Page 2 of The Marquess’s Stolen Bride (Dukes Gone Dirty #3)

2

W yatt Druthers, the fifth Marquess of Hayden, had done many foolish things in his lifetime. Nearly all of them when he was in his cups.

But as he lay on the cold, wet lawn before an old, crumbling stone house on the outskirts of London, he stared up through the bare trees at a dark sky and wondered.

Was this the most foolish of them all?

The shock of this latest fall faded, and he groaned as the pain set in.

Yes. Undoubtedly, yes .

This was far and away the most foolish quest he’d ever set out on. It put Quixote to shame. His friend Malcolm’s face appeared above his. “Ready to call an end to this idiotic mission?”

It had all started with a farfetched tale at their friend Benedict’s wedding. Hayden had said that he’d met every marriageable young lady in London, and someone else—who was it? They’d said, nay. Not every lady. And that was the first he’d heard of the mythical daughter of the legendary mad earl.

“Can you not just admit that it’s a silly tall tale?” Malcolm asked, his tone weary with exhaustion. “Just pay the fools who took the bet and let’s get home to bed.”

Hayden waved aside the suggestion. He never gave up, not when his pride was at stake. He and his friends had gone to Vestry Lane to gamble and drink, and he’d opened his big mouth…and next thing Hayden knew, the betting had begun.

He held up a hand, which Malcolm grabbed, helping to hoist him upright. Again.

Turrets, he’d discovered, were bloody hard to climb. Even harder when they were crumbling and ancient.

“My pride is on the line, Malcolm.” He brushed off his trousers as he gazed up at the dark window of the turret above. “I shall not stop until I’ve proven whether this girl is fact or fiction.”

“Mmm.” Malcolm crossed his arms and regarded him with wry amusement. “And what precisely is the point of this mission, Don Quixote?”

“The point is to save her,” he said, pointing upward.

“If she exists,” Malcolm added.

“Right. If she’s real, she ought to be saved.” Hayden tried to focus on Malcolm but the world was spinning.

He narrowed his eyes and peered up at the stones he’d just slid down. Perhaps now was not the best time to be scaling a tower wall. But he’d never been one to back down from a wager before.

And truth be told, he rather fancied the idea of being some lady’s knight in shining armor.

Malcolm folded his arms and regarded him seriously. Which was not abnormal, really. Malcolm always had been serious, even before his father had died and he’d become the new Earl of Fallenmore.

“You’re an earl now,” Hayden felt the need to point out.

“Indeed I am.” Malcolm’s smile was tolerant. They’d gone back a long way, and Malcolm was used to Hayden’s carousing.

“You and Benedict,” he added. “Suddenly I have two earls in my circle of friends. Funny how that happened.”

Malcolm arched a brow. “I wouldn’t say ‘funny’ is the word for it.”

“No, no, of course not.” New titles only came about when death was at hand. So no, not very amusing, come to think of it.

Even so, he found himself sitting in the wet grass musing over how much had befallen his friends of late. Two earls and a duke…and lastly him, the marquess. It’d been just the four of them for an age, and perhaps that was the trouble.

They were all so bloody fortunate. They’d all had everything handed to them.

And he’d watched each of his friends find love in the same way. Oh, maybe not handed to them. They’d had some struggles along the way. But the right woman had been so obvious. Benedict had found his equal in Philippa, with her brazen spirit and her fierce temper. Raff had found someone to soften his hard edges in the sweet and angelic Evangeline. And Malcolm had managed to come to peace with his unfortunate past when he’d found his Vivian.

But Hayden couldn’t expect the same good fortune. As he’d claimed at Benedict’s wedding, and which had set tonight’s adventure into motion—he’d met every pretty young chit good society had to offer.

He squinted up at the dark window at the top. Unless this one was real. And that was highly questionable.

He thought he caught a glimmer of…something in the window. There and gone so fast it made his head spin.

He groaned as the world truly did begin to spin.

It was either the scotch or the fall that had addled his head. Or perhaps both.

He sat back down with a thud. Just until the world stopped spinning. Then he’d try again.

“Look, Hayden, I came with you this far to try and keep you from doing something stupid.” Malcolm glanced at the wall and back down at him. “Something even more stupid than you’ve just done.”

“Yes, yes. Poor judgment. I’ve heard it all my life,” he muttered.

But it hadn’t stopped anyone from handing him the marquessate after his father died, and it didn’t seem to deter any of the marriage-minded mothers who kept thrusting young ladies into his path as if he might be tripped and felled into the marriage bed.

Hayden knew what was expected of him—and he’d do it. But he’d do it on his terms, and not to one of those manipulative little minxes who thought to seduce him, or those sweet innocent little virgins who hadn’t the faintest notion how to seduce him.

Was he too particular?

Perhaps.

“Come on, Hayden, I’ll get you home,” Malcolm said.

Hayden jabbed a finger up toward Malcolm’s stern face. “You just want to get home to your wife.”

Malcolm smirked. “Can you blame me?”

