The Magnificent Marquess

The Magnificent Marquess

by

Gail Eastwood

Author’s Edition (2017)

Original Edition published by Signet/NAL (1998)

"Ms. Eastwood weaves a fascinating web of piquant romance and spine-tingling danger

guaranteed to take your breath away." —Romantic Times Magazine

All rights reserved. © 1998, 2017

Duplication of this material in any form is strictly prohibited.

The Magnificent Marquess

What if falling in love meant the death of the one you cared for?

Can the course of true love be stopped?

Mariah Parbury’s curiosity about Lord Milbourne’s former life in India leads her into

a dangerous relationship with the eccentric but spectacularly handsome and wealthy marquess.

Can they conquer the evil that haunts his past for a chance at love?

The Magnificent Marquess

by Gail Eastwood

Copyright 1998 Gail Eastwood-Stokes

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

First published in paperback by Penguin/NAL Signet, August 1998

Author’s Cut Edition published by Gail Eastwood, May 2017

Copyright © Gail Eastwood-Stokes

Please Note

No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any manner or form without written permission from the copyright holder, except in the case of quotation in reviews or articles. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please only purchase authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

This is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments–except where used in a historical context–is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Author’s Note

Books by Gail Eastwood

Excerpt from The Captain’s Dilemma

About the Author

Chapter One

Mariah Parbury sent a little prayer spiraling up past the plaster cherubs cavorting on her family’s drawing room ceiling. Couldn’t her parents and siblings be suddenly blessed with the miracle of thespian talent? Please? If they could not be genuinely interested in the stories their honored guest was sharing, as she was, at least there would be some hope of not offending him.

As it was now, their glassy-eyed stares and frozen smiles seemed unlikely to fool anyone. Could he possibly have failed to notice? Mariah felt a little frozen in place herself, torn between embarrassment over their reactions and her own fascination with the man. Er, with his stories, that was. Neither crawling under her chair nor strangling her family were acceptable options (most un-ladylike). Moreover, she did not want to miss a word he said.

She could listen to Lord Milbourne for as long as he wanted to speak. For one thing, listening offered an excuse for looking, and the handsome marquess’s golden hair and striking amber eyes were reward enough for doing that. But more, his exotic tales of India opened a fascinating new world to her, as if a brilliant light had burst into the grayness of her quite ordinary life. Hanging on his every word and trying not to actually stare at him might not be the most seemly behavior, but was it not preferable to her family’s fixed, vacant expressions?

What would you suppose is the correct response when a tiger is prowling about one’s camp in the night? the marquess asked, looking around at his listeners. Honestly, how could they not be interested?

Mariah’s brother William, slouched in the damask-upholstered chair nearest to their guest, seemed to shake himself awake. Uh, grab the nearest pistol or musket?

One might expect William at least to be making a better effort. His long friendship with Lord Milboune most certainly had to be the only reason the marquess had agreed to come to dinner at the Parburys’ London home in the first place. In the six weeks since he’d arrived in the city, he had already earned a reputation as reclusive. It was very surprising that he had entirely—almost determinedly—dominated all conversation during the forty-five minutes since he’d arrived at their house.

No, my friend, Lord Milbourne said with a chuckle. If you tried that you would very likely lose your life, or at least a limb. I must beg the ladies’ pardon, but I have seen a tiger who was shot three times move on to attack and tear a man’s leg clean off.

Mariah thought her father, seated in the large armchair across from the marquess, looked slightly more attentive now, but the baron was a man of few words at most times. Her mother, in a smaller matching chair to the right of their guest, opened her fan and waved it vaguely. Her sisters, Rorie and Georgie sharing the pale blue sofa and the youngest, Cassie, on a wooden straight chair like Mariah’s, shifted their expressions from bored to suitably alarmed.

"Then what is the correct response?" William asked. He raised an eyebrow at the marquess and received an answering look that Mariah could not decipher. Was something going on with them?

No one else spoke.

