Chapter 7

Marian was bored.

As Rose had predicted, the Duke had not appeared at dinner which Marian had eaten with Rose before the fire in the kitchen. As much as she had enjoyed the older woman's company, however, as soon as the meal was done, the cook had taken herself off to bed, complaining of a headache and leaving Marian to wander the lonely corridors of the manor on her own.

Up and down she walked, pacing restlessly through the halls and wandering into different rooms in turn, all of which bore the same signs of neglect as the rest of the house.

It's fortunate I don't believe in ghosts, for these dusty rooms with their dark shadows would be the very place for one.

There was one room, however, that Marian had not yet ventured into. Each time she passed the door of the Duke's study, she paused outside, watching the flickering of candlelight from under the door and straining to hear some sound from within.

Silence.

Is he asleep? Or is he perhaps standing on the other side of the door, waiting for me to try to enter?

Shaken, she turned and marched quickly away. On her next pass of the door, however, she paused again, before making up her mind. Running quickly back downstairs, she made her way to the kitchen and hastily made up a supper tray, using some of the food that had been left over from dinner.

After a moment's thought, she added a bottle of champagne she found gathering dust in a cool corner of the room. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she carried it all carefully back upstairs and all the way to the Duke's door which she pushed open without knocking, marching defiantly into the room with her head held high.

In his usual chair by the fire, Andrew started up in alarm.

"What are you doing?" he demanded indignantly. "You can't just walk into my study like this without so much as a knock. I absolutely forbid it!"

Marian just shrugged.

"It seems you forbid a lot of things, Your Grace," she pointed out, carrying her tray over to a small table near Andrew's chair and setting it down. "Such as allowing me to leave for instance."

She glared at him pointedly until he sat back down in defeat. Marian smiled to herself.

Not so scary after all, is he?

"Anyway," she went on, handing him a plate. "Seeing as you've taken me prisoner, the very least you can do is keep me company. I'm bored of wandering around this moldy old place on my own, and I can't imagine it's much better for you, stuck in here."

She gazed around the room with interest. Two of the walls were lined with bookcases, she saw, while a third contained a large window with an inviting-looking window seat upon which Marion longed to curl up with one of the many books which filled the room. The Duke's desk sat in the center of the room with the fireplace behind it.

Under other circumstances, Marion could see that the room would be comfortable — cozy even. But the fire in the grate had long since gone out, and the Duke, who was seated at his desk buried in a pile of paperwork, appeared to have made no attempt to revive it.

"Have you been sitting all this time in a cold room without so much as a light?" she asked incredulously.

"Not all the time," he answered defensively. "The fire has not long since gone out. And my friend was here — as I presume you know, given how well you seemed to be getting along with him. Did you expect to still find him here? Is that why you've chosen to disturb me like this?"

"Of course not," Marian said scornfully. "I saw the Marquess ride off some time ago. And while I'm sure his company would have been more welcoming than yours, it's yours I appear to be stuck with."

With that, she took a plate of her own and went to kneel in front of the remains of the fire.

"You could at least make us a fire," she said reproachfully. "Or am I to freeze to death as well as be bored to death?"

Andrew stared at her in open amazement. Marian guessed it had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him thus — if at all — and she couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction at the expression of shock on his face. The feeling only increased as the Duke got wordlessly to his feet and stepped over to the fire, and by the time he had it blazing merrily again, she was feeling positively smug.

"What is this?" he asked, sitting back down and peering suspiciously at the plate she'd prepared for him.

"Supper," replied Marian crisply. "I thought you might be hungry."

In truth, she had little appetite of her own after the spread Rose had provided for dinner — this house might be lacking in many comforts, but one thing it was not short of was food — but she hadn't failed to notice the untouched tray which Rose had brought up for the Duke earlier, and judging by the enthusiasm with which he began eating now, Marian guessed he'd had nothing since she'd seen him at breakfast.

"Will you open that?" she asked when he was done, nodding to the bottle of champagne on the table. One of Andrew's dark eyebrows rose in surprise, but he made no comment as he expertly uncorked the bottle.

"I have no champagne glasses on hand," he said, producing two whiskey tumblers from a cabinet behind him, "so you'll have to make do with these, unless you want to go back to the kitchen for some."

"These will do very well," agreed Marian, accepting a glass and trying not to notice the shiver that ran down her spine as his fingers brushed hers which she knew had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

To cover her discomfort, she turned away from him and looked around the room again as she sipped her drink. It was large and well-furnished with little sign of the neglect that marked so many of the other rooms in the house.

I wonder if this is where he spends all of his time? I suppose it must be.

