Page 12 of Marquess of Stone (Braving the Elements #2)

CHAPTER 12

“ W ell?” her father’s voice cut through the silence like a poorly wielded razor. “Have you got nothing to say in your own defense?”

Marian lifted her chin, meeting her father’s gaze with what little dignity she could muster. “Would it matter at all if I did, Father?”

“Marian.” Her mother’s voice held that particular note of desperation that made Marian’s chest ache. “Surely you can see that your behavior —”

“My behavior?” The laugh that escaped her held no trace of humor whatsoever. “And what of the Viscount’s behavior? His threats toward me, and the rest of this family? What of his unwanted advances I was forced to endure?”

“Threats?” Her father’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “The Viscount’s letter suggests quite a different scenario.”

“He is lying!” Marian said, the words emerging with a quiet intensity. “Each and every word is a carefully constructed falsehood designed to protect only himself while utterly destroying my reputation.”

“And why,” her father demanded, “should he have any wish to destroy your reputation? What possible motivation could a peer of the realm have for such actions?”

Because I outright rejected him, Marian thought. Because I dared to have opinions. To speak my mind. To exist as more than a decorative ornament for his clearly fragile ego. Because he saw me with Nicholas and decided that if he could not succeed in possessing me, he would do all he could to ensure that no one else would want to.

“Your silence, Marian,” her mother said softly, “rather speaks for itself, does it not?”

“Does it?” Marian’s voice emerged sharper than she had intended. “Just as your own silence spoke volumes when I was a child? When you watched society slowly crush every spark of independence from my sisters and myself, all in the name of propriety?”

“Marian!” Her father’s warning tone might have once cowed her, but now, she found she had nothing left to lose, and a combination of anger, indignation, and courage surged through her.

“No,” she continued, rising from her chair. “You truly wish me to speak in my defense? Very well. I reject the Viscount’s version of events entirely. I reject his implied offer of marriage if he truly deigned to make it. And I woefully reject the notion that my reputation should rest entirely on the word of a man who thinks women should be seen and not heard.”

“You cannot simply reject reality,” her mother protested. “Society —”

“Society,” Marian cut in, “has already condemned me, has it not? The whispers will have started, and surely the rumors will be flying soon. By noon, every drawing room in London will be discussing my fall from grace. So, tell me, Mama, what exactly am I meant to defend myself against?”

“Very well,” Lord Drownshire said finally, his voice carrying the full weight of his judgment. “If you insist on maintaining this… attitude, you leave us no choice. You will depart for Bath in four days’ time. Your Aunt Margaret has already been informed of the situation.”

The pronouncement should have felt like a death sentence. Instead, Marian felt an odd sense of calm settle over her. “As you wish.”

“Marian, please,” her mother tried one last time. “If you would only bring yourself to show some remorse… some understanding of the gravity of —”

“The only thing I understand,” Marian replied, moving toward the door, “is that the truth matters far less in appearance and that a woman’s words count for nothing against a man’s accusations.”

“You know, I always thought the worst fate would be ending up like Aunt Margaret — unmarried, dependent, locked away from society’s prying eyes. How strange I find it to discover that the true tragedy is not spinsterhood after all… but rather the fact that I am expected to apologize for being the victim of someone else’s cruelty. Even more so, that it is expected from those closest to my heart. I would have thought you knew me better and had more faith in my words.”

The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow carried more finality than any slam could have achieved. In the corridor, she pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape her.

She had exactly ninety-six hours until her exile began. Ninety-six hours to pack away not only her personal belongings but every dream, every wish, every hope she had ever harbored about controlling her own destiny.

A soft knock interrupted her melancholy inventory. “Enter,” she called, expecting her maid with more packing materials.

Instead, Jane slipped into the room, closing the door with conspiratorial care. “I have brought news,” she announced without preamble, her eyes bright with barely contained fury. “The Viscount has been spreading his version of events with enthusiastic care, ensuring that it has been heard in every drawing room in London.

“How unsurprising,” Marian replied while carefully folding a muslin gown she had worn just days ago at the house party. Had it really only been days? It felt like centuries had passed since she had been that silly girl who thought she could taste freedom without any consequences.

“That is not all,” Jane said as she perched on the edge of the bed, her expression unusually serious. “Diana overheard him speaking with Lord Colborne outside White’s club. He was… boasting about putting you in your place once and for all. It seems he had quite a bit to say about teaching you the consequences of rejection.”

Something cold settled in Marian’s stomach. “Did anyone else hear?”

“That is just it.” Jane’s frustration was palpable. “Several gentlemen were present, but none seemed inclined to challenge him. After all,” her voice took on a bitter edge, “what is one reputation against the word of a Viscount?”

Marian set down the gown she had been folding, her hands suddenly unsteady. “And… do you know if perhaps… Lord Stone was among them?”

