My Wicked Marquess by Gaelen Foley Page A

challenging her to tell him otherwise.
    Daphne’s knees knocked beneath her petticoat, threatening to give out as she faced the Demon Marquess in all his raw, male magnetism.
    She swallowed hard. “I can think of one.”
    â€œOh?”
    She fiddled with her fan, but was determined to have her say. “I-I wanted to thank you for yesterday,” she asserted. “It was—noble of you to come to my aid.”
    â€œNoble?” he echoed, both raven eyebrows arching high now.
    â€œYes.” She nodded fervently. Something in his stare made her fingertips tingle. The tingle crept up her arms with sweet warmth, into her chest, and straight into her bosoms. She ignored the odd sensation with a will. “It was a clever ruse—oh, but it was risky!” she chided. “It could have gone quite badly, you know. I’m not sure you should have done it.” She swallowed hard. “But, fortunately,” she continued, “since you appear unharmed, do please accept my gratitude.”
    When he just stared at her in mild bemusement, his eyes slightly narrowed, as though examining some strange species of prey animal, Daphne, not knowing what else to do, sketched a modest, formal curtsy to punctuate her thanks.
    Her acknowledgment of his heroics appeared to entertain him; his chiseled face softened considerably as he held her gaze.
    â€œI am happy to be of service, Miss Starling, and am humbled by your concern. The honor was mine.” He offered her a gallant bow in answer.
    They stared at each other for a second, with several yards of marble hallway still between them.
    Daphne barely realized she was holding her breath, as though she were in the presence of some magical creature, a unicorn in a moonlit grove.
    Belatedly, she noted Lord Rotherstone’s use of her name. “I take it Lord Albert informed you who I am.”
    â€œNo, actually,” he said in a casual tone, “I already knew.”
    â€œYou did?”
    â€œNo light as bright as yours, Miss Starling, can easily escape notice.”
    Well, that was prettily said , she thought. Maybe he was not as quick as some people to believe Albert’s lies. She watched him in fascination as he walked back down the few steps from the landing ahead, approaching her at a leisurely saunter.
    â€œThe patron saint of newcomers, I presume?” he greeted her with an enigmatic smile.
    â€œOh—right.” With a quick, modest smile at the nickname, Daphne lowered her gaze. “I take it that would include you? I have not seen you in Society before. Are you new to Town, sir?”
    â€œI have been traveling abroad for some time.”
    As he closed the distance between them, she had to lift her chin to keep holding his gaze, for he was quite tall.
    â€œTraveling abroad? During a war?”
    â€œWhat is life without a little danger?” he countered, flashing a very dangerous smile, indeed.
    â€œOh.” She dropped her gaze, cursing herself for the blush she could feel stealing into her cheeks. “I have never been beyond the, um, Home Counties myself.”
    â€œOh, I would bet you have been to a dangerous place or two in your day, Miss Starling.” He smiled faintly, a knowing look in his light-tricked eyes; their outer corners crinkled with a hint of amusement. He was referring, of course, to yesterday, she realized, and her little trip to Bucket Lane.
    He stopped just in front of her, and stood gazing into her eyes with that same thoughtful expression she’d noticed before. He seemed to peer down into her very soul. “You looked upset when you left the dining hall a little while ago.”
    His frank observation took her off guard. “Oh—yes, well—it’s nothing. I-I just thought…”
    â€œI think I know what you thought,” he murmured when her stammering trailed off into awkward silence.
    Daphne lowered her head, but Lord Rotherstone shocked her when he touched