by Stacy Reid
Only Crispin had remained constant, and she loved him dearly for it.
But now their father stared at her in a searching manner he had not ever turned on her brother.
“And how has Lord Stamford ignored your preferences?” her father asked.
Tentative hope stirred inside, and Maryann tried to not stare at her mother’s flat and disapproving mouth.
“Well, young lady?”
She held her papa’s stare. Maryann couldn’t bear talking about what she’d witnessed. The mere memory alone was mortifying. “He…” Her face heated. “He attempted to kiss me when I did not want him to.” Still uncomfortable to speak about, but it seemed the lesser of the two humiliating encounters.
Her father merely stared, as if trying to understand the creature speaking before him. Maryann almost squirmed under his attention. This was clearly not going to work. They had made their minds up and would not budge. She had only one throw of the dice left that she could try.
Her father folded his paper. “It is the way of courtship for a suitor to steal kisses. Stamford is clearly passionate and not one to hide his feelings. Is that the reason to rebuff a man who seems to be earnestly seeking your hand in marriage? When no other path to marriage stands before you?”
She smoothed back an errant lock of her hair that escaped the loose chignon. “May I speak with frankness, Papa?”
“You may.”
“Like many gentlemen before him, the earl does not see me as a person with thoughts and opinions of my own.” The memory of how he had gripped her chin and his cold mockery crowded her thoughts, and she forcefully shoved them aside.
“There is one more matter. I, er…came across him at the Metcalfs’ ball.” Maryann paused, embarrassed at what she had to say, then blurted out, “He was in a very intimate act with one of the maids. He was unabashed by my presence and bluntly informed me that he had no intention of changing his ways after we married.”
The countess choked swallowing some tea, looking too shocked to say anything either to rebuke Maryann or to criticize Stamford. The earl’s lips had flattened, but he also did not rebuke the earl’s conduct.
Maryann tried again in a more conciliatory tone. “Do you know that I am called a wallflower by almost everyone in the ton? I’ve had four seasons because you insist on parading me to the gentlemen of society as if I am a horse that needs to be taken off your hands, then given to another for breeding.”
Her mother fixed a gimlet stare on her. “Maryann! Such crudeness is unbecoming!”
She lifted her chin. “Each season grows more tedious than the last. The gentlemen of the ton do not find in me a favorable match to marry, despite my rumored dowry of fifty thousand pounds. And Papa, I do not find them favorable.”
Her father stared at her thoughtfully for long seconds, then he said, “Continue.”
Her mother made to protest, but he reached for her hand and brought her knuckles to his mouth in a brief kiss.
“Papa, the only option you have been giving me is marriage to a man who has been speaking to you of an alliance for over three months. Yet in that time, he has not made any attempt to court me. There is no kindness in his eyes. There is no gentleness in his touch, no sincerity in his conversations. For many years, you spoke to me of my worth and how much you cherished me. Yet you want to give me to a man who does not hold me in the same regard and worth that you taught me. If I cannot have at least that in a union, why must I submit to it? Surely, I was not educated and encouraged to dream, and then be told I am only fit to be a bride?”
Her mother looked ready to swoon, and Crispin stared at her as if she had grown horns. Only her papa remained unflappable, and Maryann knew it was he she needed to convince.
“Then what do you desire, if not to marry and have a home of your own?”
The question so startled her, she flustered for a few moments. “I do not know as yet, Papa.”
A black scowl formed across his brow. “Maryann…”
“I do not discount ever having a family of my own, Papa. But as to what else life has to offer, how can I expect to know it when I was never given the freedom to dare to think there might be more beyond the constraints of your expectations?”
She swiped at the tears she hadn’t realized spilled on her cheeks. “Please, Papa. If I have that freedom, perhaps I might find what my heart truly desires.”
Her father remained contemplative for several moments. “We will withhold announcing the engagement for a few weeks.”
She tried to stand and go to him, but relief made her knees wobble. “Thank you, Papa.”
“You have until we retire to the country in October to find what it is you seek.”
Oh God, that was only three months. “And if I do not find it?”
“You will marry Stamford.”
A raw gasp escaped her.
“And what if I should find it?” she asked hoarsely.
“Once I approve, you will be allowed to reach for whatever it is.”
It was more than she had expected but less that what she had hoped for.
“The countess and I will deal with the current gossip. Should it prove unmanageable, arrangements will be made for you to travel to Hertfordshire until it settles down. Crispin will accompany you while your mother and I remain in Town.”
Her father was a powerful man in the ton; if he could squash the rumors, they would fade away like ashes in the wind within a couple weeks. A hard lump formed in her throat. “Yes, Papa.”
She had always known the power of her ruse would be a momentary shock wave that would cause enough ripples in society to influence Stamford’s actions. She’d once overheard her brother remark that a gentleman would not wish to marry a lady suspected of dallying with another gentleman. And everyone knew the marquess was a right rogue, the worst of the lot when it came to debauching innocent misses.
