Page 7 of Marquess of Stone (Braving the Elements #2)

CHAPTER 7

“ I will not be able to join the activities today, mother,” Marian announced at the breakfast table. “I fear I am developing a rather troublesome headache.” Her voice carried just the right note of delicate suffering as she pressed her fingertips to her temple. The morning light streaming in through the room’s tall windows caught the rim of her teacup, creating a golden halo that matched the honey-sweet tone of her deception.

Her mother paused mid-stretch, her knife and fork suspended like a conductor’s baton about to signal the start of an interrogation. “A headache? Before the day has even properly begun?” The words dripped with skepticism as thick as the cream coating Marian’s untouched scone.

“The heat from yesterday’s garden party, no doubt,” Marian murmured, pushing a piece of toast around her plate for effect. “It has left me rather exhausted, I’m afraid.” She punctuated this declaration with a small, perfectly timed wince that would have made any theater actress worth her salt proud.

Across the table, her sister, Jane, raised an eyebrow before disappearing behind her strategically raised teacup. The knowing gleam in her eyes spoke volumes though thankfully, she chose to remain silent — a rare mercy from one who usually delighted in exposing other’s schemes.

“If you are feeling that unwell, then perhaps you should go lie down,” Diana offered softly. Her words floated across the table like dandelion seeds, gentle, and without guile. “I can bring you back something from the village if you’d like?”

The genuine concern in Diana’s voice nearly made Marian reconsider her ruse. Nearly. But the thought of what awaited her beyond the confines of the manor steeled her resolve.

“That would be most kind of you,” Marian replied, carefully arranging her features into an expression of grateful suffering. “I would not wish to slow everyone down during the village excursion on route to the picnic.”

Lady Prudence resumed eating, her hands precise, her gaze sharp. “Very well,” she conceded, each syllable measured like ingredients in a precarious recipe. “But do ensure that you are well recovered by evening. Lydia’s gathering cannot be marred by… selective ailments.”

The slight emphasis on ‘selective’ did not escape Marian’s notice, but she merely nodded. “Of course, mother. I would not dream of disappointing Lydia.”

Setting her napkin aside with deliberate care, Marian rose from the table, her movements appropriately languid for one supposedly afflicted by a headache. She could feel Jane’s amused gaze following her retreat.

The moment the dining room door closed behind her, Marian’s steps quickened, her supposed exhaustion falling away in a matter of seconds. Her heart drummed in an excited rhythm against her ribs as she slipped through the house’s shadowy corridors, avoiding the bustling servants in preparation for the day’s excursion.

She headed to her bedroom, trying to be patient as she waited for the other guests to depart. At most, it was a little less than an hour that she sat, her foot tapping anxiously against the floorboards in anticipation, but to Marian, it felt like an eternity.

Her excitement exploded as she heard the carriages depart, and she watched with wide eyes and a wildly beating heart until the very last one had disappeared and silence had settled onto the estate. Then she swiftly grabbed the bundle of clothes that Nicholas had instructed her to bring and made her way back downstairs.

The morning air embraced her as she stepped outside.

“Good morning.” The velvety voice that came from her left carried both amusement and warmth. “I trust your… headache has improved?”

Marian turned her head to find Nicholas there. “Remarkably so,” she replied with sweetness. “Fresh air seems to do wonders for selective ailments.”

“Selective company can do the same,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You seem terribly certain of yourself,” she bit back, but her tone held only playfulness.

“Just one of my … flaws, I’m afraid. Though you must admit, it has served us well so far.”

The familiar scents that surrounded the stables — hay, leather, and horse — wrapped around her like a well-worn blanket as she slipped inside. Shafts of sunlight pierced the dusty air through cracks in the wood, creating golden columns that seemed to mark a path toward her destination. She inhaled sharply, committing the atmosphere to memory, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a sight that made her mouth feel dry. Leaning against a stall with the casual grace of a cat who had found the perfect sunbeam, stood her partner in crime, the Marquess of Stone — Nicholas Grant.

The morning light caught the angles of his face, highlighting cheekbones that could have been carved from marble and deep, dark blue eyes that held a dangerous glint of mischief. “Though, I must say, your performance at breakfast was rather… theatrical for a lady of noble birth.”

