To Madden a Marquess (Lords of London Book 2) Read online

  To Madden a Marquess

  Lords of London, Book 2

  Tamara Gill

  Contents

  Keep in contact with Tamara

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Introducing… To Bedevil a Duke

  Introducing… To Tempt an Earl

  Introducing… To Vex a Viscount

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  Also by Tamara Gill

  About the Author

  To Madden a Marquess

  Lords of London, Book 2

  Copyright © 2018 by Tamara Gill

  Cover Art by EDH Graphics

  Editor Authors Designs

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.

  Keep in contact with Tamara

  Tamara loves hearing from readers and writers alike. You can contact her through her website or email her at [email protected].

  Dedication

  For all the fabulous readers in the Hellions Reader Group. Thank you for being such a wonderful group of friends.

  Chapter 1

  Cecilia Smith stood on Curzon Street and tried to hail a Hackney cab. The streets were busy with coal carts, people walking along the cobbled footpath and gentlemen with their ladies out for an afternoon stroll. Cecilia pulled her spencer closed as a light breeze chilled the air, and waved to another Hackney that too, trotted past without a backward glance.

  What was going on? Did they not see her? The thought was probably closer to the truth than she liked to admit. Here in Mayfair, in the drab, working-class gown that she was wearing, it was any wonder no one bothered to stop to pick her up. The working populace that was her sphere wasn’t well-to-do enough for this locale, and it had not passed her notice that a lot of those out and about had thrown her curious, if not annoyed glances her way that she’d dared enter their esteemed realm.

  From the corner of her eye, a flash of black arrested her attention. Turning to look, she observed as a gentleman stumbled toward a street lamp, leaning up against it as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

  He was a tall gentleman, his clothing was cut to perfection, and fit his tall, muscular frame well, but his eyes that she could see even from across the road were blood-shot with dark rings beneath them.

  Was he ill, suffering apoplexy or merely drunk?

  A hackney cab barrelled down the road and showed no signs of slowing. Cecilia turned her attention back to the gentleman and horrifyingly watched as he started across the busy thoroughfare.

  Without a moment’s hesitation she started toward him, and looking toward the hackney cab wasn’t sure if even she would make it out of its way before it was too late. What an absurd, stupid man for putting himself and now her also in danger. Did these Mayfair dandies have no sense?

  He stumbled just as she made his side, and heaving him with all of her might thumped him hard in the chest, sending him to flay backward and toward the safety of the side of the road. Unfortunately, he reached out at that very moment and brought her down with him. The man’s head made a loud crack as it hit the cobbled pavement.

  The hackney cab rattled past without so much as a by-your-leave and Cecilia scrambled to her feet and stood next to the man, peering down at him. The scent of spirits wafted from him, almost as if he’d bathed in the stuff and his uncertain footing and stupid attempt to cross the road without care was all too clear. Nevertheless, she couldn’t just leave him there, even if she really wanted to. How lovely it would be to be able to prance about town at midday, drunk and without a care, as this fellow seemed to do. He must be one of those rich nobs that waltzed at balls and believed everything that was said or written about them was true.

  If only they knew that her class laughed and mocked them at every turn. If it weren’t for her kind, London would screech to a halt, no matter what the upper ten-thousand thought. They might make the laws, employ many, but it was her lot in life that kept the city running, and the country counties too when she thought about it.

  He moaned, and she kneeled beside him, tapping his cheek lightly. His clothing smelt of stale wine, his breath reeked of spirits and a hard night, not to mention there was a slight odor of sweat that permeated the air. When he didn’t respond to another gentle prod, she gave him a good whack. His eyes opened, his dark blue orbs wide in shock before narrowing in annoyance. This close to him, Cecilia noticed his sharp cheekbones, strong jaw and his too perfectly shaped nose was probably prettier than her own.

  “What do you think you’re about hitting me like that? Have care, miss, miss, miss.”

  She stood and held out her hand. He gazed at it in confusion before she sighed and leaning down again, took his hand in hers. “Stand, before you’re nearly run over again by another carriage. And do be quick about it. I’m late for my meeting already.”

  He moaned as he allowed her to help him up. Cecilia led him onto the footpath and ensured he was well off the road before she let go of his hand. “Is your home nearby? Can I escort you there to ensure your arrival is to a satisfying end, unlike the one you almost had on the road just now?”

  He frowned, rubbing his forehead. “I was on the road?”

  “Yes, you were. Just how foxed are you sir?”

  “I’m not a sir,” He replied with an arrogant tilt of his head.

  Cecilia took a calming breath to prevent herself from pushing the imbecile back onto the road. Really. Wasn’t a sir? “Pray tell me, what are you then? I’m sure it’s important that I must know to correct my silly ways?”