Jane’s expression softened with sympathy. “No. According to the gossip we could ascertain from the staff — you know how they always seem to know everything — he has not been seen in London since the night of the ball. He apparently returned directly to his estate in Derbyshire.”

Of course, he had. Why would he stay? What was her ruination to him, after all? Just another item crossed off her foolish list — though perhaps not in the way either of them had intended.

“Marian,” Jane’s voice carried an unusual note of hesitation, “there is something else. Something Diana and I have been discussing…”

“Oh?” Marian raised an eyebrow at her sister, recognizing the tone she was using. It was the very same one she usually used when she was about to propose something scandalous.

“What if… you did not go to Bath?”

“I hardly think I have any choice in the matter, Jane.”

“But what if you did?” Jane leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with that particular brand of rebellion that had always gotten them into trouble as children. Marian’s heart clenched at the sight — it had been years since she had seen her sister like this. “What if,” Jane continued, “instead of accepting exile like a proper penitent, you fought back?”

“I do not think you have any idea of what precisely you are suggesting.”

“What do you mean?”

Marian stared at her sister for a moment. “Fight back? Against what exactly? Society itself? Against the Viscount’s influence? Against our parents’ decision?”

“Against all of it.” Jane declared with the fierce certainty of youth. “Think about it Marian — you are already ruined in society’s eyes. What more could they truly do to you?”

“They can ruin you and Diana as well,” Marian pointed out. “They can-”

A commotion from downstairs interrupted her protest. Raised voices carried through the floorboards, followed by the distinctive sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs.

“Lady Marian!” Their butler’s voice carried an unusual note of urgency, making him sound almost mouse-like. “Your presence is required immediately in the drawing room.”

Jane shot her a questioning glance. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“Who on earth would dare to call on a fallen woman?” Marian replied with bitter humor. But curiosity — that same dangerous trait that had led her into this mess — propelled her toward the door.

As she approached, she could hear her mother’s voice, pitched higher than usual — a sign of agitation.

“This is most irregular. Surely you must see that propriety demands —”

“Propriety?” A familiar voice stopped her in her tracks as it cut through her mother’s protests like a samurai blade struck through silk. “I think we are well beyond the concerns of propriety, do you not agree?”

Marian’s heart threatened to burst right out of her chest. There, standing in her family’s drawing room like an avenging angel in an immaculately tailored evening suit, stood Nicholas Grant, Marquess of Stone. His usual elegant appearance was somewhat disheveled, as if he had ridden hard and fast to reach London. His cravat was slightly askew, and his boots bore evidence of hard travel. And his expression…

His expression made her breath catch audibly.

“Lady Marian,” he said, turning to face her with dangerous grace, “I believe we have an urgent matter to discuss.”

“Do we indeed, My Lord?” She was proud of how steady her voice emerged, despite the trembling of her hands. “I rather thought you had said everything necessary through your continued silence.”

“Ah.” His smile held no humor, “but that is where you are wrong. You see, I have just come from having a rather… enlightening conversation with our mutual acquaintance, the Viscount Crowton.”

Something in his tone made her mother gasp and her father step forward protectively. But Marian found herself moving closer, closing the empty space that stretched between them, somehow drawn by the barely contained fury in his eyes.

“And, what,” she asked carefully, “did this conversation entail?”

“A great many things,” Nicholas replied, his casual tone at odds with the tension radiating from his sturdy frame. “But most notably, a complete retraction of his previous statements — which he will be announcing publicly tomorrow morning at White’s.”

“Will he indeed?” Marian’s voice emerged barely above a whisper. “How… accommodating of him.”

“Yes, well…” Nicholas’s smile turned predatory. “… it is rather remarkable how accommodating a man can be when presented with certain… evidence of his own indiscretions.”

He took a single step closer, and Marian suddenly became acutely aware that they had an audience. But somehow, none of them seemed to matter as much as the look in Nicholas’s eyes.

“Of course,” he continued softly, “this still leaves us with a rather different problem to address.”

“Does it?”

“Indeed.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a familiar object — her list, slightly crumpled by now but still unmistakable. “You see, I believe we may have left some items… unfinished.”

Marian’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze fixed itself on the tattered parchment in Nicholas’s hand, realizing that she must have dropped it in his chambers when they had kissed. That simple list — her private wishes and desires — had somehow become the very thread that had bound their fates together, for better or worse.

“Unfinished?” she managed though her mouth had gone dry. She was acutely aware of her parents’ bewildered expressions, but she kept her eyes on Nicholas.

“Indeed.” His voice lowered to an intimate murmur that sent a treacherous warmth through her, despite everything that had happened. “Though I believe we have made admirable progress.”