At first, lie quietly on one’s cot and hope the prowler won’t go after the horses, the marquess said, looking around at them all again. Then, when the animal is not so close, to have everyone grab pots, pans, blocks, anything that can make a loud noise including weapons and voices, and make as overwhelming a racket as possible. Tigers have a low tolerance for uncomfortable situations.

He paused for breath and silence enveloped the room again.

A tiger wouldn’t be happy here, Mariah thought.

Mindful of her mother’s specific instructions, she had stifled every question she had wanted to ask since her brother’s friend had arrived at their home. Now she tried to imagine living in a country where beautiful, dangerous wild creatures roamed at large. She simply couldn’t stop herself. Do tigers live everywhere in India, my lord?

For a moment Lord Milbourne looked surprised and gratified. Lady Parbury, however, was looking daggers at Mariah.

They do, Miss Parbury, the marquess said. While this particular tiger lived in a small region between Bombay and Poonah, tigers inhabit a wide variety of types of landscapes, and can be found anywhere on the subcontinent.

With renewed energy, he launched into all manner of other interesting facts about tigers. The fixed smiles fell back into place on the faces of her family members. When Lord Milbourne seemed to be slowing down again, William roused himself to ask another question. Did you encounter any tigers in Lampur?

Mariah saw another look pass between the two young men. Was she the only one paying enough attention to notice it?

* * *

Reinhart Maycott, Lord Milbourne, hesitated to branch into the next topic. Talking about Lampur treaded dangerously close to personal topics he wished to avoid. William was only trying to help, but he didn’t know half of what Ren had been through in these last recent years.

Still, he wanted to keep up a steady, overwhelming barrage of stories and information. God knew, after nearly an hour the effort was becoming excruciating. Was his strategy working?

He glanced quickly around the Parburys’ drawing room at his listeners. Fixed stares and polite smiles failed to hide their boredom. Excellent! Even Will looked half-asleep, and he had suggested this plan to Ren in the first place.

Ren smiled. It appeared that only one person in the room was immune to his effort to be an insufferable guest: Will’s third sister, Mariah. One failure out of seven. Somehow, he didn’t mind. She was not the prettiest of the four young women, but she had intelligent gray eyes and a pert alertness that he found rather charming. She regarded him intently, nodding with enthusiasm, and seemed constantly on the verge of asking questions, although she had not actually voiced any until the one about tigers. Perhaps not every woman in London was blinded by his wealth and newly inherited title.

Lampur, where I have lived for the last three years, is a tiny but very wealthy state in the mountains next to Mysore, he said, starting again. I did not personally encounter any tigers while I was there, but as in other parts of the Hindustan, hunting them was considered prime sport. He thought he should spare the ladies any details about that. Lampur is blessed with some of the only gold mines in the Hindustan, which is both a curse and a source of great power.

Some of the younger eyes rolled, and he nearly laughed. He had already talked at length about the importance of gold in Indian culture and its role in the trade economies of the various regions.

Neighboring states always wish to acquire that source of gold for themselves, but wealth can be its own defense. The Raja of Lampur can bribe or quite simply purchase almost any army that would threaten to come against his territory. Except for ours.

Mentioning that their own country also had designs on Lampur’s wealth was probably impolitic, since he wasn’t certain of Lord Parbury’s stance on many Indian issues. Completely offending his host might guarantee that Ren would not be invited again, but he only meant to earn a reputation as an entirely boring guest, not to destroy his friendship with Will. He needed the few friends he had here. He glanced again at William, who obliged him with a half-stifled yawn. Please God, couldn’t dinner be ready soon?

Ren launched into a description of Lampur’s beautiful landscape and the moderating effect of the mountains on India’s warm climate.

* * *

Caught up in Lord Milbourne’s narrative, Mariah nearly jumped when Bennett, her family’s butler, appeared in the doorway. Dinner is served, my lord and my lady.

The summons seemed heaven-sent, despite its delivery by her family’s purely mortal butler. She could have kissed the poor fellow’s leathery old cheek. Food would be a distraction, and might keep her family better engaged.

She waited for her mother’s signal. There. Lady Parbury rose from her seat. No audible sigh of gratitude issued from the rest of the company—they were too well-bred for that—but a new energy infused the little party as it began to gather itself up into a procession for dinner. Mariah happily abandoned her hard, wooden seat then, certain its fretted back had left an imprint of every line upon her own.

