Page 4 of Marquess of Stone (Braving the Elements #2)

CHAPTER 4

“ L ord Stone!” A whisper of words came from the corridor, barely audible above the gentle crackle of the dying fire within Lord Stone’s chambers. He cocked his head, thinking for a moment that he had imagined it.

“Yes?” It had almost sounded like Lady Marian, but it could not be. Ladies of noble breeding did not venture through darkened corridors at night, did not seek private audiences with unmarried gentlemen, and most certainly did not knock upon their bedchamber doors.

“Please open up, My Lord.” Lord Stone had been lounging in his chair, a volume of poetry forgotten in his lap as he contemplated the amber depths of his brandy. Like the first drink of a particularly good vintage, the unexpected sound of her voice pleasantly surprised him.

He could hear her clearly now, her trembling tone awakening something deep inside his chest. “Has Lady Marian come to haunt me already?” His low, silky voice filled the silence. Rising with calculated slowness, he headed for the door. His evening shirt hung free and untucked, his cravat long since thrown aside, his dark hair rakishly messy. He glanced at himself as he passed the mirror that captured his reflection. He cracked the door open, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth as a sliver of firelight poured down the shadowy corridor.

The scent of her reached him first — honeysuckle and night-blooming jasmine mixed with something uniquely Marian. He opened the door wider, drinking in the sight of her. She stood in the shadows, her midnight blue shawl pulled tight around her slender frame, her hair falling loose in tantalizing waves about her shoulders. Her breath came in uneven bursts, and for a fleeting moment, she looked as though she might either faint or bolt.

The vulnerability in her expression sent a surge of protective instinct through him that he almost did not recognize, but it was quickly tempered by the mischievous urge to tease.

“I… I should not be here,” she whispered.

“And yet,” Lord Stone replied, “here we both are. Strange is it not, how lines we would not dare cross in the light of day seem to vanish in the dark of night?”

Marian’s eyes widened, and whatever she was planning on saying died in her throat as she took in his state of undress. The exposed column of his throat, the glimpse of chest hair visible where his shirt lay open — her eyes stared blankly for a moment before she quickly averted them, a becoming flush spreading across her cheeks. Whatever boldness had carried her to his door seemed to evaporate like morning mist before the sun.

“Lady Marian,” he drawled, letting his voice drop to a low, intimate register, “to what do I owe the pleasure of such a late-night visit?” The words carried subtle challenge, reminding them both of the impropriety of the moment.

Lord Stone watched with undisguised satisfaction as her gaze flickered down to his exposed chest before snapping back to his face. The way she fought against her own reaction to his undressed state was endlessly entertaining to him. The moonlight filtering in through the tall window caught the pulse fluttering at her throat betraying her composure.

“I… I could not sleep,” Marian stammered, her fingers twisting the fabric of her shawl. The fine silk whispered with each movement, a sound that seemed deafening in the midnightly quiet. Her confidence, so carefully gathered just a moment before, crumbled beneath his knowing gaze.

“Could not sleep, or could not stop thinking about me?” He couldn’t resist the urge to provoke her, leaning casually against the doorframe and folding his arms across his chest. The movement drew her eyes once more, and he suppressed a grin of triumph. The game between them was as delicate as a chess match, each move calculated to draw out the other’s true intentions.

Marian’s spine stiffened, pride warring with embarrassment. “Do not flatter yourself, My Lord. I merely needed to speak with you.” The steel in her voice would have done credit to a general marshaling his troops though the effect was somewhat undermined by the way her fingers continued to worry at her shawl’s ties.

“By all means, come in.” Lord Stone stepped aside with an exaggerated bow, one that would have earned him a sharp rebuke from his etiquette master. “Let us not keep the ghosts of the hallways entertained with our conversation.” The jest carried an edge of truth — servants’ gossip could destroy a reputation faster than any scandal sheet.

“This is… inappropriate,” Marian muttered though she took one step closer to the threshold.

“Very much so,” Lord Stone agreed. Marian hesitated for a heartbeat before slipping past him into his chamber, bringing with her that intoxicating blend of floral sweetness and nervous energy. He closed the door with a soft click, savoring the intimacy of the moment — Marian Brandon, the most proper young lady in London society — with a reputation that spoke of defiance to boot — standing in his bedchamber in the dead of night. The mere fact of her presence here could ruin her, and they both knew it. The knowledge hung between them like incense, heavy and intoxicating.

The firelight played across her features, casting dancing shadows that softened her usual sharp edges. She looked lost, uncertain where to place herself in this unfamiliar territory. Every social convention they’d been raised with screamed against this moment, yet here they stood, treading the dangerous ground between propriety and desire. There was something unguarded about her tonight — something real.

“You did not expect me to come, did you?” she asked, her voice carrying a forced note of confidence that reminded him of debutantes at their first ball, trying desperately to appear worldly.

Lord Stone moved to the sideboard where his brandy decanter waited, using the familiar ritual of pouring a drink to give her time to collect herself. “Truthfully? No.” he admitted, taking a measured sip. “But I am glad you did.” He lifted a second glass in silent offer, unsurprised when she shook her head — accepting spirits in a gentleman’s private chamber would be beyond comprehension, even given their current situation.

