Page 63 of Tempting the Marquess

Did they know him? There was something vaguely familiar about theman.

Her forehead creasing slightly, Samantha turned to the others to see what their reaction was. They must know him, surely. A stranger wouldn’t dare march into the Duke of Southby’s box, bold as brass, like he owned it. But Caroline looked blank. Lord Trentham, Stephen, and Alexander were frowning darkly. Lord Ardmore grinned. Oh dear. If Lord Ardmore was amused, the stranger must be very scandalous indeed. Then her gaze landed on Aunt Jane, who was pale, and clutching the seat in front ofher.

“David?” her aunt gasped. “But...but...I thought you weredead!”

“Dead? Good God. As you can see, Janey darling,” the man drawled nasally, giving his cane a jaunty swing, before leaning down and giving her a long, hard, one-armed hug, “Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Westleigh, dear boy, good evening to you and your delectable wife. Southby, and hmmm, Trentham and Ardmore. My greetings and felicitations for the new Season etcetera, etcetera. Now, I feel slighted. There are beautiful women in this box I do not know. Such a travesty must be rectified immediately.”

Aunt Jane swallowed hard, clearly still too overwhelmed, so Stephen stood instead.

“Ladies, this is Mr. David Underwood. A distant relative. Uncle David, this is Lady Trentham...”

“The chemist, yes? I have heard such talk about you. But they didn’t mention you possessed such glorious red hair. Charmed, my love,” Underwood replied bowing deeply when Louisa stood and curtsied, a look of bemusement on herface.

“And this is my cousin, Lady Samantha Buchanan,” Stephen continued.

“No! This scrumptious little morsel cannot be baby Sam! The last time I saw you, you were toddling around in your small cloths!”

Her cheeks on fire, Samantha got to her feet and curtsied. “It’s lovely to make your acquaintance, ah, again, Mr. Underwood.”

“Call me Uncle David, pet, I am actually family. The black sheep, obviously,” he murmured, winking as he rubbed his gloved thumb across her knuckles. “Married a third cousin of Andrew’s a long time ago. Broke my tender heart when she passed, never found another like her. In the bedchamber orout.”

Samantha choked on a cough and he frowned.

“I say, are you all right, darling? Somebody hurry up and get this gel a drink. Call yourselves gentlemen! Actually, let’s all have one,” Underwood announced, scooping up a bottle of champagne and splashing some into a glass. “A toast! To blood being thicker than water!”

Her lips wobbling as she suppressed laughter at David Underwood’s rascal antics, Samantha instead focused on the others in the box. Some were appalled, some amused, and the Westleighs just resigned.

She solemnly raised her glass. “To family. And those far away who we want returned to us as soon as possible.”

* * *

Gulpingthe contents of the champagne glass while desperately wishing it was the strongest brandy ever made, William concentrated on not wiping his brow and smearing his heavy makeup or scratching the rough padding itching his abdomen.

He’d passed the first test. Well, except for grinning like a bloody clown when he’d walked into Alexander’s box and seen every person he had missed while in France. But it was further affirmation that his disguise was robust, his longtime friends, foster family, and Samantha were all looking at him with varying degrees of horror. Something he’d not experienced as William Hastings. And not that he would ever admit it, but being the opposite of himself—effusive and crude and ridiculous—was not quite as awful as he’d thought. In fact, one almost might call it liberating.

“Mr. Underwood?”

He blinked and looked down at Samantha. She wore a fetching ivory gown with gold embroidery, and her curls had been temporarily tamed into a loose chignon, but in contrast, her face was drawn and there were shadows under her eyes. Not sleeping, certainly. But whether because she truly missed him or had been trotting about London meeting men and sharing information, remained to be discovered.

“Uncle David, Sam darling,” he chided with another bawdy leer, reminding himself David Underwood might have seen Samantha as a baby, but he didn’t know her. What made her laugh, or cry. How she kissed or the sounds she made when she came. And he absolutely could not look at her like she was a perfectly cooked buffet and him a starvingman.

“All right, ah, Uncle David. Um…”

“What is on your mind, pet? May as well just ask the question. I’d hate to die wondering what you were thinking, and do note I am an elderly gentleman. Not one of these young bucks to sing a song and coax it out ofyou.”

Unexpectedly, she smiled. “A song would work only if it’s an ode to mytoes.”

William almost slipped out of character and cupped her cheek. Instead, he made himself give her a quizzical look. “Toes? Why would anyone praise what is stuffed into shoes, carries an odor displeasing to the nose, and more often than not just plain ugly? Have you ever seen seductive toes, my dear? Been compelled to hold them to your cheek and coo sweet words of love? They serve little purpose, and are not saved by tasting delicious.”

“I admit I have never studied feet as closely as you have, Uncle David,” she replied, her eyes bright with mirth as she bit her lip. Christ, that soft, tender bottom lip. “Or, um, tastedthem.”

“I suppose not. Those in London are far too stuffy. You know, my dear, if you came to Cornwall, you would be the belle of every ball. There would be gentlemen lining up for miles to praise your toes. Or,” he coughed suggestively, “other plumper parts.”

Samantha’s gaze narrowed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Ah!” he cried, clutching his chest. “I am chastised. I shan’t mention bosoms or bottoms orhips.”

“Mr. Underwood.”