Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,44
Unfastening his cloak, he shrugged out of the article and tossed it to the young man. The servant stumbled as he caught it against his chest. “I take it His Grace and Her Grace have arrived?”
“Y-yes, my lord,” Spencer stammered, struggling to right the article in his arms. “I-I took the liberty of showing them to the Opal Parlor.” As he spoke, his gaze strayed periodically to Temperance. “They arrived several hours ago.”
“Splendid.” It wasn’t anything of the sort. It was, however, necessary—the meeting to tie up the details surrounding the inheritance the duke dangled over him.
After the butler had stolen another furtive glance in Temperance’s direction, Dare relieved him of all curiosity. “Spencer, if I may at this time present my wife, the Marchioness of Milford.”
Spencer blanched and lost his hold on Dare’s cloak. The garment landed in a whoosh upon the marble floor at his feet.
A footman rushed forward to rescue it.
Spencer’s eyes bulged. “The m-m-maaarchioness?” When the young butler managed to get the actual word out, he added three additional syllables.
Anger lanced through Dare. “Is that a problem?” He leveled a warning glare on the usually composed head servant.
The other man’s small Adam’s apple jumped several times. “No?” Dare narrowed his eyes. “Of course n-not?” Angling his body closer toward Dare so Temperance was cut from the exchange, Spencer cupped a hand around his mouth. “Very p-possibly?”
Dare took a step back, closer to where Temperance hovered in the wings, including her where Spencer had sought to cut her out. “Are those questions?” Dare warned in silken, steely tones he reserved for those with whom he found himself on the other end of the dealing table when negotiating for the lives of London’s innocent.
His features strained, Spencer tugged at his collar. “N-no?”
From the corner of his eye, Dare caught a young footman rushing over to help Temperance from her wool cloak.
He’d be damned, however, if he tolerated anyone treating Temperance as if she were somehow unworthy. “That sounded like another question, Spencer,” he said warningly. At his side, he felt Temperance as she silently took in the exchange.
Spencer glanced briefly past Dare’s shoulder, and then when he returned his focus to Dare, the butler appeared a moment away from dissolving into big, blubbering tears. “I don’t mean . . . It isn’t my intention . . .”
Temperance slid closer to Dare. “Stop it,” she whispered.
He bristled. “I’ve not done anything.”
“You’re terrifying him.”
As one, they looked to where Spencer quaked.
The butler jerked his attention to the cheerful pastoral mural overhead.
She’d call Dare out as a bully. “You’d defend him?” he bit out.
“He’s not done anything,” she said, calmer than he’d ever remembered her. This, this new version of Temperance, who could no longer ride in carriages and got queasy around blood. How many other changes had befallen the both of them in these years apart? And somehow, that realization only sent his anger spiraling . . . with Spencer. With her . . . and with himself.
“I’ll not have him treat you with anything less than respect.” He hissed out that last word, needing to give life to his fury and frustration.
And wonder of wonders, fiery, hotheaded Temperance met his response with an equanimity and sarcasm. “Because he’s surprised?” she said dryly. “Because you didn’t mention you’d be returning with a wife, and one so clearly outside your station?”
“You’re not out—”
She shot him a look, silencing the rest of that defense.
He moved his gaze over the bronzed hue of her angular face. Any other person would have been offended by the servant’s insolence. Another might have been given to tears. And for all the ways in which she’d been quick-tempered, she’d also been possessed of a logic he’d admired her for.
Color filled her cheeks. “What is it?”
He shook his head. “It is nothing.” It was him remembering the reasons he’d fallen in love with her, against his better judgment and after vowing to never let someone close.
“And tell me, is this your master plan for handling my entry into Polite Society?” Temperance lifted a perfectly formed black eyebrow. She didn’t let him get a word in. “Is this how you intend to deal with any and every cut direct I’m given? By calling out and scaring anyone who offends me?”
“No?”
“Is that a question?”
“Yes, then,” he said flatly. “That is precisely what I intend to do.”
“Oh, Dare.” Temperance rubbed her hands over her face and laughed. “Then we are to fail, and spectacularly.”