Marian instantly felt heat rising to her cheeks though whether from indignation or something else entirely, she could not quite say. “You saw that?”

“Hmmm.” His voice was low and smooth as velvet. The sound of it sent a titillating shiver up her spine. “I had the pleasure of witnessing it from the garden. The windows of the breakfast room provided a rather excellent view of your family’s morning dramatics.” His smile carried all the mischief of a schoolboy planning his next prank, despite his aristocratic bearing. “I particularly enjoyed the slight wince… truly a masterful touch.”

“If you are quite finished critiquing my acting abilities,” Marian said primly though she could not quite suppress the smile tugging at her lips, “then perhaps you might explain why the stables appear to me most conspicuously empty of stable hands?”

Nicholas’s grin widened, transforming his face from merely handsome to something altogether more dangerous. “Let’s just say I have… ensured our privacy.” He gestured toward two already saddled horses, their coats gleaming like polished chestnuts in the filtering light. “I thought we might take a ride. Unless, of course, your headache proves too debilitating?”

Marian lifted her chin, meeting his challenge with one of her own. “My ailments seem to be remarkably selective, Your Grace. Much like your own concern for propriety.”

“Propriety,” he scoffed, the word rolling off of his tongue like a splash of brandy — smooth but with a bite. “An invention designed to keep life dull, and spirits dampened.” He offered her his hand, but she deliberately ignored it, mounting her horse with practiced precision.

The morning had bloomed into the kind of day that seemed crafted for secret adventures with clouds playing hide-and-seek with the sun and a breeze that carried whispers of possibility. As they rode onwards, side by side, Marian could not help but notice how Nicholas sat atop his horse with the same casual elegance he applied to everything — as if the rules of proper form were mere suggestions to him rather than iron-clad dictates by society.

“You seem to be staring at me, Marian,” he remarked without turning his head though she could hear the smile in his voice. “I might even think you were cataloguing my faults,” he continued.

“I am merely observing your rather shocking disregard for proper riding posture,” she replied primly though her lips twitched traitorously.

Nicholas laughed, the sound rolling across the morning air like summer thunder. “And here I thought you might have been admiring my devilish good looks. How disappointing.”

“Your vanity hardly needs any encouragement from me, Your Grace,” she said playfully. “That would require far more time than our morning allows though your modesty — or lack thereof — certainly tops the list.”

“Ah, but modesty is merely pride’s polite cousin. I rather prefer utter honesty in all things.”

“All things? How shocking.”

“Only to those who fear truth more than propriety, dear Marian.”

The landscape changed as they ventured further from the house — carefully manicured gardens giving way to wild meadows where flowers grew in clusters, pure, untouched, rebellious. Rather like Nicholas himself , Marian thought. He seemed to defy every social convention and construct placed upon him with the same effortless grace.

The lake appeared before them like a secret finally revealed. Nicholas reined his horse to a stop at its edge, dismounting with fluid grace. Before Marian could protest, he was at her side, hands outstretched to assist her.

“I am perfectly capable —” she began, but his hands were already at her waist, the warmth of them seeping through her riding habit.

“Of course, you are,” he agreed, his voice low and amused as he set her on her feet. “But capability and acceptance of assistance aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.”

Marian stepped back, trying to ignore how her skin seemed to remember the pressure of his hands. “What exactly are we doing here?” she asked, her mind reeling with too many possibilities to make any real conclusion.

Instead of answering, he began removing his boots with decisive movements. His coat followed, draped carefully over a nearby branch. “Swimming,” he announced simply, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world.

“ Swimming ?” Marian’s voice rose an octave. “Have you lost your senses entirely?”

“Quite possibly,” he agreed cheerfully, rolling up his shirt’s sleeves to reveal robust forearms tanned beautifully by the sun. “Though I would argue that rigidly adhering to society’s arbitrary rules is a far more concerning form of madness, do you not think?”

Before she could utter a suitably scathing response, he had waded into the water, the lake accepting him as if they were old friends sharing a secret. “Come now, Marian,” he called over his shoulder. “Surely your supposed headache isn’t so severe as to prevent you from partaking in a little adventure?”

