She laughed. “Whenever I am curious about something, I find if there is a book with the subject and read.”
“So, you are interested in the mating habits of sheep?”
Maryann turned the lock with a soft snick, and mocking yet sensual delight suffused his features. The man was extravagantly handsome.
“I only closed it because I would hate for anyone to discover you here,” she snapped. “If society knew how easy it was for a libertine to break into their daughters’ chambers, every mother would have found a way to build iron bars over the windows by now.”
Maryann sauntered over to the sofa and sank gracefully into its softness.
“I am certain you did not break into my room once again to question my reading tastes,” she said pertly. “And nothing strange happened to me. I daresay if you should tell me what I am supposed to look out for, I could inform you better?”
“There is no reason for you to be involved more than necessary. The entire scheme might eventually reveal that I am merely overcautious,” he said, a sardonic look in his eyes.
“Do recall that my parents are diligently crushing those rumors I started. It is very unlikely anyone might believe we have a tendre.”
He said nothing to this.
“How did you get inside?” she whispered.
He spread the fingers of one lean, elegant hand. “I picked the locks.”
She had thought a servant let him in, the very one he learned her routine from. “Of course that skill is a part of your repertoire. How…how did you learn it?” For she was considerably curious about the enigmatic man before her.
“From one of the greatest thieves to roam the streets of Paris.”
“Paris?”
“Hmm, we did not stay there long once we found each other.”
“And how exactly did you find each other?”
“I rescued him from the night’s watch. Seems he had broken into a home occupied by soldiers and stolen some bread. He was only thirteen years old.”
Her heart squeezed violently. “How did you rescue him?”
The marquess canted his head, and a faraway look entered his eyes. There was such strength of purpose etched into his face. “A clash of steel that thankfully did not last long. Then the good lad and I fled to the countryside, Rodez in Aveyron where I have a modest home.”
He leaned over and plucked another book from the pile she had left on her windowsill, her favorite spot to repose and read. “Ah, my sisters are always asking me to buy these for them.”
Her cheeks warmed, for it was a gothic romance. “You have sisters?”
“Hmm, two delightful hellions,” he said rather fondly. “Is it safe for me to purchase a copy and send to them?”
Maryann cleared her throat delicately. “There is an extremely passionate kiss somewhere in there. Are they old enough to read about that?”
His lips twitched briefly. “They would cry and whine and tell me they are, but clearly they are not.”
They stared at each other, and Maryann did her best to remain unflappable. The entire situation was so unusual. “How old are they, your sisters?”
“Thirteen. They are twins. A late surprise for my parents.”
The echoes of affection lingered in his tone and rendered him so much more approachable.
“Have you not satisfied yourself that I am safe and nothing odd happened?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you are still here in my chamber.”
“As soon as I borrow a book, I shall leave. You have an eclectic reading taste. It is impressive.”
Maryann felt the warm admiration of his tone all the way to the pit of her stomach. “What…what do you like to read?”
“Why do you sound so surprised that I do?”
She lifted a shoulder in an inelegant shrug. “Well, you are supposed to be a rake.”
“Ah, and we are creatures who cannot read?”
“Hmm, too busy with debauchery. Wherever would you find the time or the inclination?”
His wry chuckle quickened her pulse. They were reaching quite another level of intimacy with their conversation.
“I like William Wordsworth and E. T. A. Hoffmann. I’ve never told anyone that before, so guard the knowledge with your life.” Slipping her gothic romance book into his pocket, he said, “I will borrow this book and read it for myself. You are blushing so delightfully, that means I made the right choice.”
Maryann rolled her eyes. “If that is your desire, am I able to stop you?”
His slow smile made her heart beat suddenly faster, for he surveyed her with disturbing intensity with those brilliant eyes. “No, I suppose you cannot, but I would not take it without your permission.”
“Are we still talking about the book?” she murmured.
His eyes darkened. The marquess seemed riveted. Unexpectedly he stood, bowed, and shoved open her window and went through it. A breath escaped Maryann in a rush. Her heart raced in earnest. Would he truly visit her often to ascertain she was safe? She really did not know what to make of him, but a keen awareness lingered that he excited her unbearably.
…
Visit three was the very next day. This time he traveled with a card pack and invited her to play piquet with him. When she bemusedly said she did not know how, he lowered himself to the carpet by the sofa and with an enigmatic wave of his hand invited her to sit. Maryann toed off her slippers and joined him.
“Why are you here again?” she demanded, despite anticipating his presence. Oh, why do I like you so?
“I told you the consequences of linking our names together.”
“So, this is you checking in on my safety?”
“Most assuredly.”
“I do not believe you.”
“Then why do you think I came?”
She arched a brow. “For my charming company, of course.”
Something wary flashed in his gaze, as if she had hinted at a truth yet not acknowledged by him. Her heart stuttered, and she remained silent for a long time.
Maryann wondered if he was lonely, then felt bewildered by her supposition. At the balls she’d seen the marquess at, he was always surrounded by a bevy of lady admirers. Even the young bucks seemed like they desired to emulate the marquess. But perhaps he had no genuine friendship with his admirers?
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, staring at her too intently.
“Exactly how I am going to talk about you in my diary.”