The Devil Is a Marquess (Rescued from Ruin Book 4) Read Free Page B

his head to meet the shorter man’s eyes more directly. “There is no ‘must,’ where I am concerned. You—and your client—should know that about me.” He started down the stairs, watching his mother’s pink ruffles dance as she rose on her toes to grasp at a vase extending above the edge of a crate. The burly man holding the crate turned slightly to keep it out of her reach as they both exited the front door.
    “The client is Rowland Lancaster, my lord.”
    Chatham’s boots froze, one on the third step above the marble floor and one on the fourth. His fist attempted to crush the banister where it steadied him.
    “The American?”
    “Indeed. I cannot express how strongly I believe his offer will interest you.”
    Chatham smoothed a hand along the waist of his coat. Felt the small lump of Mrs. Knightley’s coins beneath the wool. Along with a sufficient supply of whisky, it would buy him a fortnight, no more. Lancaster, on the other hand, possibly represented a lifetime. Perhaps several lifetimes. Doubtless it would come at a price, but he was accustomed to such transactions. “Well, my good man,” he said with false joviality. “Why did you not say so?”
     
    *~*~*
     

 
     
    CHAPTER TWO
    “Lacking both beauty and grace, a young lady must rely upon either her fortune or intellect to secure a sound match. I do hope your father has offered a generous dowry, my dear.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Miss Penelope Darling at her weekly luncheon.
     
    Gazing down into the wily eyes of her least favorite pawnbroker, Miss Charlotte Lancaster could see her moment of triumph approaching like a ship coming into port. “These are genuine seed pearls, Mr. Pegg. Garnets and sapphires of the finest quality.” She stroked one gloved finger across the double strand on her wrist. “Seven is less than half what they will fetch for you.”
    Avarice shone in Mr. Pegg’s eyes as the light from the shop windows danced with the precious stones. “Five,” he rasped, the scar over his left brow twitching in a familiar tell. “No’ a shilling more.”
    She calmly withdrew her wrist and tilted her chin. “Seven. Or I shall take my business to Mrs. Willey.”
    He snorted and wiped his nose with his sleeve. “That old sow wouldn’t know a pearl from a bag o’ sand.”
    “She knew enough to give me nine for the gold combs I offered you last month.”
    Greedy eyes flashed and narrowed. “Ye’re bammin’ me.”
    “I do not bam, Mr. Pegg.”
    He sucked at his front teeth, the sound grating and rude. “Seven, eh?”
    She waited while he rubbed his bristled chin.
    “Very well.”
    Her grin broke wide as she calmly unclasped the bracelet she had worn precisely twice and laid it on the pawnbroker’s counter. “An excellent decision. Your customers will be clamoring for this piece.”
    He grunted then counted out seven pounds’ worth of coins from inside a hinged wooden box. His palm flattened against them, scraping as he slid them across to her. “Ye say the same ev’ry time.”
    She arched a brow and deposited the coins inside her reticule with a light clink. “Am I ever wrong?”
    Again, he grunted and shot her a surly glare. “Nah. Ain’t natural, ye ask me.”
    That only made her grin grow. “Until next time, Mr. Pegg. A pleasure, as always.” She exited the dusty Oxford Street shop through the side entrance, which was designed for those who did not wish to be seen either entering or leaving such an establishment. And she would surely be recognized. There were not many orange-haired women of her height in London, never mind Mayfair. After four-and-a-half humiliating London seasons, she was bordering on notorious.
    But that would change. As soon as her father realized no lord wanted her as his wife, Charlotte was certain he would concede defeat. She would be free to travel to America and begin the life she should have been living all along. No more seasons. No more balls. No more relentless quest