  “Are you being sarcastic?” A small quirk turned his lips. Cecilia found her attention riveted on the spot and she vexed herself that she would be so pathetic as to look at his mouth at such a time.

  “You are a smart one, sir.”

  “I would have you know, I’m the Marquess of Aaron, Hunter to my friends. Hunt for those of even closer acquaintance.”

  “Well, aren’t we vulgar.” Cecilia stepped away from him, dusting down her gown after their collision. “If you’re safe and well enough to manage to get yourself home before you’re struck by another vehicle I shall leave you now.” Cecilia turned and started down the pavement. She left the marquess standing behind her, his agape mouth the last memory she’d have of him. She smiled a little, imagining he’d not been talked to so abruptly before. Not that he didn’t deserve to be brought down a level or two.

  “Wait!” he demanded, his footsteps hastened as he came up beside her. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

  Since his lordship was so particular about titles, Cecilia decided to play a little trick on him. “I am the Duke of Ormond’s daughter. Heir to a massive fortune and looking for a husband.”

  He started. “Really?”

  “No. Not really. I’m Miss Cecilia Smith. My father owns and runs J Smith & Sons, Lawyers and I reside in Cheapside if you must know. I am also late for a charity meeting. So if you do not mind, I shall leave you to your stupor and go.”

  She moved on and ignored the light chuckle she heard behind her. He didn’t follow, but she felt the heat of his gaze on her back. It was a pleasant feeling knowing he was watching her, not that she would ever see him again. Their social spheres were eons apart and he would only look to her Society for mistresses. Never marriage, unless it was absolutely necessary due to financial woes or some other such reason.

  And as much as she hated to admit it, Cecilia had heard of the Marquess of Aaron and the wild and naughty antics the rich toff was known for around London. If what they wrote in the papers about him was accurate, he was a man who lived life fast and hard and left a bevy of young women pining for him to marry them. It was rumored that if he asked for a dance, they were instantly in love with him.

  Cecilia rolled her eyes, not impressed by her first encounter with the gentleman. Waving again to a Hackney coming toward her, she sighed in relief when it pulled up, and she was able to travel the few blocks to her destination. The carriage rocked to a halt on the corner of Fleet Street and St Bride’s Avenue. Cecilia stepped down from the carriage, paid the driver before turning her attention to the meeting at Old Bell Tavern where she wanted to press her idea for another orphanage and school on Pilgrim Street in Ludgate where a large, unoccupied building currently sat. Her father had promised her the funds, and now all she had to do was get the women at her meeting to agree and then all her plans would come to fruition. It was the right thing to do, and she was sure she wouldn’t have any trou
ble getting them to agree.

  If she managed to be instrumental in making just one of the orphaned children of London have a good stable job that enabled them to live a full and happy life, then her work at the charity was worth it. It was the best day in the world when children who’d arrived, sick and poor left and became house and ladies’ maids, cooks even, if their inclination leaned them in that direction. The boys becoming footmen, stable hands and those who were mathematically inclined, stewards even. If one wanted to change, one had to work toward the goal and not believe everything would just fall in your lap.

  With invigorated stride, Cecilia pushed open the doors at the Bell Tavern and headed for the private parlor where they always had their meetings. Life was excellent, and she was about to make it even better, especially for those who lived on the streets that had no life at all. Not yet at least.

  Chapter 2

  Hunter watched the hellcat disappear down the street. She produced a lovely view for him from behind, the cut of her gown, no matter how plain and dull, didn’t take from the small waist, plentiful bosom and delectable bottom that swayed a little with each step. Miss Smith was a tall woman, and it brought forth the image of how lovely and long her legs would be, how far about his waist they would go during certain physical exercise…

  He blinked as a bout of dizziness assailed him, and he clasped the oil lamp on the footpath to steady his stance. Hell, he needed a drink. His mouth was as dry as the Egyptian desert. A matron walked by and looked down her nose in distaste. Bowing, Hunter went to tip his hat, and his hand met with thin air.

  What the devil happened to his hat! He’d left Whites late and tumbling into a carriage, remembered meeting a good friend for some late night gambling near St James Park. He’d meant to end the night at his mistress’s boudoir, but apparently, he’d not made it there at all. Hunter frowned, rubbing a hand over his jaw. In truth, he had no idea what the night had entailed or how much he’d lost at the tables.

  Walking on, he looked back to where Miss Cecilia Smith had disappeared. She was long gone, and a pang of regret pierced him that he wouldn’t see her again. Not many women would openly show their distaste for his current appearance including the fact he was still as foxed as he was last evening.

