Page 20 of Marquess of Stone

Lady Prudence resumed eating, her hands precise, her gaze sharp. “Very well,” she conceded, each syllable measured like ingredients in a precarious recipe. “But do ensure that you are well recovered by evening. Lydia’s gathering cannot be marred by… selective ailments.”

The slight emphasis on ‘selective’ did not escape Marian’s notice, but she merely nodded. “Of course, mother. I would not dream of disappointing Lydia.”

Setting her napkin aside with deliberate care, Marian rose from the table, her movements appropriately languid for one supposedly afflicted by a headache. She could feel Jane’s amused gaze following her retreat.

The moment the dining room door closed behind her, Marian’s steps quickened, her supposed exhaustion falling away in a matter of seconds. Her heart drummed in an excited rhythm against her ribs as she slipped through the house’s shadowy corridors, avoiding the bustling servants in preparation for the day’s excursion.

She headed to her bedroom, trying to be patient as she waited for the other guests to depart. At most, it was a little less than an hour that she sat, her foot tapping anxiously against the floorboards in anticipation, but to Marian, it felt like an eternity.

Her excitement exploded as she heard the carriages depart, and she watched with wide eyes and a wildly beating heart until the very last one had disappeared and silence had settled onto the estate. Then she swiftly grabbed the bundle of clothes that Nicholas had instructed her to bring and made her way back downstairs.

The morning air embraced her as she stepped outside.

“Good morning.” The velvety voice that came from her left carried both amusement and warmth. “I trust your… headache has improved?”

Marian turned her head to find Nicholas there. “Remarkably so,” she replied with sweetness. “Fresh air seems to do wonders for selective ailments.”

“Selective company can do the same,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You seem terribly certain of yourself,” she bit back, but her tone held only playfulness.

“Just one of my … flaws, I’m afraid. Though you must admit, it has served us well so far.”

The familiar scents that surrounded the stables — hay, leather, and horse — wrapped around her like a well-worn blanket as she slipped inside. Shafts of sunlight pierced the dusty air through cracks in the wood, creating golden columns that seemed to mark a path toward her destination. She inhaled sharply, committing the atmosphere to memory, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a sight that made her mouth feel dry. Leaning against a stall with the casual grace of a cat who had found the perfect sunbeam, stood her partner in crime, the Marquess of Stone — Nicholas Grant.

The morning light caught the angles of his face, highlighting cheekbones that could have been carved from marble and deep, dark blue eyes that held a dangerous glint of mischief. “Though, I must say, your performance at breakfast was rather… theatrical for a lady of noble birth.”

Marian instantly felt heat rising to her cheeks though whether from indignation or something else entirely, she could not quite say. “You saw that?”

“Hmmm.” His voice was low and smooth as velvet. The sound of it sent a titillating shiver up her spine. “I had the pleasure of witnessing it from the garden. The windows of the breakfast room provided a rather excellent view of your family’s morning dramatics.” His smile carried all the mischief of a schoolboy planning his next prank, despite his aristocratic bearing. “I particularly enjoyed the slight wince… truly a masterful touch.”

“If you are quite finished critiquing my acting abilities,” Marian said primly though she could not quite suppress the smile tugging at her lips, “then perhaps you might explain why the stables appear to me most conspicuously empty of stable hands?”

Nicholas’s grin widened, transforming his face from merely handsome to something altogether more dangerous. “Let’s just say I have… ensured our privacy.” He gestured toward two already saddled horses, their coats gleaming like polished chestnuts in the filtering light. “I thought we might take a ride. Unless, of course, your headache proves too debilitating?”

Marian lifted her chin, meeting his challenge with one of her own. “My ailments seem to be remarkably selective, Your Grace. Much like your own concern for propriety.”

“Propriety,” he scoffed, the word rolling off of his tongue like a splash of brandy — smooth but with a bite. “An invention designed to keep life dull, and spirits dampened.” He offered her his hand, but she deliberately ignored it, mounting her horse with practiced precision.

The morning had bloomed into the kind of day that seemed crafted for secret adventures with clouds playing hide-and-seek with the sun and a breeze that carried whispers of possibility. As they rode onwards, side by side, Marian could not help but notice how Nicholas sat atop his horse with the same casual elegance he applied to everything — as if the rules of proper form were mere suggestions to him rather than iron-clad dictates by society.

“You seem to be staring at me, Marian,” he remarked without turning his head though she could hear the smile in his voice. “I might even think you were cataloguing my faults,” he continued.

“I am merely observing your rather shocking disregard for proper riding posture,” she replied primly though her lips twitched traitorously.

Nicholas laughed, the sound rolling across the morning air like summer thunder. “And here I thought you might have been admiring my devilish good looks. How disappointing.”

“Your vanity hardly needs any encouragement from me, Your Grace,” she said playfully. “That would require far more time than our morning allows though your modesty — or lack thereof — certainly tops the list.”

“Ah, but modesty is merely pride’s polite cousin. I rather prefer utter honesty in all things.”

“All things? How shocking.”

“Only to those who fear truth more than propriety, dear Marian.”

The landscape changed as they ventured further from the house — carefully manicured gardens giving way to wild meadows where flowers grew in clusters, pure, untouched, rebellious.Rather like Nicholas himself, Marian thought. He seemed to defy every social convention and construct placed upon him with the same effortless grace.

The lake appeared before them like a secret finally revealed. Nicholas reined his horse to a stop at its edge, dismounting with fluid grace. Before Marian could protest, he was at her side, hands outstretched to assist her.

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