“I really shouldn’t be here,” she said suddenly, turning back toward the door.

Lord Stone moved quickly, not wanting her to leave yet. He stepped into her path but stopped just short of touching her. “Now, now,” he said gently, “you have already risked reputation by coming here, Lady Marian. How about you tell me why you came to make it worth it.”

She glared at him, and the sight made his heart clench. She was at her most beautiful — he thought — when she was angry.

“You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely so,” he admitted, his smirk widening. Still, my curiosity greatly exceeds my amusement.” He examined her over the rim of his glass then took a sip from it and relished in how the liquor warmed his chest. Every line of her body indicated conflict, speaking of internal battle. Watching her struggle with whatever had pushed her to his door at this hour was amazing.

“What then might be so urgent that it cannot wait until morning?” Though curiosity boiled beneath the surface, Lord Stone maintained a casual tone.

Marian twisted her shawl, the firelight catching the fine lines of the delicate silk. “It is… well, it is about… my list.”

“Ah, the renowned list.” He couldn’t help but smile, remembering the carefully penned items he’d glimpsed earlier — a catalogue of desires that would scandalize the ton if ever discovered. Setting his glass aside, he moved forward, attracted by the blend of doubt and will in her expression. “What of it?” he asked innocuously.

“You have read it,” Marian remarked strongly, narrowing her eyes.

“I think we already have my guilt in the matter established,” he agreed readily, moving closer still, Lord Stone let his voice drop to an intimate murmur.

Her glare could have melted ice, but instead, it melted something within him that he was not ready to face. “You are most insufferable, My Lord.”

“So, I have been told,” he said with a faint shrug, “but if it makes you feel any better, I found your list most inspiring.”

“Inspiring?” she repeated, her tone laced with incredulity.

Lord Stone stepped closer, careful to keep his movements unthreatening and within the bounds of what little remained of propriety. “It is clear that you gave a fair amount of thought to the contents of your list,” he explained, his voice softening. “Each line speaks to a part of you that wants more than what society has dictated you are allowed to have. I cannot fault you for that; no one can.”

Marian’s eyes strayed and her rage wavered beneath the weight of his words. She seemed younger, more insecure than she had moments before, and it pulled at something vulnerable deep inside Lord Stone. The flush that swept over her cheeks was sufficient to color her skin the same hue as the rising sun.

“I do wonder… regarding the section where you crossed out ‘Have a romantic moment with a stranger.’ Would that be referring to our delightful experience at the inn?” His voice was low.

She snapped, “A rather bold assumption to make, even for one as confident as yourself, My Lord.” Yet her voice shook. She waved her hand in the air, the parchment fluttering between them, each sound a reminder of forbidden wishes dedicated in script. Her initial doubt had seemingly disappeared, replaced by a spark of fire he so admired.

“Pity. I have to admit, I quite enjoyed our first meeting by the inn.” He chuckled.

She exhaled with frustration, her composure breaking. “You certainly are exceedingly impossible.”

Rich and real, a chuckle burst out of his chest. “Lady Marian, you arrived at my chamber in the middle of the night. Surely you anticipated modest curiosity.” The grandfather clock in the corner recorded the seconds between them, each click serving as a reminder of how far they had deviated from appropriate behavior.

Her glare could have melted steel, but he found it utterly charming. The fire in her eyes spoke of a spirit too vast to be contained by the rigid constraints of society. “I expected a conversation, not an interrogation.”

“Then perhaps,” Lord Stone offered, his voice carrying a dangerous edge of suggestion, “there might be a way I might repay my debt to you?” He watched the impact of his words register in her widening eyes, in the slight parting of her lips. “The offer I presented still stands… I could help you cross one or two items off that fascinating list of yours.”

“You are toying with me, My Lord,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I truly want to be of assistance.”

The suggestion hung in the air between them, heavy with possibility. Lord Stone watched as understanding dawned in her eyes, followed swiftly by a combination of anticipation and alarm that sent color flooding to her cheeks. He approached her slowly, each step measured, deliberate, until she retreated slightly, her back meeting the solid wood of his armoire with a soft thud.

“K… Kiss someone?” The words fell from her lips like drops of honey, sweet and golden in the firelit room. The admission itself was shocking — no well-bred lady should speak of such things, yet here they were, dancing on the knife’s edge between scandal and salvation.

Lord Stone moved closer still, placing his hand on the armoire beside her head, effectively caging her without actually touching her. The heat radiating from her body was intoxicating, more potent than the brandy he’d abandoned. Her breath caught audibly as she leaned in, close enough that he could see the golden flecks in her eyes and count each dark lash that fluttered against her cheeks as they closed in anticipation.

But Lord Stone had other plans.

With practiced ease, he reached behind her, retrieving the leather-bound volume he’d deliberately placed there earlier. Her eyes flew open at the sound of his movement, confusion warring with embarrassment as he withdrew. Triumph mixed with something darker as he held up Mary Wollstonecraft’s controversial work.