While her mother took charge of organizing the expedition down to the dining room, Mariah was content to hang back and watch. Her sense of relief was cut short, however, by the sight of her younger sister Cassandra bearing down upon her with a look as purposeful as that of a sheepdog singling out a lamb.

"Mariah, do you not think the marquess is the most magnificent gentleman you have ever seen? Cassie murmured, grasping Mariah’s arm and drawing her further aside. Mariah might have agreed as she noted how very tall he was in the midst of her family, but she had no chance. Cassie went on without so much as drawing breath. ’Tis simply criminal that his conversation should be, well, so suffocatingly tedious!"

Oh, no. Cassie along with the rest of them. Cassie, hush! Mariah looked about warily. What a thing to say! Suppose he should hear you?

But her caution met only a giggle and a bounce of flaxen curls. Sixteen-year-old Cassie was not known for her good judgment. I doubt he can hear us, or anything, with Rorie and Georgie on either side of him and Mama busy telling everyone where they should be!

Their mother’s penetrating tones could mask louder comments than theirs, it was true. Under the cover of her most brilliant smile, Lady Parbury was attempting to correct her son in the doorway as her elder two daughters flanked their guest. Baron Parbury stood silently to one side, safely out of the fray as usual, while the group prepared to march through the passageway and descend the stairs.

William, since Aurora is the eldest, the marquess must escort her, and you must take down your sister Georgiana. The baroness nodded benignly as her son moved to comply, missing entirely the look he exchanged with the marquess. As he passed his mother she nudged him and added in a disappointed undertone, "You must pay attention to these matters, William! You are a grown man."

Mariah sighed. If only their mother would learn to be less obvious! William’s error was understandable, since in most households, the marquess should have escorted Lady Parbury herself, instead of her husband. But in this instance the baroness had another quite specific scheme in mind—pushing Rorie at the marquess.

Their guest was stunningly attractive. Cassie’s magnificent could be both over-dramatic and still correct, for handsome quite failed to do him justice. Mariah’s breath seemed to catch a little every time she looked directly at him, which of course she had been trying to avoid. But how could she not? He drew her gaze like a magnet. And besides that, he was single, reportedly as rich as Croesus, and obviously a prime target for every marriage-minded female in London. She even felt a trifle sorry for him. Who knew that William’s old school friend would become such a catch?

He’d told them he had become known as The Lion of Lampur in India and he quite looked the part. He was a giant of a man—nearly a head taller than William and so broad-shouldered that his coat of claret superfine strained to fit him properly. The tawny shade of his hair nearly matched the color of his striking eyes. Mariah imagined that his lazy-lidded gaze could sharpen into a predatory stare upon an instant’s provocation.

His face showed the patrician lines of his Austrian-English parentage, with well-defined cheekbones, a straight, narrow nose and a sculptural curve to his upper lip that she found fascinating. His skin, while obviously fair, seemed kissed by just enough sun to render it golden, too—as if he himself had been touched by the riches of the exotic land he had so recently quit. He exuded an air of raw animal power that certainly matched his nickname. There must be a story about how he had earned that, but he had not told it. Mariah would have loved to ask. Despite all his tales, he had shared little that was truly personal.

Still, she found it exhilarating to meet someone who had lived such an exciting life, so different from her own endless parade of uneventful days. The hint of mystery about him only made him more appealing. She had soaked up every word, thirsty for his knowledge of mysterious places and scarcely able to look away from him. How could her family be so uninterested? She had a hundred questions, but had dutifully choked back every one of them, mindful of her mother’s stern warning about drawing attention to herself, away from Rorie.

Had there been the remotest chance of anyone actually noticing her, Mariah feared she might have made a great cake of herself, showing too much enthusiasm for their guest. However, as the third of four Parbury daughters, the next quietest after Georgie, and not blessed with the blonde beauty of her sisters, she was not the sort of young woman for whom being noticed was generally an issue. (Lamentably, she had hair like William and their father, light brown and impossibly curly.) Fading into the background was more her forte.

