Page 22 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke

Still, sleep wouldn’t come.

So, she threw the blankets off her and donned a robe over her nightgown. It was not wise, but perhaps necessary for her mental state. She crept down the stairs and managed to slip out the side door—the same one she and Victoria used to escape earlier.

It was chilly. Still, it was worth it with the sight of moonlight casting a hypnotic glow over the gardens. The pond was especially magical, calling her to sit by its edge.

She removed her slippers and dipped her feet into the water. She sighed. The water was cold, but the biting effect slowly dissipated into something more comforting.

“Oh, wait until I tell Wilhelmina about this,” she murmured.

Marianne tilted her head and gazed at the moon and the generous sprinkling of stars around it.

Beautiful.

“Lady Moon, I have not gone mad yet. Soon, perhaps, but not tonight,” she said.

Then, she heard it. It was subtle but certainly there. Earlier, there was no sound save for her voice. Even the animals were silent in the peaceful night.

There it was again. A door creaked open and was now being closed. She turned slightly to her right, but there was nobody there.

Is it a restless servant?

“Haven’t you learned that predators lurk where it’s quiet, little doe?”

The deep, slightly teasing voice was unmistakable. It washim. And because it was him, Marianne knew that his words carried more than just amusement—they held a barely veiled warning.

When she twisted around, she found him standing there, stepping into the moonlight, his shirt only half-buttoned. The sight of him was enough to make her breath catch.

Her gaze involuntarily traced the hard lines of his chest and stomach, following the curve of his waist down to where his breeches hung low on his hips. She should not be looking at him like this—it was entirely inappropriate. But her mind had no power over her eyes, which refused to look away.

His hair was tousled, as if he’d been in bed, only to change his mind and come out for a walk. It was an image that felt oddly familiar, even strangely intimate.

Marianne tried to focus on the cold water swirling around her ankles, but the effort to distract herself only made the heat spreading through her cheeks more apparent.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Your Grace?” she asked as coolly as possible. She swallowed hard as she rose to her feet.

He didn’t answer then. Instead, he walked toward her with a sense of purpose, his muscles rippling as he moved. He reminded her of a predator stalking its prey, of a panther about to attack. She could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck as he stopped mere inches away from her.

“I could say the same about you,” he murmured. “You must have a good reason if you’re willing to endanger your reputation for a walk without a chaperone.”

He was right. So, she needed to return to bed before anyone noticed that she wasn’t there at all.

But he blocked her path.

“Let me pass. I need to go back to my room,” she told him.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “What bothers you? Is it the business with your cat?”

“That is none of your business, Your Grace,” she replied, folding her arms over her chest.

“It must be the cat then. Or the stag,” he said with a smirk.

“Let me pass,” she repeated, losing her patience.

He didn’t seem ready to let her go. With a deliberate step forward, he blocked her path again, his tall, broad frame effortlessly filling the space between them. The proximity of him, the warmth radiating from him in the cool night air, made it difficult for her to think clearly.

“Do you enjoy being this infuriating?” she groaned.

“Think about what I felt when you threw yourself in front of my target, little doe,” he murmured.