amount of time last night and earlier this evening trying to convince Kendall not to give up.
Beau had remained the picture of his normal calm, collected self in front of his friends all afternoon, but he had spent every spare moment contemplating what had happened between himself and Marianne in her room last night.
He’d made love to her. Well, love was probably a strong word. But he’d never been one to casually sleep with any willing female, and that’s certainly not what this was; he wasn’t Worthington, for Christ’s sake. The duke was was known for his mésalliances, but Beau prided himself on both his discernment and his self-control.
Going for long times without bedding a woman wasn’t something that bothered him overly much. Spending the night with a woman—and normally he spent the entire night—usually led to feelings, and feelings usually led to complications, and if there was one thing Beau steadfastly steered clear of, it was complications. Of any sort. For any reason. They were messy, unruly things and he prided himself on a tidy, disciplined life.
Last night, however, he hadn’t even thought about the feelings or the complications. Normally he was tightly in control of his baser desires, and thought through the ramifications of any choices he made when it came to carnal pleasures.
But the moment Marianne had invited him to touch her—when she’d said, “now I know your name”—every responsible thought had scattered from his brain, and all he knew was that he had to make have her. Immediately.
And even in the harsh light of day, he couldn’t even say he regretted it. In fact, he wanted to do it again.
Marianne was passionate. Passionate and practical. Something told him that laying with her wouldn’t be like laying with anyone else. And he’d been right. The experience had been unlike any other in his life. But why? It made no sense. Why would a lady’s maid, especially one with an affected accent and who was lying to him, make him feel things he’d never felt before?
Not only was she lying to him, she’d tricked him into telling her his name. Somehow, she’d known his name wasn’t truly Nicholas, while she’d also known she wouldn’t be giving away much by admitting that he already knew hers. He did believe that her Christian name was truly Marianne, however. He could see the veracity in her eyes when she’d said it.
Beau shook his head. He had to admit it had been clever of her to trick him into revealing his name. Quite clever. She’d outmaneuvered him. And he wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered by anyone. Perhaps that was what intrigued him so much about her. He usually knew precisely who he was involving himself with. Marianne, however, was shrouded in mysteries. Mysteries that he greatly wanted to solve.
And one of the mysteries about her was what precisely had happened to her brother.
Whatever the story, it clearly wasn’t one she wanted to talk about much. Why not? Because it was so painful? Something told him it was more than just that.
It was not yet midnight when a knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. Reluctantly, he stood to answer it. No doubt it was Kendall again with more excuses about why he refused to fight for Miss Wharton.
Beau ripped open the door, saying, “You’d better get down there, no doubt dinner is mostly over.”
“Dinner?” Marianne stood there in her ubiquitous blue gown sans apron, a confused look at her face. “In the dining room? I have it on good authority that it ended quite abruptly this evening.”
Whatever she meant about dinner was quickly lost in Beau’s excitement that she had come to his room. After what had happened last night, he’d half-expected her to avoid him like a bug-filled mattress from now on.
As was their ritual, Beau glanced both ways into the corridor to ensure it was clear before tugging her softly into his bedchamber.
“You’re here,” he said inanely after he’d shut the door behind her.
“I am,” she replied, biting her lower lip and staring at him uneasily, as if she were prepared to bolt at any moment if he made a sudden move.
She stepped toward the cot and gestured to it. “May I sit?”
“Please do,” he blurted, taking a seat on the window ledge next to the bed. He wasn’t about to get too close and scare her off. He wanted to hear what she had to say.
Marianne lowered herself to the cot and expelled her breath. “I suppose