black eyes saw everything and his mind never rested. It had been this way ever since Creighton came to work for him seven years ago. A man of Lord Doreé’s wealth and power had no other choice, even if he liked to pretend otherwise.
    Of course, everyone knew of that wealth, but few in English society knew of the power. For the sake of the projects the marquess pursued, that was best.
    “My lord,” Creighton murmured, “I would review the matter with Lord Ashford were he here. But he has not yet returned from France—”
    “And damn him for it and leaving this to me.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    The marquess glanced at his secretary’s poker face. He had, after all, hired Creighton after a night of cards in which the fellow won a pony from a veritable sharp.
    The tug of a grin loosened the knot in Ben’s jaw, but the tension in his shoulders persisted. He rolled his gaze to the massive, gilt-framed canvas across the chamber. Afternoon sunlight striped his study in lines of gold and shadow, like the great beast depicted in the painting. But the portrait of the tiger remained fully in the dark. As always.
    “Have you already inspected this—” He glanced at the papers Creighton laid before him. “— Eastern Promise ?”
    “Partially. The master was off visiting his family, and the quartermaster wouldn’t allow us belowdecks.”
    “You suspect they are hiding something. Faults in the hull, or cargo?”
    “Either.” Creighton’s brow crinkled. “Or neither. The pratique-master gave it a clean pass.”
    Ben flashed his secretary a look suggesting his opinion of the honesty of quarantine officials. “A man has no need to protect himself from prying eyes when he has nothing to hide, Creighton.”
    “Quite so, my lord.” Creighton’s puddle-brown eyes glimmered and his narrow chest puffed out. Ben nearly rolled his eyes again. He should never pontificate; his secretary enjoyed it far too much. Devoted fool. Excellent employee.
    “Sir, atop I did see some evidence of human—”
    “Enough.” Ben took up his pen and scratched his signature onto a bank check. He pushed it across the desk and stood. “Take Sully with you.” Creighton was a tough man of business, but the former dockworker and his crew of miscreants who served Ben’s interests in other capacities were tough in quite another manner. “Allow the quartermaster no more than thirty minutes to clear out his crew and their personal effects.”
    “But, sir, don’t you wish to see the vessel for your—”
    “No.” Ben’s voice was unyielding. “If you find illegal goods aboard her, incinerate them. If she proves unseaworthy, scrap her for materials and find another vessel to serve our current needs.” He gazed steadily at his secretary. “Now, Creighton, leave before I become inordinately displeased that you have disturbed my leisure in this manner again.”
    One corner of Creighton’s mouth quivered, but nothing more. Wise man.
    “Right, my lord.” Creighton pulled an envelope from the collection of papers in his satchel. “This arrived at the office today.”
    Ben barely glanced at the sealed missive before slipping it into his waistcoat pocket. He picked up the sword he’d set upon the table when he entered his study, hands perfectly steady despite the familiar uneven rhythm of his heart.
    Every three months like clockwork such a letter arrived, brought across half the world along the fastest routes. A punishment he willingly self-inflicted, it was the sole remnant of the single reckless moment of his life. A moment in which he had lived entirely for himself.
    Gripping the hilt of the épeé, he strode through his house. A liveried footman opened a door into a broad, high-ceilinged chamber.
    “Bothersome business matters. My apologies, Styles.” He drew on his fencing glove.
    The gentleman standing by the rack of glittering swords chuckled, a sound of open camaraderie.
    “I wish I had that