Marian stood at the water’s edge, propriety and desire waging war within her chest. The water did look stunning — cool and inviting, a perfect antidote to the growing warmth of the day. And yet…

“I cannot swim,” she admitted finally, the words falling from her lips like pebbles into still water.

“You… you wish to swim in a lake or ocean, but you cannot swim?” The surprise in his tone was genuine but tender.

“A wish and an action are not the same.” She blushed a little. “I am scared.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said softly. “You have already come this far. What sense will it make to stop now? You are ready to defy the depths of the lake, as well as those of your confines.”

“Is that admiration I detect?”

“When it comes to what I have seen of your courage, yes,” he said honestly. “Though, perhaps with a touch of concern as well.”

“Concern? From the infamous Marquess of Stone? I shall have to alert the scandal sheets at once!” she laughed softly.

“Save your wit for dry land, My Lady,” he jested. “The water demands a different kind of bravery.” He extended his hand. “Let me teach you.” Marian eyed the water droplets dripping from his outstretched arm. “I promise to keep you safe.”

Something in his voice, in the gentle certainty of his words, made her breath catch. This was not the drawling aristocrat who delighted in teasing her, or shocking society, nor the mischievous troublemaker who had orchestrated their morning escape. This was something else entirely — something that made her heart flutter like a trapped bird.

With trembling fingers, she removed her own shoes and stockings, laying them carefully aside. The grass felt cool beneath her toes as she approached the water’s edge, each step a small rebellion against everything she had been taught was proper and right.

The first touch of water against her ankles sent a shiver up her spine. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “It is cold!”

“Does it not make you feel alive?” Nicholas asked, moving closer to her. “Trust me, Marian,”

She should have retreated to the safety of the shore, but instead, the look in his eyes drew her forward like a lodestone finding true north. She waded deeper, the water rising past her knees then her thighs, her skirts floating around her.

The next step forward sent her deeper, the water reaching her waist with alarming speed, and panic fluttered within her chest. “Nicholas! I cannot —”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his hands finding her waist once more, steady and sure. “Lean back, let the water carry you.”

The world tilted as Marian surrendered to his guidance, her body tensing just before the water embraced her. Nicholas’ hands remained steady, one at the small of her back, the other barely brushing her shoulder, each point of contact sending ripples of awareness through her that had nothing to do with the coldness of the lake water.

“There,” he murmured, his voice carrying the same gentleness as the water that now cradled her. “Not so terrifying after all, is it?”

Marian’s laugh bubbled up, unexpected and free. “I suppose not.” She let her eyes close, marveling at the sensation of weightlessness. “Though, I have to say, behavior like this is utterly shocking for a marquess.”

“Ah, but that is a marquess’ prerogative, did you not know?” Nicholas jested, and Marian smiled softly. “We are expected to be either paragons of virtue or utterly scandalous,” Nicholas continued. “I simply choose the more entertaining option.”

The water lapped at her ears, creating a curious symphony of muffled sounds and crystal-clear voices. She was acutely aware of Nicholas’ proximity, of how his hands had before her entire world of safety and danger — all at once.

“And which one am I then?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could catch them. “A paragon or a scandal?”

His thumb traced an absent pattern against her back, so light she might even have imagined it. “Neither,” he said quietly. “You are far too interesting for such simple categories, Marian.”

Her eyes flew open to find him watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. The morning sun had caught in his hair, creating a halo that seemed deliciously at odds with the wickedness of his smile.

“You do not know me well enough to make such statements,” she protested though her voice lacked conviction.

“Do I not?” His eyebrow arched in challenge. “Let’s take stock, shall we?” He cleared his throat, his voice tinged with drama as he spoke, “I know you have a remarkable talent for fabricating convenient headaches. I know you ride as if you were born in the saddle, yet you have never learned to swim — a curious combination that speaks of carefully controlled rebellion. And, I know,” his voice dropped lower, “that beneath all your proper manners and your wit, and your sharp tongue, beats the heart of a true adventurer, a true romantic.”

The truth of his words struck her deeply — as beautiful and terrifying as summer lightning. She moved to stand, suddenly needing the security of solid ground beneath her feet, but her skirts tangled around her legs, betraying her balance.