’Tis inconceivable how every possible topic leads back to life in India, Cassie whispered. If I have to hear one more story about Hindu rituals or gold mining in Lampur, I shall get up on the dining table and scream! Fortunately for all of London society, Cassie had not yet made her come-out. She was the sort much more likely to be noticed.

Come along, girls, their mother called back from halfway down the grand stairway. Her penetrating voice sounded artificially bright.

Now in the passageway leading to the stairs, Mariah sighed again and gave her younger sister a warning look. Behave, Cassie, or mother will never forgive you. Nor will I, she thought as they descended behind the others. Wasn’t the evening already in danger of becoming a disaster? Was she the only one aware of it? And why should she care so much? That was a different mystery.

* * *

In the dining room, everyone else had taken places at the table by the time she and Cassie straggled in. With its soft green walls and white decorative plasterwork, the room always struck Mariah as rather like a Wedgwood box turned outside in. She still pondered why sylph-like Grecian figures who looked half-starved were appropriate décor in a dining room while plump cherubs and a bounty of carved plaster fruit graced the drawing room instead.

A massive pier glass and gilded side table to match it occupied the center of one long wall, between windows draped in heavy white satin. Mariah’s mother was motioning her toward the one remaining seat that faced this—oh, Lord, next to the marquess. Rorie was on his other side. The room’s heavily ornamented chimney piece and hearth occupied the center of the opposite wall, which Cassie would face from the seat opposite Mariah. Overhead an impressive twenty-four light chandelier glittered with dozens of crystal pendants, shining down softly upon a groaning table loaded with the Parburys’ best silver.

The baron stood by his chair at the head of the gleaming table with their mother at the opposite end. William and the marquess were placed at center on either side, where daughters of the house could flank them right and left. Another obvious strategy! There were only eight at table for the meal—just family and the guest of honor. Mariah gave thanks that at least her mother had refrained from inviting half of the Beau Monde to join them simply to witness Lord Milbourne’s presence there.

His attendance did not strike Mariah as so very remarkable, despite her mother’s pride in the accomplishment. Young Reinhart Maycott had been sent from India, where he’d been raised, to attend Harrow, where he and William had become friends. While Maycott had gone on to the East India College in Hertfordshire and William to Cambridge, the two had managed to maintain their friendship, bridging time and even the thousands of miles between England and India that eventually separated them. The son of a younger son, Mr. Maycott, now Lord Milbourne, had only recently—and quite unexpectedly—come into his grandfather’s title. He had returned to England barely six weeks ago and had been using his time since then to make arrangements and settle into his new role.

What must it be like to be suddenly thrust back into England after spending most of one’s life in a foreign land? Mariah supposed it might have been lonely, if the marquess had been anyone else. But of course, the ton had embraced him in an instant—rather, besieged him like bees after honey. Who could resist the heady combination of high rank and vastly deep pockets in such a wondrously handsome package? Perhaps magnificent was the proper word for him, after all.

"Please, do let us all sit down," said Lady Parbury, startling Mariah out of her thoughts.

Glancing around guiltily, she realized the others had sat down. Only she and Lord Milbourne were still standing as he politely waited for her to take the seat beside him. As she dropped into it hastily, she caught his image reflected in the pier glass on the wall opposite them. It would so happen that both of them should have seats facing it! How would she keep from stealing glances at him in it all through the meal?

She looked away quickly, mortified, as she realized he was returning her gaze. With one eyebrow raised and a half-smile curving his lips, he looked bemused. By her. Dear Lord, it was not fair that he should be so attractive! She swallowed. If she did not get herself in hand this meal might not be such an improvement over the previous time as she had hoped!

Focusing on the meal helped to restore her spirit. Tantalizing, exotic aromas that had never graced the Parbury’s kitchen teased her nose, and the table was crowded with twice the usual number of covers. There had been a bit of commotion when the marquess had first arrived, and now Mariah guessed the reason. Curiosity and delight overcame her self-consciousness.