That was the whisper about for the last few seasons, and surely Stamford had heard them. Would he show up this morning, honor insulted, and withdraw his ridiculous offer?
“Papa…what if Lord Stamford should hear the gossips and withdraw his offer?” She ardently prayed he would.
Her father’s expression shuttered. “He won’t.”
“But you cannot be so certain that—”
“He won’t.”
All appetite killed, Maryann excused herself, pushed back her chair, and walked away. A cold, heavy disquiet settled on her shoulders. How certain her father seemed, as if there was more to the matter.
With a sense of dread, Maryann wondered whether her father still possessed every intention of pushing through that alliance. With a deep breath, she accepted the truth—he had no intention of allowing her to escape marriage to Stamford, and whatever she wanted to pursue would be denied.
How could you, Papa?
Chapter Eight
Maryann reposed on a chaise longue in her personal parlor, working on delicate stitching for her embroidery. She had taken a tray in the parlor, too engrossed in completing her design of a chaffinch to join the family in the formal dining room. She wanted breathing room away from their heavy press of disappointment, and the hurt she felt that they still continued to ignore her heart’s wishes.
The last few days had been emotionally tiring. Her mother had not berated her as expected, but the countess’s eyes had been dark with disappointment, and that had hurt Maryann’s heart more than a deserved tongue lashing. Crispin continually demanded to know if she wanted to start a scandal from which they might never recover. He scolded her most fiercely, blaming himself for her outrageous conduct. If not for his overindulgence, could she dream of being so boldly rebellious?
She had often heard the tale that as a babe she cried often, a misery not even her nursemaid could soothe. Only when Crispin took her into his arms was she soothed. A young boy of only four years at her bi
rth, he had taken to his role as her protective older brother rather fastidiously. It had been mutual love, and never had he been angry with her as he had been this morning.
Growing up, she’d wanted to be a part of her brother’s life simply because she loved him. For every rambunctious adventure he went on—the riding, the hunting, the fencing—she had pleaded to go with him. And because Crispin loved her in return, he had made room for her in his life. So many days, weeks, months he had snuck her from the school room and from under the noses of strict governesses to partake in his misadventures.
She had learned to change her own clothes, to dress in breeches and shirts without their parents getting wind of what they had been up to. She had learned to ride astride, how to perfectly handle a bow and arrow, and how to fence. Crispin had finally balked when she asked him to travel with her to a gambling hell, and she hadn’t the heart to press the matter after seeing his distress. Maryann had decided in some matter, it was best to retain her ladylike demeanor.
It was a few minutes before nine p.m. that she placed the cambric in her embroidery box and made her way to her chamber. He wouldn’t dare, would he? was the thought that rolled through Maryann’s awareness as she choked on her gasp, whirling around to ensure her lady maid did not enter the room.
“I won’t be needing you tonight, Susie,” Maryann said, annoyed with how breathless and nervous she sounded. Her heart thrummed in both panic and pleasure. The former, she understood. The latter, utter madness.
“Milady?”
“Yes,” she said with a firm smile. “I believe I shall manage on my own tonight. You should continue reading that book I loaned you.”
Susie flushed. “I am still fumbling over some of the words, milady,” she said, her voice rich with pride.
“Then write them down, and in the morning we shall discuss them.”
Susie bobbed, turned around, and hurried down the hallway, a jaunt in her step. Maryann closed the door, resting her forehead on it briefly. She was shocked to realize she was trembling.
Taking a steadying breath, Maryann whirled to face the marquess, who seemed to have dragged an armchair to the window, and now reposed in it, one of his knees crossed atop the other.
“Am I to play your maid tonight, Lady Maryann?” A deliberate pause, which felt fraught. “It would delight me, of course.”
She choked on air. “What are you doing here, Lord Rothbury? My maid almost discovered you.”
A lazy smile curved his mouth, and she flushed for even noting its sensuality.
“I am certain you would have some reasonable explanation.”
“Of having a man in my bedroom at…” She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “At nine in…at any hour in the day?”
“I miscalculated your routine. If you are not at some social event, you would normally come into your bedroom at about eight and prepare for bed. Since I arrived only fifteen minutes ago, I assumed that routine was already done.”
“You know my routine?” she asked faintly.
“How else might I ensure your safety?”
She rolled her eyes. “There is no threat to my safety; you are using it as an excuse to be a libertine.”
“Oh!” he said with mock affront, pressing a hand over his heart. “I am too wounded to find a witty remark. This round to you, my little racoon.”
Maryann refused to dignify his outrageousness with an answer.
“Did anything out of the ordinary happen to you today?”
“No, why would it?” she asked. “Your invisible enemies?”
“Not even on your walk this afternoon with Miss Nelson? She seemed out of sorts.”
“Were you there?”