Nicholas caught her against him, one arm sliding around her waist as naturally as breathing. “Careful now,” he muttered, and she could not tell if he meant her near-fall or if he was talking to himself.

They stood there, suspended in the water, propriety and desire warring in the scant space between them. She noticed the tiny droplets that clung to his long, black lashes, and she suddenly had the crazy urge to reach up and brush them away.

“This is… highly improper,” she whispered as her chest heaved though she made no move to increase the distance between them.

“Is it?” His free hand came up to brush a strand of wet hair from her cheek, the gesture achingly gentle. “Or is it simply honest? There are no masks here, Marian. No rules but those we choose to follow.”

His words held both safety and danger, and it sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cool breeze lapping at her wet clothes. “And what of consequences, Nicholas?” she asked. “Those do not simply disappear simply because we wish it to be so.”

“No, they do not,” he agreed, his hand reaching up to let his thumb trace the edge of her jaw. “But I have found some consequences are worth the risk.”

The word ‘risk’ hung between them like a challenge, and Marian found herself swaying closer, drawn to him by something more powerful than propriety or reason. For one, single, breathless moment, she thought he might kiss her, right then and there — and she thought if he did, she would let him.

“You are trembling,” he observed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“The water is rather cold,” she managed though they both knew it for the lie it was.

“Is it? I have not noticed. Perhaps we should… do something else, to warm you up.”

“Such as?” Marian asked though her throat had gone treacherously dry.

“Such as learn proper swimming techniques.” He shot a teasing smile in her direction. “Or, whatever it is that the lady’s heart desires.”

“That seems rather… unspecific.”

“That is the intention. Though, I should warn you, Marian,” he said, his eyes burning into hers with a quiet intensity, “some wishes, once granted, cannot be undone.”

They stood there for a moment, the air electric between them. Marian suddenly became intently aware of the coolness of the water, the dampness of her clothes sticking to her skin, and the polarizing heat radiating from Nicholas’ sturdy frame as he stood in front of her.

Then a distant church bell tolled, shattering the intimate spell into a thousand pieces. Reality crashed back with the force of an ocean wave, and Marian took a step backwards, her heart still thundering loudly against her ribs.

“We should return,” she said, hating how breathless she sounded. “They will be back from the village soon.”

Nicholas’s expression was unreadable as he helped her to shallower water. “Of course,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “We would not want to cause a scandal.”

But as they rode back to the estate, Marian could not shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between them as they had stood in the cool lake water. It was not just the memory of his hands against her waist, or the way he had looked at her — though, God forbid, the look in his eyes had been enough to make her forget her name, and everything else entirely.

It was the dangerous knowledge that she was indeed exactly what he had named her — an adventurer at heart with romantic tendencies, trapped in a cage of societal expectations and duty that suddenly seemed far too small now that she had begun to taste freedom.

What she did not know — what sent a thrill of equal parts excitement and terror through her — was whether she was strong enough to break free of that cage or brave enough to face what awaited her outside it’s confines.

And as Nicholas handed her down from her horse at the stable entrance, his touch lingering just a moment too long, she caught a glimpse of something in his eyes that suggested he might be the key, the missing piece to answering both those questions.

“Was it worth it?” he asked. “The risk of scandal, the cold water, all of it?”

“I have not reached my conclusion yet,” she countered though a blush crept up on her cheeks.

“Have not you?”

“Perhaps, though, some conclusions are better left unspoken.”

“For now,” he chuckled, his tone carrying a wealth of promise.

“Thank you, Nicholas,” she said softly.

“Until next time, Marian,” he said, inclining his head. “We have crossed another item off your list — and I look forward to the next one.” She heard both the spoken and unspoken promise in his words — and that both thrilled and terrified her.

For in that moment, watching him walk away with all his usual confident grace, Marian realized she had gained something far more dangerous than the ability to swim or float: she had gained the courage to sink or swim on her own terms, consequences be damned.

Later that evening, she carefully crossed another item off her list, feeling content and excited about what lay ahead.

1. Have a romantic moment with a stranger.

2. Swim in a lake or the ocean.

3. Go on an adventure.

4. Gamble, smoke, or drink.

5. Read Mary Wollstonecraft’s ‘A Vindication of the Rights of Women’.

6. Fall in lo Kiss someone.