It is a bit of a departure from the usual way of doing things, but Lord Milbourne has brought with him a number of dishes prepared by his own cook to supplement our table tonight, her mother announced, confirming Mariah’s thought. I must leave it to him to direct us and explain things. The tight smile on Lady Parbury’s face concealed what Mariah knew must be considerable chagrin. What a scene there had probably been in the kitchen!

I thought you might enjoy the opportunity to sample some of the native fare I am accustomed to eating in India, the marquess said. His voice rumbled deep and resonant and touched a chord somewhere inside Mariah, causing a tiny ripple of pleasure to run through her, almost as if he had physically touched her.

Ridiculous! She must stop this. Were the rich aromas going to her head? Or was it just the proximity now that she was seated right beside him? She was responding to him like the worst moonstruck ninny. If that became obvious to their guest, it would be every bit as embarrassing as if he overheard the comments whispered behind his back or realized the lack of interest her sisters had in his stories. But Mariah was interested. She sat up a little straighter in her chair.

What a novel idea, Lord Milbourne! her father said diplomatically. I’m certain we should all be delighted to taste what you have brought. Normally taciturn, Lord Parbury commanded everyone’s attention when he spoke, since it happened so rarely. He directed a look at Mariah’s sisters that could only be interpreted as an order.

Watching the interactions around the table, Mariah witnessed a quick smirk pass between her brother and the marquess. Her suspicions grew. Was this all a show on purpose? Had they planned all of this in advance? What devils! Yet, how like William. At the ripe age of twenty-and-seven he still had not outgrown his penchant for mischief.

Perhaps it was cruel to put Lady Parbury through such paces, but Mariah could not help thinking that perhaps her mother had earned it. The fuss she was making over the marquess since his elevation to the title and return to England was a marked contrast to the decided lack of interest she had shown in the years when he, lacking expectations and tied to India, had been friends with William at school. Mariah and her sisters had never even met him then. Was that by design? A younger version of him must still have been sinfully handsome.

At any rate, if his behavior today was all intended as a prank, she could appreciate the spirit of the joke. She would have to ask William later. She glanced at the candlelit tableau reflected in the pier glass and smiled.

What I have brought you is simply a representative sampling of typical dishes, some from the south of India, some from the north, the marquess was saying. Mariah could mark no sign of the fleeting smirk from moments before—indeed, Lord Milbourne appeared gracious and perfectly sincere.

"In India we might begin the meal with some sweets, but since all this is intended merely as a prelude to the fine dinner your kitchen has created for us, Lord and Lady Parbury, the order in which the dishes are tasted does not really matter. We have here some lamb biryani, chicken tandoori, and a goat curry, which are commonly eaten among the land-owning classes."

As he nodded and pointed to the individual dishes, the footmen on either side of the table removed the gleaming silver covers, releasing waves of deliciously spicy steam. Mariah loved the way the exotic names rolled off his tongue so easily. The sound of them combined with the unfamiliar scents excited her imagination and carried her to far off places.

Cassie, however, seated across from her, brought her crashing back to the reality of the dinner table by kicking her under the table. She mouthed goat curry? with a grimace clearly combining disbelief and disgust.

Mariah frowned at her severely. What if the marquess happened to notice Cassie’s reaction? She prayed that Rorie, seated on the other side of him, was doing her best to occupy the man’s attention. After all, that was precisely what their mother intended.

There are a number of side dishes and condiments that I suggest you try along with these, Lord Milbourne continued smoothly. He gestured toward the different dishes. "Several chutneys, and rice. There are three types of wheat bread in that silver basket—you’ll find them very different, I think, especially the poori."

He stopped and looked around the table. Mariah thanked the stars that Cassie wasn’t making a face just then! Who will be the first to try a taste?

Silence. Apparently everyone was waiting for someone else to speak first. The moment dragged on painfully. Mariah could not believe that neither of her parents—or even William—showed the courage or the courtesy to leap into the breach.

I will try some of the goat curry, she said clearly, causing everyone at the table to look at her. Oh, dear. Well, no doubt she had astonished them. But someone had to go first! She smiled bravely and cast a challenging glance at Cassie. Then her gaze strayed to the pier glass, where she caught Lord Milbourne gazing at her with that amused expression on his face again. Was it possible for one’s knees to grow weak while sitting? Resolutely she picked up her spoon and turned to him. I must assume you recommend it?

