“Your diary?” This seemed to surprised him.
“Of course,” she drawled. “Most ladies do have one. It is a place where we are allowed to express ourselves freely, you know.”
A glint entered his eyes, one of relish perhaps. “I wonder what secret longings are on those pages.”
“None you’ll ever be privy to,” she said pertly, fighting a blush, for she had wondered on those pages what it would be like to have the attentions of this dratted rake.
He leaned in slightly and gave her a decidedly wolfish yet sensual smile. “Is that a challenge, Lady Maryann?”
That outrageous, inexplicable desire to kiss him filled her once more.
Considerably shaken, she shifted away so he could not see her expression of want. “Are we to play piquet or not?”
Devilry danced in his eyes. “Let’s play.”
After almost an hour of the game, his stomach rumbled, and his sheepish smile made him seem so much more approachable, and not the dangerously mysterious stranger or charming rake who made her pulse trip with alarm.
Maryann rang for a maidservant and asked for a tray of leftovers from their dinner, delicious slices of roast ham, beef, and asparagus in cream sauce, to be sent to her room on a tray. The maid might have thought it odd she had collected it in the hall but wisely made no comment. They sat there on the carpet, the tray to one side as they both ate from the array of delicacies and continued their game.
…
Visit four, Maryann pled a headache and did not attend Lady Gladstone’s soiree. After dinner, she raced up the stairs and flung her door open. Disappointment pressed in on her gut, for the marquess wasn’t in the chair by the window.
Maryann went over to her vanity, sat, and slowly unpinned her hair, intending to ring the bell for her lady maid. It was then she felt the profound power of his stare and whirled around to see him lounging on her bed.
“You are unpardonable,” she gasped.
“More like tired,” he replied, a twinkle in his eyes. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen today?”
A thrill went through her. “If you truly have someone watching me, Lord Rothbury, you know this already.” He hadn’t come to check on her safety; it was an excuse. And God help her, Maryann was almost afraid to wonder what it meant.
“Perhaps I missed you,” he said with lazy amusement.
Yet there was a most astonishing flush along his jawline. He shifted, casting himself perfectly in the shadows.
You are hiding from me.
She scoffed, even as her heart raced. “Do you know how outrageous it is for you to sneak into my room once more?”
“I was exceedingly careful.” He propped a pillow behind him and the headboard. “Why did you stop?”
She became aware her fingers were still frozen on a pin in her hair.
“I have never seen hair so beautiful. The dark russet fire of sunset.”
Maryann was silent for a few breaths. “It is brown,” she said, staring at him, an inexplicable feeling stirring inside.
“Let me see it unpinned.”
That provocative urging set her heart into an alarmed start.
“Absolutely not.” And for good measure Maryann repinned her tresses even tighter than before.
The man only smiled, stood, and stumbled slightly. It was then she noted the dark shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes. “How long have you been awake?”
“Since I last saw you.”
“I will allow you three hours of sleep.”
Now he faltered into stillness. “Here?”
“Yes.”
“Living dangerously, I see,” he drawled teasingly but tumbled into the bed. “I might need a bedtime story.” The marquess patted the mattress beside him. “I will not object if you wish to sleep as well.”
The scoundrel!
Maryann stood and plucked a book from the small pile on the table. “How apropos. The mating habits of sheep.”
He laughed, then a second later his deep breathing echoed in the room. She walked over and peered down at him, charmed at how boyishly handsome he appeared in sleep. Almost vulnerable.
No doubt he had spent a full day carousing and was deeply exhausted, but why had he still insisted on visiting her?
“I cannot pretend to understand what drives your interest in me,” she whispered in the stillness of the room.
Maryann eventually fell asleep on the sofa, but when she stirred some hours later, she was in her bed and the marquess gone.
…
A few days later, as she woke, Maryann sat before her small writing table and poured her emotions and thoughts onto the pages of her journal.
Dearest Diary,
I am beginning to wonder if it is possible to form a friendship with one of London’s most notorious rakes.
Maryann paused writing and closed her eyes. Friendship? Oh, what am I thinking?
The marquess has stolen into my chambers on five occasions. He never stays long, and I do not believe in the reason he gives for being so improper. Nor do I understand why I indulge his actions. And I do, for I increasingly look forward to his visits.
It has been a week since I last saw him, and my silly curiosity wonders why he has stopped visiting me. There are times I feel his stare from across a busy street but when I look, no one is there. I saw him once this week, on High Holborn, and I maintained a respectable distance, fearing all of society would see my fascination. Fearing he would see it. The marquess watched me discreetly, the curve to his lips provoking, and his gaze stroked against my skin, a delightful caress that I know is not real.
That man is unequivocally intrigued by my mouth.
I think perhaps that night he visited me, I woke to find my nightcap missing and my hair spread across my pillows. I should have been startled, but I was everything but. Instead I wondered how long he had stayed, wondered if he had watched me sleep as I had watched him, wondered if he too dreams of kissing me. Something unknown quivered through me, hot and startling. What are these feelings I cannot say, for I’ve never encountered them before, though they felt remarkably like how desire is supposed to be.
Maryann lowered the quill and closed her diary. Just thinking about the marquess made her entire body grow warm and flushed. Since that fateful night she had spread the rumors, Maryann hadn’t been to another ball. Her parents forbade it, hoping her absence would urge society to forget. To her regret, her parents were using their influence to squash all murmurings linking her name with the marquess. Tonight, she would be attending a ball, a test to see if they had successfully undone the damage she’d willfully casted upon her reputation.