Page 110 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
“I am. Goodnight.”
Once the servants returned to their rooms, Marianne headed back to the parlor. She didn’t feel like using her former bedchamber. It seemed more reasonable to settle onto the settee. After all, she felt like she was in some in-between place, trying to grapple with her feelings.
She was surprised that the fire was still crackling, although the light had not improved. So, no, there were no servants there rekindling it just before she returned. Not that it mattered. She wanted to get some rest.
But rest would not find her easily. Her thoughts immediately drifted back to Dominic.
Was it truly over? It didn’t even get the opportunity to begin. It was pure lust, the hunter finally conquering the hunted. Or was it?
Tears welled up in her eyes. She let herself cry, alone in the room with nobody to witness her pain. The evening felt heavy and suffocating, as if her whole world was crashing down around her.
She must have drifted off to sleep on the settee, but something jolted her awake. There was a sudden creak of the floorboards. It made her sit straight, her pounding heart bringing her fully to waking.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw a silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. It was Lord Linpool, and he wore the smuggest smile on his face.
“Did you think me an easy enemy, Duchess? Did you truly believe I’d be easy to get rid of?” he drawled as he eased off the doorframe he was leaning against.
Whenever Dominic leaned on the doorframe, it was a seduction. But when Linpool did it, it felt like a threat.
“What are you doing here?” Marianne asked, scrambling to her feet and assuming a defensive stance.
Linpool seemed to take it as an invitation to enter the room because he did. Shadows flitted across his sharp, slightly bony features. “Why? I’m visiting a friend.”
“You’re not welcome here,” she snapped, her body growing more rigid as he approached.
“Always so spirited, dear Marianne,” Linpool murmured, then chuckled.
She suspected that he was laughing at the fact that he didn’t need to show any respect for her title anymore. His mask was down, which made him even more dangerous.
She walked toward the fireplace, pressing a hand on the mantel for support, seeking what was left of the heat to keep the growing cold she felt inside at bay.
“Leave. Now!”
“Or what?” he asked mockingly, his eyes gleaming as they reflected the dying embers.
He approached her. Slowly. Teasingly.
“I’ll scream,” she warned, raising a hand with her palm facing outward.
“Very well. Try it, Duchess,” Linpool goaded.
There was something in his eyes that made her think that she shouldn’t. That shecouldn’t.
Still, she wanted to try and escape the man who had quickly replaced her father as the main villain in her life. She darted to the bell pull in the corner of the room. Her hand reached it when he made a sound.
“Ah, ah.” He tutted. He lifted a hand and pointed at something outside the open door of the parlor.
Marianne might have been eager to pull at the hanging cord, but when she followed his finger, her blood ran cold. They could see the stairs from their position, and though it had grown darker than before, she could clearly see three men.
One held a matchbox, and the other two held bottles. She might not see what was written on them clearly, but she knew what they were. The acrid scent was enough to tell her that they were holding lamp oil.
“Scream or pull that cord,” Linpool said in a low but menacing voice. “Or run or even make sudden movements, and my men will pour the oil and strike a flame. Then, it wouldn’t just be you who would be hurt, Duchess.”
Marianne gasped. “You wouldn’t,” she said.
But she didn’t really know that. The man was turning out to be more vile than she had initially thought.
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Linpool asked, his eyes still glittery. Wicked. “A part of you knows for certain that I would. You’ve humiliated me so many times, and I’ve been patient with you. I’ve been calm, hoping you’d find a way to save yourself by stepping away.”