Yes, of course, he answered, smiling openly now. His smile seemed to catch at her heart. It softened his face into a gentler, more youthful visage.

I will try that and then a bit of everything, Mariah said, resolutely ignoring that enchanting smile, quite pleased with her show of courage. She noticed how large and strong his hands looked as he spooned some rice onto her plate. Then he passed the curry dish to her. It smelled divinely of cloves and pepper, and looked like a thick beef stew. She took a heaping spoonful.

Rorie asked for a taste then (of course she remembered then not to let the focus of attention shift!), and other voices spoke up after her. Mariah was free to experience the goat curry quite privately. Eager to savor the anticipated new taste, she took a large mouthful and held it on her tongue.

Hellfire! Her mouth was burning up! Tears sprang into her eyes and she barely managed not to spit. Chewing for only a moment and then choking down the food in a great gulp to get it off her tongue, she merely spread the burning sensation down into her throat. Gasping quietly, she reached for her wine glass.

A large, strong hand intercepted hers. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed it. I think you may have taken a bit too much at once, Lord Milbourne said softly. "Here, let me give you some of the raita—it is made from soothing cucumber and yogurt and will help you more than the wine."

The moment felt inexplicably intimate. Mariah nodded, unable to reply in words. How had he noticed? Apparently Rorie was not holding his attention. She hadn’t heard much conversation between them. He released her hand and spooned some of the creamy pale condiment onto her plate, obviously unaware that his touch had set her hand on fire, too. All of the others were looking at her again, and she felt like the world’s worst fool.

I should have cautioned you all, the marquess said apologetically. The dishes are very spicy to a palate unused to them. Be sure to take a bite of rice or bread, or one of the cooling condiments, in between very small tastes, to begin. He hesitated, turning his amber gaze upon her again as if to make certain she was all right. I should have been watching you.

What did he mean? She thought somehow he must have been watching her, for how else would he have noticed her distress? And if indeed he had been, what did that signify? At any rate, such gracious concern coming from him nearly took her breath away. Not at all, sir, she finally managed to choke out, trying not to be struck completely spellbound by his eyes. Thank you. Apparently I should have been less eager. Oh, in so many ways!

The rest of the meal proceeded less eventfully. It seemed that all of the company except Mariah were taking infinitesimal bites and generally trying to create an impression of enthusiasm without actually having to eat very much of the Indian food. Hopeless! However, Mariah found that she liked it, once she mastered the proper approach. After the exotic, almost erotic tastes and textures of those dishes, the English roast beef and fresh perch her mother had so carefully ordered to honor the marquess tasted very bland indeed.

After the food provided a source for conversation, the talk resumed in much the same manner as it had before dinner. Mariah noticed the marquess avoided certain topics, despite a wealth of Indian stories. He didn’t talk about his family. He never said how he came to take the job he’d had in Lampur, what exactly he did there, or why he’d left the East India Company.

Lady Parbury made valiant attempts to direct the conversation into more mundane channels. Do you go to Lady Summersley’s ball on Friday next, Lord Milbourne?

Yes. He smiled sweetly and took another bite of roasted beef.

The baroness shifted in her seat and tried again. Have you made plans yet to visit your estate in Sussex?

Not yet.

Mariah thought a shadow passed over his face, but perhaps she imagined it. Her mother tried again.

You have applied for vouchers for Almack’s, have you not? You must have already met the patronesses.

Yes, I have. No further comment. He pretended to be busy with his food.

Clearly topics other than India did not engage him. Or, was he purposely uncooperative? Wasn’t Will smiling a bit more broadly than might be appropriate? Lady Parbury glanced at the baron, but of course there was no help to be had there.

Finally Mariah risked censure in an effort to help. Do not the various religions of the Hindustan place restrictions on what their followers may eat, Lord Milbourne? Perhaps you could explain to us how these dishes we have been eating relate to those practices.

This sally opened