Lord Silas Brandon cleared his throat with all the subtlety of a cannon blast. “Lord Stone, while I am appreciative of your… intervention regarding the Viscount, I am afraid I fail to see what business remains unsettled between you and my daughter.”

Nicholas turned toward her father with the calm confidence of a man who had faced down more intimidating opponents. “With respect, My Lord, that is precisely what I have come to address if you would simply afford me the opportunity to do so.” His tone brooked no argument yet remained respectful.

Jane, who had still been lingering by the doorway, made no attempt to hide her delighted interest in the unfolding drama. Diana had now also appeared and stood next to her sister, wide-eyed and clutching a book to her chest as if it might serve as a shield from the crackling tension that was surging through the drawing room.

“Perhaps,” Lady Prudence suggested, her voice brittle with forced politeness, “we should allow Lord Stone and Marian a moment of privacy to discuss whatever… unresolved matters remain between them.”

“Absolutely out of the question.” Lord Silas countered. “Especially after recent events, I hardly think it to be —”

“Father,” Marian interrupted, summoning every single ounce of determination she possessed, “I believe I am already thoroughly ruined — at least in society’s eyes. A private conversation with Lord Stone can hardly worsen my situation.”

Her mother’s sharp intake of breath suggested otherwise, but Nicholas’ appreciative smile gave her the courage to stand her ground.

“Ten minutes,” her father conceded finally. “In this room. And the door shall remain open.”

“How generous of you, My Lord,” Nicholas remarked dryly though his eyes never left Marian’s face.

With visible reluctance, her parents withdrew to the hallway, positioning themselves where they could observe but not easily overhear.

“You abandoned me,” Marian said simply, once they were relatively alone, the accusation escaping before she could attempt to temper it with dignity. “When the scandal broke, you simply vanished.”

“Is that truly what you believe?” Nicholas took a step closer, now close enough that she could detect the faintest scent of his cologne mingled with the earthier notes of hard travel. “That I simply… abandoned you to your fate?”

“The facts speak for themselves, My Lord. What other conclusions did you think I would draw?” She gestured toward the list he still held. “Our arrangement had reached its conclusion, had it not? You helped me check off my little adventures and then —”

“Then I rode like a madman to gather evidence against Crowton,” Nicholas interrupted, his voice low and intense. “I have spent three days with barely any sleep, tracking down every single person who had ever fallen victim to his… manipulations. Every servant he had mistreated, every debt he had refused to honor…”

Marian stared at him, struggling to reconcile this revelation with the narrative she had constructed in his absence.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why go to such lengths for someone who was little more than a project to distract yourself with?”

Something flickered across his handsome face — vulnerability, perhaps, or a deeper emotion she dared not put into words. “Because I made you a promise.”

“Is that all this is to you? The settling of a debt?”

His hand reached for hers, hesitated, then closed the distance. His fingers were warm against her skin, and despite everything, she could not bring herself to pull away.

“No,” he said simply. “It is more than that.”

From the hallway, her father cleared his throat pointedly. “Five minutes remaining.”

Nicholas glanced toward the interruption with barely concealed frustration before returning his attention to Marian. “I do not have the time to say everything that needs to be said, so I must instead ask you to trust me, perhaps one last time.”

“Trust you?” The words felt foreign on her tongue, too fragile to hold the weight of everything that had transpired between them.

“Yes.” His thumb traced a gentle circle against her palm. “Enough to meet me tomorrow at noon in the park near the old oak tree.”

Marian knew she should refuse. This man had turned her orderly world upside down, had introduced her to feelings and experiences that had ultimately led to her current predicament.

And yet…

“Why should I?”

Nicholas unfolded her list with deliberate care, his eyes never leaving hers. At the bottom, beneath the last crossed out item, he had added something in his own elegant handwriting.

Marian leaned forward to read it, her heart stuttering as the words came into focus.

“Time is up.” Her father announced from the doorway, stepping back into the room with decisive authority. “Lord Stone, I believe you have had sufficient opportunity to —”

But Nicholas was already moving toward the door, pausing only to press the list into Marian’s trembling hands. “Tomorrow. Noon,” he murmured, just loud enough for her ears alone. “If you want to know the bare truth of it.”

As he bowed formally to her parents and took his leave. Marian unfolded the crumpled paper fully, her eyes fixed on the new addition at the bottom of her list.

The final item, written in Nicholas’s familiar hand, made her breath seize entirely:

7. Trust a Marquess with your heart.

“What did he say to you?” Jane demanded as she bobbed into the room, rushing to her sister’s side the moment Nicholas had departed. “Marian? You are as pale as a ghost!”

But Marian could not bring herself to answer. She could not tear her gaze from those six simple yet impossible words. Because beneath them, in smaller script, was a postscript that changed everything:

… and learn the reason I truly helped with your list.