“If he meant to act with honor, he would meet with your parents.”
“I…” The earl had somehow known she had escaped to the small parlor and had attempted to enter knowing she was alone without a chaperone. “I cannot fathom his intentions.”
The shadows made it hard to decipher his expression fully, but she suspected he stared at her with maddening deliberation. “A liberal experience with debauchery lets me know when another is set upon it. Be incredibly careful in his presence—take care to never be alone with him.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, perplexed by the warmth streaking through her veins.
“Were your parents successful in squashing our scandal?”
Our scandal. “They are trying rather fiercely.”
“Your reckless ploy failed.”
“I fear my father means to marry me to the earl at all cost. Papa gave me a few weeks more of freedom, but after that I am certain it is expected I will fall in line like a biddable daughter.”
“Will you?”
“I do not wish to hurt my parents, for I love them, but if Papa still insists I marry Stamford, I cannot do as he commands.”
“Ah, so you need to be wickeder?”
“You sound as if you approve.”
“Wholeheartedly.”
Her belly did a frightening flip. The devil!
“Perhaps you should start another scandal,” he murmured.
Maryann smiled. “I should, though I would most certainly be banished to the country immediately. That would make it harder for you to sneak into my rooms.”
“Ah, is that censure I hear for not visiting you for the past week, Lady Maryann? Why, I do believe you missed me.”
Before she could make a witty retort, he walked away without bidding her adieu. She stared wistfully after him, heart jerking when he stopped. Maryann waited in the shadows until he turned around. She should hurry away in the opposite direction—common sense had to prevail, and being here with him was inarguably reckless. Yet her feet remained rooted as if they had a will of their own.
He took a step closer to her but remained in the light cast from the lantern strung above him. “History shows us that real change is accepted after a rebellion. You have a bit of rebel in you; do not let others’ expectations stifle you. While it is expected a daughter should always obey her father, if you wish for that perception to change…”
“I suppose I must rebel,” she said, her tone rich with amusement.
Another step. “Your ferocity can be charming; I am sure you’ve been told.”
He so shocked Maryann, she laughed before covering her mouth. He thought her rebellious…and that was charming.
“Perhaps I might ask you to reserve a dance for me before going in to supper?”
A dance. “With you?” she asked, genuinely shocked…and thrilled.
His head dipped slightly, as if to hide the intensity of his expression. “Imagine the wicked scandal of that. Lord Stamford might call me out then and there.” His eyes were a piercing gold shadowed by rich, dark eyebrows, and this near, she could see the devilishness that lurked within. He touched the tip of her nose with a finger. “More biting discourse with you would also be a welcome diversion from the tedium of the evening.”
Maryann stared at him, trying to gather her scattered wits. To dance with this marquess would be inviting ruin in a manner that was most profound. And why would he even help her?
A welcome diversion. “Are you by chance amusing yourself with a flirtation, with me?”
Another step closer. “I see you find humor in the notion.”
Maryann had reached the age of practicality, and she no longer indulged in silly dreams. Yet peering up at him, barely able to discern his expression, she felt a surge of hunger so painful, she felt mortified. “I’ve never flirted with a gentleman before,” she said musingly, “but then you are no gentleman, are you?”
“No, I suppose not.”
A rake, a libertine, and a dangerous hellraiser—all the names she’d heard whispered about him. “I am not the sort of lady men of the ton flirt with, that I am certain you know.”
“I don’t,” he said a bit abruptly, before once more stepping into the shadows of the trees which hid them from any prying eyes. The marquess leaned into her—uncomfortably, yet thrillingly close. “I thought you were a blazing star that no gentleman has any notion what to do with.”
“Yes, the buffoons,” she murmured, startled at how provocative she sounded.
That finger gently trailed from her nose down to rest against her lips. “I know what to do with every inch of you, Lady Maryann.”
She was scandalized and a little bit frightened by the primal sensations stirring violently to life.
Violent delights have violent ends…
Maryann felt quite unequal to crossing wits with the marquess. She breathed in deeply, slowly, and exhaled on a long sigh. “You are very tempting,” she said huskily.
Their conversation had become remarkably intimate, and the air felt fraught with peril. She wondered at the madness of still being this close to him. Maryann understood right at that moment, being here with a man like Nicolas St. Ives, was her own choice of rebellion—against her parents, society, and even the cage of proper conduct she had placed herself. She was here because she liked him, more than she should ever allow. “I think it is best if I never dance with you, your lordship.”
But I am so very tempted.
A finger came up and lightly brushed at the curls of her temple. “I am wounded.”
A desperate flutter wormed its way through her heart. “You are dangerous.” This man was a threat to her virtue, her sensibilities, and her heart.
“Never to you,” he reassured, sounding earnest and bemused in the same breath. “Everyone else but you.”
Maryann couldn’t suppress the inexplicable yearning for impossible dreams that surged through her heart. She averted her eyes before saying, “As if I should be swayed by nonsensical flattery that was learned by rote by a man such as yourself.” But her silly heart shook at the fervent and impossible promise. “I daresay there are many other ladies who will be thrilled to be your amusement.”
He regarded her with an air of cynical amusement. “Acquit me from such a capricious intention,” he said, pressing a hand over his heart. “I am always terribly serious about seduction.”
The very air between them felt altered. Yet there was a vein of self-deprecation in his tone, as if he silently mocked himself. Maryann was alarmed at the ease at which they moved from flirtation to seduction.