My Wicked Marquess by Gaelen Foley

You’re sure?”
    Carissa nodded. “They referred to him as the Grand Tourist, for he lives only for pleasure. They said he did nothing useful for the cause, but spent the hours before the battle getting drunk, chasing the tavern wenches around, and making a spectacle of himself laying wagers against Boney. He even made himself comfortable right inside General Wellington’s headquarters. Can you imagine? A complete libertine—but he is so rich and powerful that none of the officers could naysay him.”
    â€œWhy didn’t Wellington throw him out if he was such a nuisance?”
    She shrugged. “Probably Lord Wellington was too much of a gentleman—or was simply too busy to care, on the eve before battle.”
    â€œHm.” Daphne wrinkled her brow in complete befuddlement and glanced toward the door by which Lord Rother-stone had gone.
    Obviously, Carissa believed what she had heard from the officers, but having met the man in question, Daphne felt that this did not add up. She remembered all too vividly the look of gusto on his face when he had broken that bottle in Bucket Lane and invited half the rookery to try him.
    Of course, she admitted skeptically, he had been foxed then—or at least still feeling the effects of the previous night’s indulgence.
    â€œWhatever you do, just be careful with him,” Carissa warned. “Such a man’s intentions are not likely to be honorable, and I saw how he was looking at you,” she added with mixed humor and disapproval. “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but I do hope you’ll heed my advice, as one who adores you and will be forever in your debt.”
    â€œStuff and nonsense, Miss Portland, you are not in my debt,” Daphne said with a smile. “You are my friend.”
    â€œAnd you were the only person who was kind to me when I first arrived in London. Not even my dreadful cousins treated me humanely. You championed me, and now I must protect you. And for your sake, my dear Daphne, I should be like a-a mother bear minding her cub!”
    â€œYou? A bear?” she asked in amusement, glancing at her friend’s slim, petite frame. She started laughing. “A good breeze could blow you away.”
    â€œI am a bear in spirit!” Carissa hooked her arm through Daphne’s elbow and smiled fondly at her. “Don’t let your generous nature lead you into a snare with this man, promise? I fear it would be a great mistake for you to try taking up Lord Rotherstone’s cause as you did mine, however tempted you may be. Lost souls are hopeless cases, even for you.”
    Lost soul? Demon Marquess? Daphne didn’t know what to think. “Honestly, he seemed all right to me,” she defended him as they strolled back toward the ballroom, arm in arm.
    Carissa shrugged still dubious. “To be sure, he is beautiful to look at. Not to mention rich and powerful. And probably a brilliant catch—if he could ever be brought to heel. But that is extremely unlikely. His ancestors were all bad, too, I hear. Don’t make me worry for you,” she complained, nudging her with her shoulder. “We both know you’re already on shaky ground with this whole Albert debacle. Promise me you’ll stay away from him, for your own good.”
    She glanced abashedly at her friend. “I can’t.”
    â€œDaphne!”
    â€œI can’t help it!” she exclaimed, shrugging and blushing again like some foolish cake head. “I owe him a dance, I already promised!”
    â€œYou don’t owe anything to any man!” the elfin lady thundered in righteous indignation.
    Daphne bit her lip as her blush deepened.
    â€œOh…wait one moment! I see what is going on here!” Carissa propped a hand on her hip and looked at Daphne matter-of-factly. “You like him.”
    Daphne winced at the accusation. She pursed her lips, refusing to admit it