The Devil Is a Marquess (Rescued from Ruin, #4)

by Elisa Braden

“Indeed. So, as you can see, my habits are to be sacrificed upon an altar of gold.”

torn from her home and sent across the sea to live with strangers. “I have always believed America is where I truly belong. If I could simply find a way to return there, I would not feel this … emptiness any longer. In England, I have forever been wrong. I do not fit. I am too tall. Spotted. My hair—” “There is nothing wrong with you. If you do not fit, perhaps it is England that is the problem.”

mouth. “P-presumably it is much like any other transaction—they felt you offered a s-service of greater value than—” “Do not give me your tradesman’s claptrap.” If he was harsh, it was because she had pushed him until no cushion of politeness remained. “I fucked those women for money.”

“Chatham,” she murmured. “If this is intended to deter me, I must tell you it is having quite the opposite effect.”

“But that is appalling. How is it fair to blame a child for being born?” “Fairness is an illusion, love. Her reaction is rooted in sentiment, not reason.”

will soothe you.” “The only thing that will soothe me is to strip you of your gown and wash every inch of your skin so that I may see you are well. Afterward, I shall only be comforted by lying next to you, watching you breathe for the next fourteen years or so.” Wide green-and-gold eyes slammed into his. “F-fourteen … years?” “Perhaps twenty. After that, you may leave our bed occasionally for a morning ride or a journey to London, so long as I am with you.”

“Rutherford? You are not this mad. Two hundred thousand is enough give my daughter the life of a queen.” Chatham’s eyes took on a distinctly deadly glint, one that always managed to send a thrill up her spine. “Your daughter is not for sale,” he said softly. “Neither is our son. Both are priceless gifts. And gifts are precious in their own right. Adding money is both unnecessary and insulting.”