Page 44 of Marquess of Stone

Jane shot her a questioning glance. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“Who on earth would dare to call on a fallen woman?” Marian replied with bitter humor. But curiosity — that same dangerous trait that had led her into this mess — propelled her toward the door.

As she approached, she could hear her mother’s voice, pitched higher than usual — a sign of agitation.

“This is most irregular. Surely you must see that propriety demands —”

“Propriety?” A familiar voice stopped her in her tracks as it cut through her mother’s protests like a samurai blade struck through silk. “I think we are well beyond the concerns of propriety, do you not agree?”

Marian’s heart threatened to burst right out of her chest. There, standing in her family’s drawing room like an avenging angel in an immaculately tailored evening suit, stood Nicholas Grant, Marquess of Stone. His usual elegant appearance was somewhat disheveled, as if he had ridden hard and fast to reach London. His cravat was slightly askew, and his boots bore evidence of hard travel. And his expression…

His expression made her breath catch audibly.

“Lady Marian,” he said, turning to face her with dangerous grace, “I believe we have an urgent matter to discuss.”

“Do we indeed, My Lord?” She was proud of how steady her voice emerged, despite the trembling of her hands. “I rather thought you had said everything necessary through your continued silence.”

“Ah.” His smile held no humor, “but that is where you are wrong. You see, I have just come from having a rather… enlightening conversation with our mutual acquaintance, the Viscount Crowton.”

Something in his tone made her mother gasp and her father step forward protectively. But Marian found herself moving closer, closing the empty space that stretched between them, somehow drawn by the barely contained fury in his eyes.

“And, what,” she asked carefully, “did this conversation entail?”

“A great many things,” Nicholas replied, his casual tone at odds with the tension radiating from his sturdy frame. “But most notably, a complete retraction of his previous statements — which he will be announcing publicly tomorrow morning at White’s.”

“Will he indeed?” Marian’s voice emerged barely above a whisper. “How… accommodating of him.”

“Yes, well…” Nicholas’s smile turned predatory. “… it is rather remarkable how accommodating a man can be when presented with certain… evidence of his own indiscretions.”

He took a single step closer, and Marian suddenly became acutely aware that they had an audience. But somehow, none of them seemed to matter as much as the look in Nicholas’s eyes.

“Of course,” he continued softly, “this still leaves us with a rather different problem to address.”

“Does it?”

“Indeed.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a familiar object — her list, slightly crumpled by now but still unmistakable. “You see, I believe we may have left some items… unfinished.”

Marian’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze fixed itself on the tattered parchment in Nicholas’s hand, realizing that she must have dropped it in his chambers when they had kissed. That simple list — her private wishes and desires — had somehow become the very thread that had bound their fates together, for better or worse.

“Unfinished?” she managed though her mouth had gone dry. She was acutely aware of her parents’ bewildered expressions, but she kept her eyes on Nicholas.

“Indeed.” His voice lowered to an intimate murmur that sent a treacherous warmth through her, despite everything that had happened. “Though I believe we have made admirable progress.”

Lord Silas Brandon cleared his throat with all the subtlety of a cannon blast. “Lord Stone, while I am appreciative of your… intervention regarding the Viscount, I am afraid I fail to see what business remains unsettled between you and my daughter.”

Nicholas turned toward her father with the calm confidence of a man who had faced down more intimidating opponents. “With respect, My Lord, that is precisely what I have come to address if you would simply afford me the opportunity to do so.” His tone brooked no argument yet remained respectful.

Jane, who had still been lingering by the doorway, made no attempt to hide her delighted interest in the unfolding drama. Diana had now also appeared and stood next to her sister, wide-eyed and clutching a book to her chest as if it might serve as a shield from the crackling tension that was surging through the drawing room.

“Perhaps,” Lady Prudence suggested, her voice brittle with forced politeness, “we should allow Lord Stone and Marian a moment of privacy to discuss whatever… unresolved matters remain between them.”

“Absolutely out of the question.” Lord Silas countered. “Especially after recent events, I hardly think it to be —”

“Father,” Marian interrupted, summoning every single ounce of determination she possessed, “I believe I am already thoroughly ruined — at least in society’s eyes. A private conversation with Lord Stone can hardly worsen my situation.”

Her mother’s sharp intake of breath suggested otherwise, but Nicholas’ appreciative smile gave her the courage to stand her ground.

“Ten minutes,” her father conceded finally. “In this room. And the door shall remain open.”

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