Page 25 of Marquess of Stone

“Not surprise,” he corrected, following her progress with careful attention. “Appreciation, Marian. Thereisa difference.”

The sunlight splashed onto her face as she processed his words, and Nicholas found himself memorizing the way it played across her features. She opened her mouth as if to reply, but then her gaze caught something in the distance, and her expression transformed into one of wonder.

“Is that where we are going?” she asked, gesturing toward the cliff that rose majestically above the rolling hills that sat beyond the orangery.

Nicholas felt an unexpected surge of pleasure at her enthusiasm. “You are thoroughly ruining my surprise, Marian,” he said though he could not muster any real disappointment.

Her descent was less graceful than her ascent, but it gave him another excuse to touch her, to steady her as his hands found her waist with perhaps more familiarity than was strictly proper. When her feet touched the ground, she didn’t immediately step away, and for a moment, they stood in a pocket of silence that seemed to exist outside the normal rules of propriety.

“Shall we?” he asked finally. The loss of contact felt strangely significant, like a door closing in a room he hadn’t fully explored.

“Tell me,” she said, brushing leaves from her skirts, “do you make it a habit of corrupting young ladies with these… adventures, Nicholas?” Her tone was teasing, but there was a genuine question swimming in her eyes.

“Only the ones who are already plotting their own corruption,” he replied with a knowing smile. “Though I must say, you are by far the most entertaining conspirator I have had.”

“How many conspirators have there been?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

His expression softened. “None quite like you, Marian. None who have understood the difference between rebellion for its own sake and the pursuit of genuine freedom.”

She turned away, but not before he caught the flush rising in her cheeks. “And which am I?”

“Ah, that is what makes you so fascinating — you are both and neither.”

They retrieved their horses and set out for the cliff, the trail winding through ancient woodlands that held more memories of Nicholas’ childhood adventures. He found himself sharing them with her, pointing out the massive oak that had been his favorite hiding spot and the hollow tree where he had once discovered a family of foxes.

“You must have been even more mischievous as a child than you are as an adult,” Marian observed, her tone warm with understanding rather than judgement.

“I prefer curious,” he corrected, enjoying the way her lips curved at his deliberate echo of their earlier conversation. “And what of you, Marian Brandon? Where you always as prim and proper as you seem now?”

The look she gave him could have set paper aflame. “Prim and proper? Hardly. You have a remarkable talent for misjudgment, Nicholas. I was a terror, according to my governess.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said though the twinkle in his eye betrayed his words. In truth, he could perfectly imagine a younger Marian, her spirit yet unbridled by duty and expectations, wreaking havoc on any adult foolish enough to try and contain her wildness.

The trail narrowed as they approached the cliff, forcing them to ride single file. Nicholas took the opportunity to observe her reaction as the vista slowly revealed itself. He noticed every detail — the way her breath caught in her throat, the way her eyes widened as she took in the sweeping panorama — and it made something warm unfurl in his chest.

She dismounted without waiting for his assistance, drawn to the cliff’s edge as if pulled by an invisible thread. Wildflowers swayed around her ankles, their colors pale echoes of the fierce joy painted across her features.

“It is… magnificent,” she whispered, and Nicholas found himself, once again, watching her rather than the view, captivated by the way wonder had transformed her entire being.

He joined her at the edge, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body but not quite touching. The breeze carried the sweet scent of summer grass and something uniquely Marian.

“You seem rather enchanted,” he teased gently, settling himself on the grass beside her. “Though I must admit, your expression makes the view pale in comparison.”

She turned to him with mock severity. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I would not dare,” he replied though his eyes danced with mischief. “I merely observe that you seem to have forgotten all about propriety in your wonderment today.”

“Propriety?” She glanced down at her stained skirts as they spread across the grass, her lips twitching. “I suppose I have rather forgotten myself. How shocking,” she jested.

“Thoroughly shocking,” he agreed. “Whatever would your mother say?”

“Oh, I imagine she would have quite a mouthful to say,” Marian laughed then sobered slightly. “She always does.”

They sat in companionable silence, watching the clouds on the horizon.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, her voice soft, but earnest.

“What for?”

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