cynical amusement. “Acquit me from such a capricious intention,” he said, pressing a hand over his heart. “I am always terribly serious about seduction.”
The very air between them felt altered. Yet there was a vein of self-deprecation in his tone, as if he silently mocked himself. Maryann was alarmed at the ease at which they moved from flirtation to seduction.
Before she could retort, he said, “And if I should ask you to dance?”
Everything urged her to say yes, for surely that would feed the gossip mill even more. “Bite your tongue,” she said in mock horror. “That would send those with loose tongues into a tizzy.”
He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face toward the soft glow of light, searching her expression. “I am glad it is not an aversion to being in my arms that caused you to recoil so.”
She smiled and arched a brow. “And weren’t you worried our close association might alert your very mysterious enemies?”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, but something undecipherable flashed in his gaze.
“Ah, so sneaking into my rooms was really because you missed my company.”
His eyes darkened. “I am beginning to suspect myself. How astonishing, hmm? The rake and the wallflower.”
The pitter patter of her heart made her feel decidedly flushed. “So I am safe, then,” she murmured, concentrating on the vague enemies he thought he was protecting her from.
“Alas, I might have been overzealous. Nary a stub to your pretty toes. Perhaps a rogue might be allowed to climb into a lady’s chamber, ravish her most thoroughly, and no one think it odd.”
“There was no ravishment,” Maryann said with a scoff. Not yet.
It was as if his voice caressed against her mind, so implicit were the unspoken words, that unexpectedly, she felt out of her depths and retreated warily. Nicolas lowered his arms. Thankfully, he did not advance, and she needed that space to think, to clear him from her awareness. She stepped back until she whirled around and hurried away. It felt silly but so very necessary.
“Run. It makes no difference.”
She stumbled and glanced behind her but could not make out his shape in the shadows where they had lingered.
Run. It makes no difference. Had he really said those words with such throbbing intent? With a sense of shock, Maryann realized it wasn’t fear she felt at the notion of the marquess chasing her—it was reckless, heady anticipation.
Chapter Ten
Maryann was unable to dismiss the ache of longing as she stared at the couples twirling with gaiety about the dance floor. She tapped her feet to the beat of the violins, humming the music beneath her breath.
Her mother hurried over to her, her cheeks a bit pink from exertion.
“Well,” she said, unfurling her fan. “I had the most amiable conversation with Lord Stamford just now. He will be coming over to lead you into the quadrille, then he will join you for the supper waltz. I have arranged with the hostess for you to be seated beside him at the supper table.”
Maryann pressed a hand to her stomach, as if that would soothe the knots of anxiety twisting through her. “Mama. Papa has said—”
Her mother’s eyes flashed a warning. “Pish! It is not the men who decide these things. Mothers know how important it is for their daughters to make a good match.”
Maryann’s heart hammered against her breastbone. “Were you forced to marry Papa?”
“Maryann—”
“Were you, Mother?” she demanded crisply. “Because I recall growing up that Papa used to tease many smiles from you, dance with you in the hallways, and have long picnics on the lawns. You stared at him with tenderness in your gaze…you still do.”
Her mother glanced away, staring at the couples dancing silently for a long time. “Your father and I are a different matter, and your rebellious attitude is becoming tiresome.”
The dance ended, and the orchestra struck up another song right away. The sound of the waltz floated on the air, dancers making their way to the floor. Lord Stamford started walking over to her, and Maryann swallowed down the anger clawing through her throat.
“Lady Musgrove,” Lord Stamford said, smiling in greeting. “Lady Maryann, thank you for honoring me with this dance.”
“I do not recall agreeing to it,” she said coolly.
Her mother stiffened, and the earl’s gaze narrowed in warning.
“Yet you will allow me to escort you to the floor. Now.”
She cast a quick glance at her mother, who did not seem inclined to take issue with the arrogant, proprietary way he spoke