Page 19 of Marquess of Stone

“Doubtful,” Marian said softly though her heartbeat began to race.

A sly smile played on Viscount Crowton’s lips, but just as he was about to respond, Lydia appeared next to Marian, providing a timely distraction.

“Marian, mother is inquiring about you.” Lydia spoke with a calm tone, her gaze sharp as it darted to the Viscount.

Marian inclined her head slightly. “Please excuse me, My Lord.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heels and walked away while her heart beat erratically within her chest. The events of the day clouded what should have been a fun excursion, and the carriage journey back to the manor was muted. Marian sat beside Lydia, gazing at the rolling countryside while reflecting on her conversation with Viscount Crowton.

“What has you all tangled up?” Lydia inquired softly.

Attempting to keep her balance, Marian shook her head. “It’s not a big deal; I’ll be fine.”

Instead of digging further, Lydia put her hand on Marian’s arm in a subtle way to reassure her. After getting back to the estate, Marian said she was too tired to continue with the group. She was exhausted from the day’s events as she made her way to her chamber. Leaning against the door, she cautiously shut it behind her, taking a nervous breath.

Instead of feeling happy to be rid of Viscount Crowton’s dominating presence, a nagging apprehension had curled up in her chest. It was impossible to ignore the disguised menace of his words as they replayed in her head.You will come to regret the day you insulted me.Marian dismissed the idea with a shake of her head. She refused to be rattled and intimidated by him.

She walked across the room, sat down at the writing desk, and grabbed her list from her sleeve. Carefully unfolding the parchment, she looked over the familiar phrases:

1.Have a romantic moment with a stranger.

2. Swim in a lake or the ocean.

3. Go on an adventure.

4. Gamble, smoke, or drink.

5.Read Mary Wollstonecraft’s ‘A Vindication of the Rights of Women’.

6.Fall in loKiss someone.

Her fingers traced the lines, her resolve hardening. She wouldn’t let Crowton — or anyone else — dictate how she lived her life.

As she folded the list and returned it to its hiding place, a faint rustling drew her attention. She turned to find a small note stuck beneath the edge of her door. Marian frowned and crossed the room. Bending down to pick it up, she opened the parchment. The handwriting was bold, and the words sent a titillating shiver down her spine.

Play sick tomorrow. Have a change of clothes ready. N.

Marian’s heart raced as she read the note again and again, her thoughts immediately gravitating toward Nicholas. What did he intend to do? And why, rather than her typical trepidation, did she experience a rush of anticipation?

Her mind was racing with questions as she gazed at the note in her hands. Unmistakably bold, self-assured, and all too familiar was the handwriting. What on earth might Nicholas mean by this? Half expecting more explanation, she turned the parchment over, but to her disappointment, it was blank on the other side. Her chest tightened with a mixture of intrigue and annoyance as she scowled. Why did he have to be so cryptic? And why, despite everything, did she feel the faintest thrill at the thought of what precisely the Marquess might have planned?

Marian folded the note and tucked it into her book, her fingers lingering on the leather-bound edge as she tried to collect her thoughts. Nicholas was certainly unpredictable — infuriating even — but she couldn’t deny that his schemes had a way of making life far more… interesting.

CHAPTER 7

“Iwill not be able to join the activities today, mother,” Marian announced at the breakfast table. “I fear I am developing a rather troublesome headache.” Her voice carried just the right note of delicate suffering as she pressed her fingertips to her temple. The morning light streaming in through the room’s tall windows caught the rim of her teacup, creating a golden halo that matched the honey-sweet tone of her deception.

Her mother paused mid-stretch, her knife and fork suspended like a conductor’s baton about to signal the start of an interrogation. “A headache? Before the day has even properly begun?” The words dripped with skepticism as thick as the cream coating Marian’s untouched scone.

“The heat from yesterday’s garden party, no doubt,” Marian murmured, pushing a piece of toast around her plate for effect. “It has left me rather exhausted, I’m afraid.” She punctuated this declaration with a small, perfectly timed wince that would have made any theater actress worth her salt proud.

Across the table, her sister, Jane, raised an eyebrow before disappearing behind her strategically raised teacup. The knowing gleam in her eyes spoke volumes though thankfully, she chose to remain silent — a rare mercy from one who usually delighted in exposing other’s schemes.

“If you are feeling that unwell, then perhaps you should go lie down,” Diana offered softly. Her words floated across the table like dandelion seeds, gentle, and without guile. “I can bring you back something from the village if you’d like?”

The genuine concern in Diana’s voice nearly made Marian reconsider her ruse. Nearly. But the thought of what awaited her beyond the confines of the manor steeled her resolve.

“That would be most kind of you,” Marian replied, carefully arranging her features into an expression of grateful suffering. “I would not wish to slow everyone down during the village excursion on route to the picnic.”

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