them for reading, only for seeing those faraway images. It was more by habit they rested on her face for so long.
She padded over to the gas lamp, intending to brighten the room, and faltered. A strange feeling assailed Maryann, a cold prickling along her spine. Something…or someone lingered in the darkened chamber.
Maryann paused in the center of her room, raw fear and vulnerability cascading through her. Pressing the book across her chest, she waited, her heart thudding too painfully.
She couldn’t say what gave her the impression that she was no longer alone. The fireplace burned low and the lamp had been turned down. Her bedroom was cast in more shadows than light.
“Is someone here?”
Feeling a bit childish, she turned slowly, peering at the spot above her bed, beyond the billowing diaphanous pink canopy over her bedposts: the darkest corner in the room. The longer she peered, the more the shadows twisted and took form, mocking the bravery she tried to conjure. It was from there she felt the sensation of eyes…wickedly caressing over her body.
The wind kicked, and the thick blue and silver drapes billowed. Her throat closed, stealing her breath. The windows had been closed when she left earlier for the library. Oh God!
She inched toward her bedroom door, the shadows twisted, and a form seemed to move behind her bed toward the same direction. With a gasp, she dropped the book and rushed toward the mantel where a rapier was mounted. Maryann grabbed the hilt, lifting it from the sheath, and held it away from her, pointing at the ground.
Perhaps she should have tried to rush for the door, hoping to beat whoever lingered in the shadows. She was certain someone was there, and if it proved to be her imagination, she could laugh at herself later. It was better to be armed, and she was very skilled with rapiers and knives thanks to Uncle William and Crispin.
And what if your intruder has a pistol?
Pushing the thoughts from her frantic mind, she lifted the sword and balanced on her bare feet. “Show yourself, whoever you are! Gh-ghost or man!”
An odd choking noise, almost like stifled laughter, sounded in the air.
If someone did come out of the shadows, she would scream, though she feared that would be in vain. Her papa was at his club still, her mother asleep, and Crispin at the ball Maryann had left earlier with the excuse of a headache.
She sensed the movements before she saw them, and polished boots appeared at the bottom of her bed. Maryann didn’t dare try to take a breath. In truth, it had been sucked right out of her. The silence in her chamber felt perilous. Those boots stepped forward, and Nicolas St. Ives, Marquess Rothbury appeared.
For several long moments, her mind blanked.
This man was dissolute, reckless, a gambler, a great participant of sensual debauchery, unprincipled and uncaring that he owned such a wicked reputation.
And he is here…in my bedchamber. Oh dear.
A heart-pounding awareness burned through her with fiery intensity. Even with the barely discernable light, she recognized those slashing cheekbones and the piercing brilliance of his golden-brown eyes that seemed to glitter under winged brows. A shadow of a beard accentuated the harsh sensuality of his cheekbones and the hard lines of his jaw.
Her stomach did a frightening flip. Maryann stared astonished, her hand lowering as if it had a will of its own, until the point of the rapier touched the soft carpet. “I… You!”
“Yes,” he drawled darkly. “Me.”
Good heavens! Maryann was unable to take her eyes off him, uncaring that she was speechlessly staring, belatedly realizing he, too, stared. Except his regard was predatory. To her dismay, her cheeks went frightfully hot, her throat and belly, too, an entirely unexpected and mortifying reaction.
The corner of his mouth hitched, but the eyes pinning her in place were unfathomable and watchful. She had never been this close to him before, and her pulse skittered alarmingly. Maryann drew a deep breath, trying to calm the wild pounding of her heart. The sensation of his stare alone was like that of a hawk. The charming and ever-smiling rake was not present, and confusion rushed through her. She had observed him numerous times in the ton, unable to help the unwelcomed attraction she felt for someone so feckless.
He had never seemed so silent…so dangerous.
He was garbed in black trousers and jacket, with a blue waistcoat, and an expertly tied cravat. His raven hair was impeccably styled, curling softly at his