  She had a certain spunk about her that he couldn’t help but admire. He supposed finding a woman who was so blunt, crass almost was more prominent in the middle class, since so many ladies had to work alongside their husbands and fathers. And here in London, there were many such women.

  Hunter made the curb and hailed down a Hackney Cab. No more walking, his stomach churned, and it was probably best that he didn’t cast up his accounts all over the street. The cab pulled up and flicking the driver a coin, Hunter settled onto the squabs. He would go home, bathe and retire to bed. Tonight Lord Stone was hosting a men’s only evening that included exotic dancers from…. Hunter grimaced, not able to remember, but knowing they would be as beautiful as they were favourable with their affections.

  He smiled and shut his eyes, resting for a moment. What a wonderful, decadent, indulging life he led. May his life never end.

  Cecilia stood before the members of the London Relief Society and glowered. “What do you mean we cannot open a new orphanage and school on Pilgrim Street? The building is there, vacant and derelict. We simply need to find out who owns it and then purchase the damn place.”

  “Ladies, please. Allow Miss Smith to explain before we all dismiss this latest idea,” the Duchess of Athelby said, staring down the few women who’d argued with Cecilia over the last ten minutes. “Cecilia deserves to have her say.”

  The duchess, a woman of high importance in the ton, was a welcome addition to their members, and she’d joined not long after she’d married the duke. Over the past year, they had become good friends. The duchess was a woman genuinely willing to help those less fortunate.

  Her friend, Katherine Martin whose father was a well-known and respected builder in London raised her hand, capturing everyone’s attention. “All Miss Smith is trying to say is that we should not give up so easily. Those of us here from working-class families know when things get tough we simply pull up our sleeves and get the work done. There is no difference here. We can and will do this. We must.”

  Cecilia smiled at her friend who always supported her. They had grown up together, had lived next door to each other in Cheapside for as long as Cecilia could remember.

  “The building is too broken down to house children, and I still think we should direct funds to the schools we already have,” Miss Tapscott said, her prude little mouth mottling up and reminding Cecilia of the back end of a dog.

  Cecilia fought not to roll her eyes. “Miss Tapscott, we cannot simply turn a blind eye to the need that is prevalent in Ludgate, why, a lot of London’s boroughs in fact. I agree the building does need work, but we have family, parents even who own and run varied trades in London and beyond. If any women are suitable to get this building transformed into a school and home for those less fortunate, to turn around their lives and give them some chance, then it is us.”

  “She’s right, and Miss Tapscott,” Katherine said, standing, “your father owns a mill. Surely you could persuade him to donate some lumber to rebuild the parts of the building that are in need of repair.”

  “I’m sure I could persuade my father to help with the supply of wood. He has many men working beneath him you know. He’s quite successful even if he doesn’t get up to London much,” Miss Tapscott said, giving a pointed glance at Cecilia.

  “Very good and I’ll instruct my father to find out who owns the building and we’ll commence with the purchase of it. I’m sure if we find the owner, who obviously does not use or wish to use the building of concern, we’ll be able to persuade them to sell.” Cecilia slipped her notes into her little leather carry bag, announcing the end of the meeting. “We’ll regather here next week at the same time. Our duties are to find out what help and assistance our families and friends can be toward this new school and home for underprivileged children. Are we all in agreement?”

  The seven ladies present concurred, and within a few minutes, Cecilia and Katherine started toward the tavern’s door.

  “Good meeting today and I’m so pleased we were able to talk the ladies around to see the benefits of having the new school built. The number of children who require our help are growing daily, and in Ludgate, there isn’t a facility like ours, and it’s sorely needed.”

  “I agree,” Cecilia said, opening the door for her friend before going to the curb and hailing a hackney. “Father will help me track down the people who own the building and then we’ll be able to move forward with our plans.” A hackney arrived after much waving was had.

  Katherine climbed up and slammed closed the carriage door. “We’re to attend the Opera tonight. I wonder if Mr. Elton will be present.”

  “I’m sure he will be, and you’ll be swooning all over him again. Not that you should. He’s a little old for you.”

  “He is only thirty, Cecilia.” Katherine grinned and looked out the window. “But I do like him. What a shame he’s courting Miss Tapscott.”

  “Emily has nothing on you.” Cecilia sighed thinking about her own run in this afternoon with the obnoxious Marquess of Aaron. “Did I tell you who I had the unfortunate event of saving today?” A little shiver ran over her skin at the thought of him. Of how close he’d been to being hit by the hackney. What a drunk fool he was and what a shame that was the case. For should the marquess be appropriately attired, not dishevelled from the night before and the revelry he so obviously took part in, he’d be very handsome indeed.