viscount. Unusually, he was dressed in clothes far too casual for a ball. He had been somewhere else when he learned of the ruse. And he rushed here to warn me…to protect me. The shattering realization had one of her hands fluttering to rest above her heart.
“Rothbury! What in God’s name are you doing?” the Viscount’s voice trembled something fierce. “Do you mean to murder me?”
A harsh silence fell. The longer the marquess stared, the more the mask of affable geniality and charming rake slipped to reveal someone unquestionably dangerous.
“I am considering it, Talbot; I am considering it.” The shade cast about him rendered him in a light she had never seen before—a dark protective force with wings of shadows and cunning golden eyes.
And with a flash of insight, she realized the charming rake and amusing libertine was truly not Nicolas St. Ives. He was also the hard, dangerous man in front of the viscount.
“Please, Rothbury, I heard the rumors that you fancied her, but since you made no offer, I did not think—”
Talbot’s words became a gurgle of fear when the pruning shears shifted.
“I will only say this once. Lady Maryann is under my protection.”
For a wild moment, she could not breathe, and it was as if her feet had a will of their own as they tugged her closer. She hugged the shadows, watching him as he kept his piercing…and most certainly frightening…regard on Viscount Talbot.
“In simple terms, that means I will absolutely kill you should harm befall her by your hands or those of Lady Sophie.”
Talbot believed him, for the man’s entire body shook. Maryann was caught between revulsion and admiration. That no one foresaw the danger that was Nicolas St. Ives amazed and alarmed her in equal measure. He was something that lingered in the dark, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.
Who are you?
As if he heard her silent whisper in the darkness, his head turned, and those brilliant eyes pinned her in place. Certainly, he could not see her…could he? Maryann swallowed, walking backward ever so silently, toward the deeper shadows.
He lowered the shears from around the man’s neck. “Get out.”
The viscount hurried in her direction, and she pressed up against the plant.
“Not that way,” St. Ives said.
Talbot spun around and went through the doors that led him on the outside path into the rain. Maryann silently hoped the marquess would go that way, too, but he remained still, staring in the direction of her potted plant.
She turned around and attempted to stealthily walk back the way she had come. The echoes of his steps behind her felt deliberate. Hating how harshly she breathed, she paused, and leaned her back into the wall, hoping the shadows were impenetrable, and he would not make out the color of her icy-blue ballgown.
She did not want him to know that she had seen the ruthless man beneath the careless facade he presented to the world. She did not fully understand the desire, only knowing that she must act upon it.
Oh God. He did not walk past her and depart the conservatory. He stopped. The face that stared toward her held a hint of merciless mockery, his lips flat and unsmiling, and his eyes…she had never seen them so unfathomable. He shifted, and then he, too, was cloaked in darkness. Very slowly, the dancing shadows reached across the space between them and cupped her face.
Maryann trembled.
His thumb traced her cheekbone. That hand disappeared, and a harsh breath sawed from her throat. Yet she did not move, nor did she speak. Maryann couldn’t imagine leaving now. She didn’t want to leave.
A warm touch to her bottom lip. Her lips parted and her chest lifted on a deep breath. Shock bloomed through her when he slid a finger into her mouth.
“We will have to be wicked, improper, and terribly scandalous.”
The words she had said to her friends echoed in her thoughts and settled low and hot in her belly. Wicked…improper…scandalous. Maryann could not say why she did it, but she stroked her tongue over his intruding finger, and the first sound rode the air and settled between them. A groan. Low and hungry.
But it also sounded like a warning.
His finger slipped from her mouth, and she strained to see him in the dark. His figure was just a vague outline of power and strength. The presence surrounding her at once intimidated her, for he was ruthless enough to kill a man without hesitation, but she was also reassured, for he