Page 32 of Marquess of Stone

“Oh, I rather think I know you better than either of us would care to admit, Marian.” He emerged from the shadows, his cravat loosened, and his evening jacket discarded. The sight of him in such casual disarray should have shocked her sensibilities, but instead, it made her mouth go dry.

“Have you summoned me here to explain yourself then?” she asked, lifting her chin. “To give me some sort of weak excuse as to why you have spent the day treating me like a stranger?”

A flicker of something — guilt? regret? — crossed his features before his usual mask of casual amusement slipped back into place. “Actually,” he said, moving toward a door she hadn’t noticed before, “I asked you to come for something far more… interesting.”

“More interesting than watching you perfect the art of avoidance?” The words emerged sharper than she had intended, weighted with hurt she had not meant to reveal.

He paused, his hand on the door handle, and for a moment, she thought he might actually address the distance he had placed between them. Instead, his lips curved into that maddeningly dangerous half-smile that never failed to make her pulse quicken. “Much more, I promise.”

The door swung open to reveal a sitting room that seemed to exist in a world entirely of its own. The air there was heavy with the scent of tobacco and leather, and moonlight streamed in, painting silver patterns across a perfectly arranged tableau — a card table set for two, a decanter of amber liquid and the unmistakable shape of a cigar box sitting in quiet promise on a side table.

“You cannot be serious,” she breathed, even as excitement began to bubble beneath her proper exterior.

“I am rarely serious about anything, Marian,” he replied, gesturing for her to enter. “I find it makes life far more entertaining. But am I serious about this?” He cocked his head, shooting a disarming smile in her direction. “Very much so.”

The room felt intimate in a way that had nothing to do with its size. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or the way the moonlight seemed to soften all the edges around her, but Marian found herself stepping inside before she could second-guess her decision.

“If this is your attempt to distract me from demanding answers about your behavior today,” she said, settling into one of the leather armchairs with more confidence than she felt, “I should warn you that I am not so easily diverted.”

“Aren’t you?” he moved toward the decanter, and she watched the elegant line of his back intently as he poured two glasses. “Then, perhaps you’d care to explain precisely why you are sitting in my private chambers, just before midnight, about to indulge in several activities that would give your mother heart palpitations?”

“Because I am curious,” she admitted, accepting the glass he offered. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, sending a jolt of awareness through her that had nothing to do with the brandy she hadn’t yet tasted.

“Curiosity…” he mused, settling into the chair opposite her, “can be quite a dangerous thing.”

“So, I have been told. Repeatedly.” She lifted the glass in toast and then brought it to her nose, inhaling the sharp, sweet scent of the liquor. “Though I notice it hasn’t stopped you from indulging yours, Nicholas.”

“Ah, but I am a man. We are expected to have… appetites.”

The word hung in the air between them, loaded with implications that made her cheeks warm. She took a big sip of brandy to hide her reaction and immediately regretted it as the liquid burned as it slid down her throat. Her eyes watered as she fervently fought the urge to cough.

Nicholas’s laugh was low and rich. “Perhaps the lady should have started with something milder?”

“Perhaps you should stop looking so damnably amused,” she managed though the warmth spreading though her chest wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Tut-tut,” he clicked his tongue. “Such language from a lady. What would your etiquette instructor say?” he teased.

“Probably the same thing she said when she caught me reading scientific treaties hidden inside my prayer book — that I am incorrigible and destined for social ruin.”

“And are you?” His voice dropped lower, something dark and promising laced through the deep baritone melody. “Destined for ruin?”

Marian took another sip of brandy, finding it easier this time. “I suppose I might be,” she said, meeting his gaze head on. “But that entirely depends on your definition of ruin.”

The look he gave her in response made her glad that she was already sitting down. “Shall we find out?” he asked, reaching for the deck of cards. “I believe gambling was one of your forbidden experiences.”

“Hmmm. Plying me with spirits, suggesting gambling… Are you planning to take advantage of me, Lord Stone?”

His smile was pure wickedness. “In cards? Absolutely. In other matters…” He let the sentence trail off suggestively, taking a long pause as his eyes burned into hers. “That would depend entirely on you, Marian.”

Marian blinked at him, entirely dumbfounded as she accepted the shuffled cards.

“You do realize,” Marian said, studying her cards with exaggerated concentration, “that teaching a lady to gamble is hardly considered proper behavior for a gentleman.”

“Fortunately for us both,” Nicholas replied as he dealt another hand of cards, “I have never claimed to be proper.” The cards whispered against the green baize like secrets being traded, each one adding to the delicious sense of impropriety that hung between them. They started playing the game, with Nicholas carefully instructing her. She caught on quicker than he thought she would, and within no time, they had already played three games.

Her second glass of brandy sat half-empty at her elbow, and she was now finding that the burning sensation had mellowed into something altogether more pleasant — a warmth that seemed to make everything slightly more amusing.

“I believe that is another loss for you, Marian,” Nicholas announced, his voice rich with satisfaction as he reveled in his winning hand.

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