He closed the book with a snap. “No.”
Yet he knew of her stroll with another friend, and that dear Charlotte had been upset. There was a rumor the Marquess of Sands had eloped, and the news distressed her friend, who was secretly in love with Lord Sands. That story and Maryann’s scandal seemed to vie for equal attention in the fickle hearts of the gossipmonger. “Nothing happened that would concern you, my lord.”
“And what made you curse upon leaving the lending library?”
Maryann glared at him. She suspected the man before her might be aware of everything she did since waking, and Maryann was decidedly unsure what to think about that. Clearly he had bribed a servant in her household for information. “There is a great possibility you are the danger, my lord.”
His teeth flashed, and her heart lurched at the beauty of his smile.
“I assure you, my lady, you are always safe with me.”
Did she imagine the emphasis on “my lady”? Maryann leaned against her door, feeling that, should she step closer, the very air between them would be altered.
His stunning golden eyes entrapped her attention. “So, you’ve been teaching your lady maid to read.”
“I…” She blew out a sharp breath, rattled by the quick change in conversation. “Yes.”
“Not many people care about their servants enough to use their time to educate them.”
She returned his regard, and when he arched a brow, Maryann pertly said, “Was there a question?”
“I am merely curious…about you.”
This he said with a frown, as if he was baffled by his own admission.
Maryann found it most difficult to break the potent hold of his very direct regard. He stared at her as if unraveling a mystery. A tight, hungry feeling was trapped somewhere inside her, and being secreted in her chamber with the marquess made her yearn to just be.
“Susie always sees me reading, and she was very curious as to how I found such enjoyment in the written word,” Maryann said softly. “She is very uncomplaining with my determined efforts to see her reading a book on her own by the end of the year.”
Maryann did not say that she had moved from having one student to now having four, the youngest being a sweet girl of twelve who served as a scullery maid.
“And I am also very different from these other ladies you seem so intimately acquainted with.”
“That I can tell.”
Her mouth curved a bit, but she bit inside her lips to stop the smile. Perhaps he did not mean it as a compliment.
“What is your most rousing read?” He turned over a small volume in his hand. “I dearly hope it is not this.”
She laughed. “Whenever I am curious about something, I find if there is a book with the subject and read.”
“So, you are interested in the mating habits of sheep?”
Maryann turned the lock with a soft snick, and mocking yet sensual delight suffused his features. The man was extravagantly handsome.
“I only closed it because I would hate for anyone to discover you here,” she snapped. “If society knew how easy it was for a libertine to break into their daughters’ chambers, every mother would have found a way to build iron bars over the windows by now.”
Maryann sauntered over to the sofa and sank gracefully into its softness.
“I am certain you did not break into my room once again to question my reading tastes,” she said pertly. “And nothing strange happened to me. I daresay if you should tell me what I am supposed to look out for, I could inform you better?”
“There is no reason for you to be involved more than necessary. The entire scheme might eventually reveal that I am merely overcautious,” he said, a sardonic look in his eyes.
“Do recall that my parents are diligently crushing those rumors I started. It is very unlikely anyone might believe we have a tendre.”
He said nothing to this.
“How did you get inside?” she whispered.
He spread the fingers of one lean, elegant hand. “I picked the locks.”
She had thought a servant let him in, the very one he learned her routine from. “Of course that
skill is a part of your repertoire. How…how did you learn it?” For she was considerably curious about the enigmatic man before her.
“From one of the greatest thieves to roam the streets of Paris.”
“Paris?”
“Hmm, we did not stay there long once we found each other.”
“And how exactly did you find each other?”
“I rescued him from the night’s watch. Seems he had broken into a home occupied by soldiers and stolen some bread. He was only thirteen years old.”
Her heart squeezed violently. “How did you rescue him?”
The marquess canted his head, and a faraway look entered his eyes. There was such strength of purpose etched into his face. “A clash of steel that thankfully did not last long. Then the good lad and I fled to the countryside, Rodez in Aveyron where I have a modest home.”
He leaned over and plucked another book from the pile she had left on her windowsill, her favorite spot to repose and read. “Ah, my sisters are always asking me to buy these for them.”
Her cheeks warmed, for it was a gothic romance. “You have sisters?”
“Hmm, two delightful hellions,” he said rather fondly. “Is it safe for me to purchase a copy and send to them?”
Maryann cleared her throat delicately. “There is an extremely passionate kiss somewhere in there. Are they old enough to read about that?”
His lips twitched briefly. “They would cry and whine and tell me they are, but clearly they are not.”
They stared at each other, and Maryann did her best to remain unflappable. The entire situation was so unusual. “How old are they, your sisters?”
“Thirteen. They are twins. A late surprise for my parents.”
The echoes of affection lingered in his tone and rendered him so much more approachable.
“Have you not satisfied yourself that I am safe and nothing odd happened?”