Page 35 of Marquess of Stone

Marian felt reality crash back with brutal force. Of course. The damned list. This wasn’t… it had never been… the room suddenly felt too warm, too tiny, and the air too thick to breathe properly.

“How… efficient of you, Lord Stone,” she managed, proud of how steady her voice remained despite the way her world was tilting on its axis. “To assist me in completingmultipleitems in one single evening.” She took a step backward then another, needing to put as much distance between them as possible. Then she realized she had to get out. Out of this room and away from her own foolishness.

“Marian, I…” Something like regret colored his tone, but she could not bear to hear whatever justification he was about to offer.

“No. Please.” She held up a hand, backing toward the door. “Don’t spoil such a… productive evening with unnecessary explanations. I should go — it is late, and we would not want to add actual scandal to my list of accomplishments, would we?”

She turned before he could respond, grateful that her legs remained steady as she made her way to the door. Her shoes — where were her shoes? Her head was spinning though if from the brandy or from shock, she was not sure. No matter, she didn’t need the shoes anyway. She could not stay here another moment longer — could not bear to see the pity or regret or whatever emotion might be crossing his features.

“Marian, please… wait!”

But she was already gone, fleeing down the darkened corridor like Cinderella at midnight though in this story, she’d left behind not a glass slipper but something much more precious — her heart and possibly, her dignity.

She didn’t stop running until she had reached her own room, closing the door and pressing her back against it so as to physically hold back the enormous tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

Her lips still tingled from his kiss, and she could smell tobacco and brandy on her clothes — evidence of an evening that had started as a girl’s naivety and ended in mortification.

What an utter fool she had been, thinking… but no, it did not matter what she had thought. Nicholas had made it perfectly clear that this had been nothing more than another item to cross off her list, another small rebellion to add to her collection of improper behaviors.

Tomorrow, she would have to face him across the breakfast table, would have to pretend that nothing happened, that her world hadn’t crumbled into a million pieces in the space of a few seconds. She would have to maintain that careful distance he had chosen to establish. But there was just one problem: now, she would know exactly what she was missing.

But tonight… tonight she would allow herself a moment of weakness, this acknowledgement of what might have been. Her fingers came up to touch her lips, and she closed her eyes against the tears stinging them.

In the morning, she would be strong again — the properly composed lady, the dutiful daughter, the woman who didn’t dream of forbidden kisses and what-ifs. But for now, in the darkness of her room, she could admit the truth she had been trying so very hard to deny.

She was in love with Nicholas Grant, and it was going to break her heart.

CHAPTER 11

“Would you like some more tea, Lady Marian?”

A servant’s voice pulled Marian back to the present. She smiled absentmindedly at the young girl standing in front of her. “No, thank you.”

Morning light spilled across the breakfast room with merciless clarity, highlighting every awkward glance between Marian and Nicholas like a poorly rehearsed stage play.

Marian poked the eggs on her plate with mechanical precision, watching the fork make tiny holes in the meal that matched her bruised ego. Across the table from her, Nicholas appeared thoroughly engrossed in his newspaper though she noticed he hadn’t turned a page in nearly ten minutes.

“You have barely touched your food, Marian.” Her mother’s voice cut through her reverie.

Marian forced herself to release the fork she had been gripping with a white-knuckled intensity. The soft clink of silver against her plate seemed to draw Nicholas’s attention — or perhaps she merely imagined the slight tensing of his shoulders behind his paper fortress.

“You seem quieter than usual this morning,” Diana observed softly from beside her.

“I am just tired, Diana,” Marian replied though the words tasted like ashes in her mouth. “I fear I didn’t sleep well.”

This, at least, was no lie. She had spent most of the night replaying every moment in Nicholas’s bedchamber — the warmth of brandy, the thrill of forbidden games, the embarrassing cigar, the devastating gentleness of his kiss. Each memory was a fresh torment, a reminder of her own foolishness in mistaking a business arrangement and a moment’s pleasure for something deeper.

“Lord Stone,” Lady Prudence’s voice carried across the table, “you seem unusually absorbed in the scandal sheets this morning. Has something particularly fascinating happened?”

Nicholas lowered his paper with practiced ease, his smile as perfect and meaningless as a painted backdrop. “Not at all, My Lady. I am simply considering the effects of the new trade regulations. Fascinating reading for those of us who are cursed with business minds.”

Their eyes met briefly across the scattered remains of breakfast, and Marian felt heat rise to her cheeks at the memory of how intensely those same eyes had darkened with desire mere hours ago. She looked away first, hating herself for showing weakness.

The morning seemed to stretch endlessly, each hour marked by careful avoidance and accidental encounters. She found herself hyperaware of his presence in every room — the sound of his laugh during cards with Elias, the familiar cadence of his footsteps in the corridor, the subtle scent of his tobacco when she passed by the library.

By afternoon, she had developed an elaborate system of navigation through the house party’s various entertainments, carefully calculating the precise number of steps needed to maintain what distance she needed while appearing completely unconcerned with his whereabouts. It was exhausting work, this performance of indifference.

“You are being rather obvious, you know,” Jane commented as they strolled through the garden, her voice pitched low enough that their mother, who was walking ahead with Diana, could not hear.

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