“I rather thought this would be a good place to start,” he said nonchalantly, savoring her look of bewilderment. The flush on her cheeks deepened to a dark cherry, but as her gaze fell upon the book’s title, embarrassment gave way to genuine excitement.

“You… are you playing with me? I have been dying to get my hands on this! But no library would carry it and…” The breathless quality of her voice had nothing to do with their prior proximity and everything to do with the forbidden text before her.

“And no proper young lady should be seen seeking it out,” he finished for her, his tone devoid of any judgement. Lord Stone’s laugh was genuine this time, rich with appreciation for her quick mind. “I have to admit, I bought it out of sheer curiosity. Thought it might interest you, Lady Marian, though, I must admit, I rather enjoyed the first few chapters myself.”

He watched as she nearly reached for it then caught herself — even in this moment of enthusiasm, propriety’s chains held fast. The way her fingers brushed against his as she finally took the book sent a spark of awareness through his skin. Her earlier embarrassment transformed into genuine curiosity, intellectual hunger overtaking social consciousness. “You have read it?”

“Would you believe me if I said I found it enlightening?” Lord Stone let his usual mask slip just slightly, showing her a glimpse of the man beneath the rakish facade.

Marian’s eyes widened at this revelation. He could have bet on the reason being that she saw him, perhaps for the first time, as something more than the ton’s most notorious heartbreaker.

“I can find another copy to occupy my time,” he offered, watching her carefully. “Consider this part of my repayment.”

Marian clutched the book to her chest, her fingers pressing against the leather. “Why this?” she asked, her voice softer now. “Why give me this book?”

“Because,” Lord Stone said, tilting his head as he studied her intently, “I suspect you will understand it far better than I ever could.”

The surprise in Marian’s expression caught him off guard. She looked at him then — really looked at him — and not with the usual irritation and defiance but with something softer, more certain. The notion made his heart skip a beat.

“You could have kept this to yourself,” she said quietly.

“I could have,” Lord Stone agreed, “but where is the fun in that?”

“Thank you, My Lord. I shall return it to you —”

“There is no need,” he said, his smile genuine. “It is yours. Consider it a gift.”

Her brow furrowed, her fingers tightening around the book once more. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“You are most welcome, Lady Marian,” he said lightly. “But if you truly want to thank me, you can allow me to assist you with your list,” he pressed gently.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she fixed him with a look that sent a jolt of anticipation through his chest. “All right, Lord Stone. But if we are going to do this, it has to be on my terms.”

“Your terms?” The words tasted like possibility on his tongue. “Do tell.”

Marian’s chin lifted, pride and determination radiating from her like heat from the dying fire.

“With your most gracious assistance, we shall cross items off the list, but it must be discreet. No one can know, and it cannot lead to scandal. And most importantly,” her eyes narrowed slightly, “I have no intention of ending up married — to anyone and certainly not to you, Lord Stone.”

His laughter burst forth, unbidden and genuine. “You wound me, Lady Marian. But I agree. No scandal, no marriage. Just two people helping each other out.”

“And how precisely am I helping you , My Lord?”

“By giving me something to do that is far more enjoyable and important than rehearsed conversations and stuffy dances, Marian.”

Her eyes widened at his use of her Christian name, and the fire quickly returned to her cheeks.

“Ah, come now,” he said, “if we are to do this, I suffice it safe to say that we can, at the very least, call one another by our given names. Do you not agree?”

Marian opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She considered his words for a moment, seemingly willing herself to regain composure. “Very well then… Nicholas,” she said softly. The sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver through him that he did not anticipate.

Nicholas extended his arm to her then, and after a heartbeat’s hesitation, she placed her hand on his. The contact, though proper in form, sent a surge of awareness through him that he carefully masked behind his usual smirk. Marian’s hand lingered perhaps a moment too long, the touch burning. She clutched the book against her chest again, her gaze flickering toward the door. “I should leave.”

Nicholas arched a brow. “So soon? I was just starting to enjoy your company.”

Her blush returned though she quickly turned to mask it. “I am certain you can manage to find someone else to bother, Nicholas.” While her tone was cold, the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips betrayed her.

“True, but none of them are nearly as interesting as you,” he said, his tone light, but tinged with truth. “Good night, Marian.”

“Good night, Nicholas,” she replied firmly.

As Marian slipped from his chamber moments later, Nicholas remained by the fire, watching the dying embers and thinking of the way the moonlight had caught in her hair. Their pact hung in the air like smoke — intangible but impossible to ignore. He lifted his abandoned brandy glass, studying the way the light played through the amber liquid. A smile curved his lips as he contemplated the possibilities that lay ahead.

Marian Brandon was a puzzle — one he had every intention of solving.

She was certainly stubborn, fiery, and infuriatingly determined to keep him at arm’s length. But somewhere beneath that, there was an innocence that she couldn’t quite conceal — a desire to live, to experience, to break free from the constraints that society had placed upon her.

Nicholas moved across the room, pouring himself another brandy as his thoughts swirled. He stared into the embers in the hearth as her face drifted within his mind. Their agreement could turn out to be rather interesting to say the least.