Page 1 of The Marquess’s Stolen Bride (Dukes Gone Dirty #3)

1

M adeline raced up the circular staircase, barefoot and trembling.

Her hands shook as she wrapped her night rail tightly around her, her fingers fumbling to tie it shut.

Her heart pounded in sync with her bare feet as she made her way back to the safety of her room. She paused on the third-floor landing to catch her breath.

This was a mistake.

The moment she stopped running, her legs began to tremble and her stomach heaved. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she closed her eyes tightly and forced herself to breathe.

Resting against a wall, she drew in one shaky breath after another, trying not to hear the voices still coming from the parlor below. Male voices that would haunt her dreams.

“Let’s have a look at her then,” the one with the oily beard had said to her mother. “I don’t buy any property without having a good look.”

She squeezed her eyes tight, but it didn’t stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

Humiliation. Rage. Her whole body shook with it.

A sound came from one of the bedrooms to her left.

Her father was in his rooms. Likely in bed. Maybe asleep. She’d like to think he had no idea what his wife was doing while he was ill. Highly possible.

According to the doctors, he was not aware of much these days.

But if he were, would he have put a stop to it?

She squeezed her eyes shut. Possibly.

Perhaps.

She shook her head as a sob threatened to escape. What did it matter?

Her brother Albert had told her on his last visit that it was only a matter of time before their father passed away. And then what? Then Albert would be the new earl, and she’d be under his protection.

Albert would take care of her. If he had any idea what his mother was doing to her, he’d have put an end to it. And when he returned, he would save her.

The thought gave her hope. Enough that she was able to make her way to the narrow stone steps that led to her room in the drafty old turret.

The thick oak door to her room was open, but it would be locked up tight soon enough.

Her shaky legs gave way as she reached the bed in the middle of the room. The lone piece of furniture aside from a rickety old armoire.

Her fingers were cold as ice as she clutched at the opening of her nightdress, a shudder racking through her. She bit her lip to hold back a sob. She bit so hard, she tasted blood, but it did not stop a choking noise from escaping her lips.

How had her life come to this?

But then again, perhaps this was always to be her fate. She shut her eyes with a wretched sigh. Perhaps she’d always been destined to have a tragic end. The bastard daughter of a mad earl?

What more could she expect?

Is he truly mad ? she’d once asked Albert.

He’d been twelve, and she eight. She’d overheard the servants whispering. It was the first hint she’d received that perhaps her life was not normal. That to the rest of the world, her father was known to be mad, and she…

Well, she’d find out soon enough that she didn’t exist—as far as the rest of the world was concerned.

But mad or not, it wasn’t her father who was tormenting her now. It was her mother.

Well, the closest thing she had to a mother. The woman who’d raised her.

The countess was getting desperate.

Madeline had watched her descend into…what?

Madness? Hardly. The older woman was cunning and cruel, but she had her wits about her. And she knew the end of her reign was near. With the earl at death’s door and her son grown, she’d be the dowager countess soon enough.

All those years of cruelty were catching up with her.

Her own son despised her, and her father’s horrid rulership had left the earldom destitute. Soon there would be nothing left for the countess.

Madeline looked down at her bare feet, frigid against the stone floor.

Was it any wonder the countess had taken desperate actions? No one should have been surprised, least of all Madeline.

And yet, her mind still reeled at the low depths to which her mother had sunk. Selling off her own daughter. Letting those men see her. Touch her…

A scratching noise from outside her tower window had her glancing over, but then it stopped.

The wind, no doubt. Perhaps the scraping of branches from one of the nearby trees.

She drew in a deep breath. Think , she ordered her rattled brain.

She needed to think.

She had no time to lose.

When Albert took over, she would be safe. But when would he return?

Her tongue probed at the bitemark on her lip.

Tonight was just the beginning. She flinched at the memory of her mother’s cold smirk and soulless eyes as she’d stood back and let those men order Madeline about.

No, not her mother.

For years she’d clung to that name because her father told her to call his wife that. Who he thought they were fooling was anyone’s guess. Madeline’s dark hair and skin were a dead giveaway that she’d not been born to the countess.

And tonight, had proved once again that no matter what connection they shared through her father and Albert, the countess would never be her mother.

Tonight had made it clear that the woman who’d raised her was out for blood.

Well, riches. But she’d sacrifice whatever it took to get it.

Including Madeline.

Madeline was up and off the bed, on her knees seeking out the small box of treasures she had stored there when she heard it again. Another scratching sound outside the window.

She pulled out the box and opened it to find all her worldly possessions. A meager collection, no doubt. But the trinkets and money were hers. Her fingers ran over the coins she’d managed to steal over the years. Again…a small amount. But it would have to do.

She set the box down on the bed and stood.

Was she really going to do this?

She let out a long breath as she glanced toward the still-open door. Yes. She had to. There was no telling when Albert would return from his latest sojourn. The earl had sent him off on a trip to handle the earldom’s finances and manage their estates. No easy task considering the way it had been mismanaged over the years.

Even if she knew precisely where he was and found a way to get a letter to him this very day, there was no way to know if he’d arrive back here in time to save her.

Her gaze flickered to the window again when she heard a loud thump.

She shook her head. What was going on out there?

Didn’t matter. What mattered was that her door was open now and it wouldn’t be for much longer. This could be her one opportunity to escape.

She paced the confines of her small bedroom. Prison, more like. Albert had explained to her long ago that most girls were not kept locked away like an animal. She knew that it was odd, and she knew it was something straight out of one of those storybooks Albert used to read to her.

But that was their father’s way. He had a flair for the melodramatic. A power-hungry need to control everyone he was responsible for. And as his health declined, his ideas of how he ought to protect his family grew more and more outlandish.

She’d heard whispers of duels. Murders, even. All committed in his name over whatever slight he believed was done against him.

They’d all suffered his fickle temper, perhaps none more so than the countess. But whatever it was that had driven him to fits of rage and long bouts of melancholy, it had him lying on his deathbed now.

Not even he could save her.

Her heart gave a jolt of alarm as another noise cut through the silence. This time it was difficult to say if it came from outside or belowstairs. What if the countess had sent a servant up to lock her in?

Oh no, she must not dally if she was to take advantage of the unlocked door.

She headed to the armoire. Clothes. She’d need to be properly dressed if she were to make a run for it tonight, and she had to hurry.

Sounds from outside her window distracted her from her task and it took longer than it ought to find her darkest most functional gown and cast it onto the bed.

She had to disrobe, but stupidly, her fingers weren’t working. They trembled when she tried to untie the sash that held her clothes together. Her skin crawled with the memories of those lecherous beasts below grasping at her, jeering at her…

She cursed her own weakness.

There would be time to weep later. But for now, her time was running out.

A loud crash outside her window had her scrambling over to look, but all she could see was darkness on this cloudy, moonless night.

There was nothing out there but the wind and the trees. And if there was any foolish, girlish hope still left in her that some knight would come to her rescue, surely they’d died this very night.