had known he lingered in the dark. She had felt him in the sudden throbbing of her pulse, in that warm, unexplained ache low in her belly.
I am sorry.
She peered down at him, and even with the half-moon out, the marquess was nothing but shades of black and gray. Yet at times, she fancied the brilliance of his eyes cut through the shroud. The marquess seemed different tonight, more like how he had appeared the first night he stole into her chamber. A tension lingered around him, something fierce and inexplicable, and she could feel it.
His hand was clenched tightly over a silver-headed cane, and the gaze staring up at her was unwavering. The yearning she felt at the sight of him overwhelmed and infuriated her in equal measure. To long for a man who had insulted her was unpardonable.
“Why did you say it?” After our dance had been so incredible.
“There was someone at the table…I did not want that person to believe you important to me.”
“Even without your boorish tongue, I cannot imagine why anyone would think such a thing.”
Mine enemies are now your enemies…
Her stomach went hollow. The marquess once again hinted of his secrets.
Somewhere downstairs, a servant turned on a gas lamp or perhaps several, and the light beamed out into the garden and tenderly washed against his rigid jawline and flat unsmiling mouth. She watched him with a terrible fascination, unable to take her eyes off his expression of almost cruel insouciance.
“You wear two faces,” she said in wonderment, resting her chin on her palms, never taking her stare from his. “The height of cleverness is to be able to conceal it.” And to Maryann’s mind, the marquess was very clever indeed.
He jolted a bit, a quick frown slashing his brows before his expression once again smoothed.
“It is very interesting to hear a lady quote Rochefoucauld.”
She smiled. “Many would not know that I did.”
He stared at her with a guarded watchfulness and chilling civility. To where had the charming and flirty rake disappeared?
The sky rumbled, and the wild, earthy scent of raindrops assailed her nostrils. “It will rain quite soon.”
“Is that an invitation to come up to your chamber?”
She had to fight down the thrill of anticipation those words gave her, even when said so blandly. “No.”
There it was, the slightest shift in his posture, but that dangerous air blew away like ashes in the wind. How did he do it? And it was most certainly not the trick of the meager light upon his countenance. She suspected then, if he revealed his true nature, his presence and vitality would fill the room, it would intimidate, and it would seduce. Now the ton looked at him as a feckless son, and also a charming rake many maters would still offer up their daughters to wed.
Should he show this other side, how would they greet him? Respect? Fear? Anger that he’d been duplicitous for so long? She wanted to converse with him, but not here in her chambers. Maryann wasn’t so foolish, and she understood he presented a threat to her virtue simply because she wanted his kisses.
Another rumble of thunder, and a slight misty drizzle started. She reached out her palm and caught a few drops in her hands, loving the cool feel of water against her skin. Acting on impulse, she thrust her head out and turned her face up to the sky, laughing as the rain fell tenderly against her forehead and cheeks.
“Fucking hell!”
The raw, crude words shocked her, so she froze. Hurriedly drawing her head inside, she gripped the edges of her windows and looked down. He was no longer standing in the gardens. The scream died in her throat when the marquess suddenly vaulted over the railing and landed on her small balcony.
She stared at him in stupefied amazement. Before she could react, he dropped onto his knees and his hands found her throat in a clasp that was tender yet provocatively intimidating. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, his jawline flushed red. This close, she could see the different striations of gold in his eyes, the rain on his brow and the bridge of his nose…
The hunger in his eyes.
Maryann felt beguiled by the unknown expression tightening across his sharply slanted cheekbones. It struck her then with the force of lightning. He wanted her. This was not a game or mild flirtation.
She felt flushed, shivering, light-headed. Silly and empowered in the same breath. A gentleman had never wanted her before. No