Page 47 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

Garrett snorted, throwing a bookend across the small room at Payton.

It landed on the girl’s stomach and brought forth an oof. Payton shot to a seated position to glare at their brother.

“Stop with your whining,” Garrett chastised. “Always with the whining and sulking.”

“I do not su—”

“You do,” Marce and Garrett said in unison.

Marce pinched the bridge of her nose, begging for some of the solitude she’d had directly before leaving for Hadlow the previous week. “My apologies, Payton, I did not mean to offend you; however, you must remember that you are the adult, and the children are your pupils. They are under your care and guidance.”

“Then mayhap a switch to the backside will halt their—”

“No!” Garrett shouted at the same time Marce voiced her objection. “I know nothing of children—besides you heathens”—he nodded to Payton, and she suspected that he also meant Jude and Sam—“however, perhaps sweets and toys are a better method for gaining their compliance.”

For a split second, Marce feared all her sacrifices and hard work in raising her siblings in a loving home had been for naught. That was until Garrett and Payton turned wide-eyed stares on her and fell into fits of laughter. Garrett’s deep and hearty, and Payton’s more of a light giggle more suited to a girl half her age.

“You two are incorrigible.” Marce turned her attention to the mess of papers and files littering her desk to hide her grin. She would miss these moments with her family. Once she moved out of London, their visits would not likely be regular. Her smile faded as she asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Payton needs funds.”

“I most certainly do not need money,” Payton countered. “I gain a handsome wage from the baron and whatever else I need, I get from—”

Marce narrowed her glare on her sister and said through clenched teeth, “You best not be about to say the gaming tables.”

To Payton’s credit, she widened her stare and made to look innocent. “Of course not, dear sister, I was going to say…”

Marce waved her hand, making it known that silence was favored over a lie. In no way was Marce prepared to punish or judge the vices of others when her own hands were stained with deception.

One could only play the hypocrite for so long before—

A pounding drifted down the hall from the front of the house. Another unexpected visitor?

“Are you expecting someone?” Garrett asked, his stare focused on her.

“I—well…I do not think so,” she replied.

“You appear a sickly green, sister.” Payton leaned across the desk, poking Marce in the cheek. “And your arms are covered in goose pimples.”

Marce hadn’t any need to look in the mirror or down at her exposed arms above her gloves to know how she appeared. It was the physical representation of the sense that came over her each time she heard an unfamiliar sound at Craven House—doom, dread, and disaster.

She only prayed she could hold the inevitable at bay until after her siblings had departed.

Chapter 20

Rowan stared up at the townhouse that was etched on his memory with such vivid imagery that it was inconceivable to think he’d only stepped foot inside the home once—the night he’d propositioned Marce. The exterior had been freshly painted in the last several years, the windows scrubbed to shine without a hint of the grime so common about London, and the minimal landscaping trimmed and manicured to precise perfection. Even the sign that hung out front proclaiming the place as Craven House held not a speck of dirt where it swung evenly from its post.

Visualizing Marce within was no great feat.

This house was innately her.

Proper, refined, and perfectly outfitted.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Rowan turned to Tobias, sitting across from him in the coach. “Are you getting out, or shall I have the driver take us to my townhouse instead?”

“I’m getting out,” Rowan growled.

As if on cue, the door opened, and two women dressed in plain, grey dresses with white aprons exited the house, then walked down the drive past Rowan’s waiting coach and continued on down the street. Neither glanced in the coach’s direction nor slowed to show that they even noticed its presence.