Hayden grunted. No. He couldn’t. Malcolm’s wife Vivian was lovely in the extreme. As were Benedict’s wife and Raff’s. Each woman was so very different, and yet so very well suited to each of his friends.

He found himself scowling down at the ground.

“You jealous, old chum?” Malcolm asked with a wry grin. “If so, you know there are plenty of women?—”

“Not jealous,” he muttered. “And I’ll choose a wife when I’m good and ready. But first…” He moved his pointer finger upward toward the alleged prison. “I must save the princess.”

“She’s not a princess,” Malcolm pointed out. “And no one truly expects you to save anyone.”

He had to struggle to sit upright again. Malcolm’s words lit a fire. No, of course, no one expected that of him. And that was precisely the challenge he needed to forge ahead.

No one expected him to win this, eh?

Well. He’d show them.

He stumbled a few times as he got back to his feet, but he threw himself back upon that stone wall with a vengeance.

Malcolm sighed behind him. “I’m leaving you here if you don’t come with me now.”

“Fine, go,” Hayden grunted.

“Don’t do anything foolish…” Malcolm trailed off as he watched Hayden seek out a new foothold. “Oh, forget it. You’ve lost your bloody mind.”

“Maybe,” he bit out.

It was harder than one might expect to climb a wall, even one covered in ivy and trellises like this one. It was even harder to climb it while speaking. And swaying.

Wait a moment. Was he swaying or was the tower shifting beneath his weight?

Bloody hell. He really shouldn’t have had that last drink.

He lost his footing, and he heard something tumble to the ground below.

“For the love of God, Malcolm. Benedict and Raff will kill me if you die on my watch.”

Hayden gave an appreciative snort of laughter. “Nonsense. They’d never blame you. Not after all the trouble I gave them over the years.”

Malcolm sighed. “That’s not the point.”

“What is the point then?” Oh hell, he was already breathing hard. Climbing a wall was much harder than he’d been led to believe.

“The point is I’d rather you didn’t die.”

“We’re all going to die, Malcolm. And if I die here tonight, let it be known that I did it for the sake of honor and duty and— oof .”

“Hayden?”

“I’m fine. I’m all right.” He found a ledge to rest on. That had been a close call there.

“You do realize that this whole lady-in-a-tower story is likely just that, don’t you? A story?”

Hayden grunted. He was rather counting on it. He hadn’t the slightest idea what to do with a damsel-in-distress if he were to come upon one. But, then again…there was something rather poetic and chivalrous about finding some poor lass who’d been locked away by a mad king—er, earl.

Whatever.

“It’s all just whispers,” Malcolm continued. “No one’s ever seen a daughter.”

Hayden was only half listening. His gaze was narrowed on the next climb ahead of him.

“Surely if the mad earl had some beautiful daughter, he’d be trying to marry her off. Everyone knows he hasn’t a coin left to his name.”

“Mmph,” Hayden grunted. They’d been through all this before. Malcolm had spent the better half of the carriage ride here trying to convince him to turn back from his foolish quest.

“These rumors about her being some great beauty?” Malcolm continued with a scoff of disdain. “The tales of her being captive? And in a tower, of all things? Can’t you see some nitwit has been spinning a yarn, that’s all.”

“Perhaps,” Hayden agreed. “But we’re here now, aren’t we? And look…” He turned to grin at his friend and nearly lost his grip. “I’m halfway there.”

“And then what?” Malcolm muttered. “What would you do if you found some young lady up there? Marry her?”

Hayden chuckled. “I doubt it’ll come to that, Malcolm.”

“If you want to be a hero, help me take down Vivian’s louse of a father. Or better yet, vanquish this world of that no-good Foley.”

Hayden growled at the mention of the weasel who’d been wreaking havoc on their lives of late. First, he’d preyed upon Raff’s wife and then Benedict’s. The man was a bottom-feeding scavenger just looking for weaknesses to exploit so he could win a fortune or some power.

Pathetic.

“Says the man who’s climbing a stone wall just to win a dare,” he muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Malcolm responded.

“Nothing. Nevermind.”

Malcolm raised his voice slightly to be heard. “I’m telling you, if you get caught by the earl?—”

“I’ll only be caught if you keep shouting,” Hayden hissed.

Malcolm’s sigh was nearly as loud as his talking.

“Almost there,” Hayden muttered. His fingers grasped for the window’s edge. There was candlelight flickering within.

Someone was in there.

His insides gave a jolt of awareness, some of the drunken haze lifting with this rush of alertness.

The rumors couldn’t be true…

Could they?

No. No, of course not. This was likely just a servant’s room, or a nursemaid, or?—

He heaved himself up and over the edge, the window swinging inward with a crash. He tumbled inside just as someone screamed.

A girl.

He sat up. Nay, a lady.

His gaze caught on the nearly naked figure who hovered next to the bed with a hand to her mouth and her eyes wide with terror.

Wrong again. This was not merely a lady.

His heart did a leap before diving off a cliff as her fear-stricken eyes met his.

This was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.