Page 38 of Marquess of Stone

She looked away first, a faint flush staining her cheeks as she hurried past him. The scent of rosewater lingered in her wake, and Nicholas found himself fighting the urge to follow after her, to explain… what? That he was sorry? That he wished things could be different? That every time he closed his eyes, he could still taste the brandy and desire upon her lips?

“You know,” Elias said quietly, breaking into his thoughts and pulling him back to the present, “for a man so dedicated to maintaining distance, you are doing a remarkably poor job of appearing unaffected. I have never seen you like this.”

“I am perfectly affected,” Nicholas muttered then caught himself. “Unaffected. I meant unaffected.”

Elias’s laugh held more sympathy than amusement. “Yes, I can see that. You are the very picture of dignified detachment. It is quite impressive, really, how you can manage to look both completely miserable and utterly besotted at the same time.”

“Do you not have a house party to host?”

“Indeed, I do. Though, I must say, watching you tie yourself in knots is far more entertaining than arranging seating charts with my wife.”

Nicholas scoffed at his friend and watched him take his leave with a heavy heart. Elias was right of course. He was both succeeding and failing spectacularly. And the ball tonight, well, that would bring an entirely different, more exquisite form of torture.

Lord Drownshire approached Nicholas then, his expression caught between paternal concern and social calculation. “Lord Stone, a word if you please? I need to speak with you about those trade regulations you mentioned to my wife at breakfast.”

“Of course, My Lord.”

They moved slightly apart from the others though not quite out of earshot. “I could not help but notice your… attention toward my eldest daughter.”

Nicholas maintained careful neutrality. “I assure you, My Lord, any attention paid is purely —”

“Unnecessary?” Lord Drownshire’s tone held no humor. “Come now, we are both men of the world. I have known you since you were a boy, watched you rebuild your father’s estate through sheer force of will. You are not a man who pays unnecessary attention to anything.”

“Sir, I —”

“I am not finished.” He glanced toward where Marian stood with her sisters. “That girl has rejected every suitable match presented to her. She reads too much, thinks too deeply, and speaks her mind far too freely. And yet…” He turned back to Nicholas. “… I have never seen her more animated than when debating philosophy with you.”

Nicholas felt something in his chest tighten again. “Your point being?”

“My point, young man, is that sometimes the most valuable investments require risk. And sometimes…” He smiled slightly. “… a father’s greatest duty is knowing when to step aside and let his children choose their own path. Think on that if you will, and when you have made up your mind — without any doubt — as to what yourtrueintentions are with my daughter, come see me.”

The ballroom glowed like a jewel box come to life, countless candles reflecting off of crystal and gilt until the very air seemed to shimmer. Ladies in their finest silk gowns moved through the space like exotic butterflies, their jewelry catching and throwing light with each carefully executed step of the quadrille.

Marian stood slightly apart from the whirl of activity, using her fan with precise, measured movements that betrayed none of the turmoil beneath her carefully composed exterior. She watched as couple after couple took to the floor, each pair moving through the intricate steps of courtship disguised as dance.

“You seem rather contemplative this evening, Lady Marian.”

She turned to find the Duke of Myste at her elbow, his expression holding that particular blend of intelligence and wit she had come to associate with him in what little time she had spent in his presence during the last few days.

“I am simply appreciating the spectacle, Your Grace,” she replied, gesturing vaguely at the assembled company. “One might almost forget that beneath all this splendor lies the same tedious social machinations as always.”

“Ah, but is that not rather the point?” He offered his arm as the musicians began tuning for the next set. “To dress up our baser instincts in silk and ceremony?”

She allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, aware of Nicholas’s gaze following their progress even though she deliberately didn’t look in his direction. “You make us sound positively primitive, Your Grace.”

“Duke Richard, please,” he said as they took their places. “And I rather think primitive implies a lack of sophistication. I would never dream to accuse the ton of that particular failing.”

The music began, and Marian found herself grateful for the familiar patterns of the dance. It gave her something to focus on besides the weight of Nicholas’ attention from across the room.

“You dance very well, Lady Marian,” the Duke observed as they executed a particularly complex turn.

“Is that surprise I detect in your tone, Duke Richard?”

“Not at all. I am merely appreciative of the way you approach all things you do with such… precision.” His smile reached all the way to his eyes, crinkling the corners. “Even your barbs are elegantly crafted, if I had to be honest.”

She felt herself returning his smile despite her melancholy. “Now you are just flattering me.”

“I never flatter without purpose. It is terribly inefficient.”

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