She wandered over to the desk, picking up a paperweight and examining it. Then, when he said nothing to stop her, she grew bolder and moved on to the bookshelves which covered each wall, each shelf groaning under the weight of what must surely be thousands of books.

"Have you read all of these?"

She turned to face him and found him silently watching her, his expression unreadable as he sipped his drink.

"Not all of them, no, but I've read a good many. Reading is how I like to pass my time. It's my solace."

"It's mine too," Marian said wistfully, plucking a volume from one of the shelves at random. "That and riding. It's one of the few ways I can escape the clamor of my own thoughts, especially since…"

She trailed off, not wanting to mention her mother and the huge vacuum her loss had left in Marian's life. But Andrew simply nodded as if he understood, and encouraged, she replaced the book she held and pulled out another.

"Oh! I've read this one!" she said with delight. "It's one of my favorites!"

"You have a taste for the Gothic, then?" asked Andrew, his eyebrow rising once more — an act which made the scar which lay across it stand out against his skin. Marian couldn't quite work out whether his tone was amused or just interested, but as he watched her from across the room, one fact was abundantly clear to her:

She was no longer afraid of him.

Have the champagne bubbles gone to my head already? Or is he really not as fearsome as I'd first imagined?

She smiled uncertainly.

"I do, Your Grace," she said, flicking through the pages of the book. "Although I just confess, I prefer to read such stories than to take part in them."

"You think yourself to be in a Gothic horror?" he asked, leaning forward, a line appearing between his eyes as he frowned. "Which makes me the villain of the piece and you the helpless heroine, I suppose?"

"If you're the villain, then it's only because you've cast yourself as such," replied Marian, taking the book and coming to sit opposite him in the seat Gregory had occupied earlier. "It's hard to imagine the hero taking a woman prisoner when she has done nothing to deserve such treatment."

The Duke had the grace to look shamefaced at this which encouraged her to continue.

"As for me, however," she continued pertly, "I may be the heroine, but I can assure you, I'm far from helpless."

"Is that so?"

This time there was no mistaking the amusement in his tone, and as he stood up and came to refill her glass, which she had emptied far too quickly, Marian wondered briefly if she'd gone too far.

"Yes, it is," she said, tilting her chin upwards defiantly. "I'm sure I don't look it to you, but I can be very resourceful."

"I'm sure you can," he replied, taking the seat opposite her once more. "The question is, how will this resourcefulness present itself, I wonder? How will it help you escape your present situation, for instance?"

Marian hesitated. The truth was, she had no idea how she was going to escape this house. She'd tried every outside door she'd come across on today's wanderings, and all had been firmly locked. She was trapped, and she knew it. But she would not let him see that, so she squared her shoulders once more and looked him firmly in the eye.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," she said smartly. "Not that you will find out, of course. Why, one morning you might just wake up to find me gone, and that will be that."

Andrew's face darkened.

"I think not, my sweet," he said, reaching for the champagne bottle once more. "I think you'll find I'm not quite so easy to escape as you imagine. You'll stay here as long as I wish."

He slammed the bottle back down on the table as if this was the end of matters, but Marian immediately sprang up from her seat, rattled.

"And will you at least tell me how long that might be?" she asked furiously. "Or am I just to remain here forever at your whim?"

Andrew smiled lazily.

"Well, I'm certainly not keeping you here in order to benefit from your taste in reading," he said, indicating the volume in her hand. "If I were, I'd have been sorely disappointed."

"Oh, you… you…" Marion stumbled on her words, unsure how to continue. She knew perfectly well he was intentionally trying to provoke her. The trouble was that it was working, and an even bigger trouble was the undeniable fact that a small part of her was actually enjoying sparring with her.

What's wrong with me? I should be doing everything I can to make my escape from this house. Instead, here I am, drinking champagne with my captor and feeling far more annoyed that he's slighted my taste in books than I am in the fact that he's holding me here against my will.

Confused by the jumble of feelings she couldn't make sense of, Marian got to her feet and went back to the bookcase once more. She took her time replacing the volume she held then stood, running her hand over the dusty spines, desperately trying to compose herself.

"Well, if you dislike my choice, what would you have me read instead?" she asked at last without turning around.

Marian expected his reply to come from across the room — if, indeed, it came at all — but to her surprise when Andrew spoke, his voice came from somewhere just above her ear, his breath warming her skin.

"You might try this," he said, reaching around her and plucking a book from the shelf.

Marian froze, still in shock. She hadn't even heard him stand up, and yet somehow, he had crossed the room and was now standing directly behind her, his body mere inches from hers. If she were to step back just a fraction, she would find herself pressed against his body — a thought that made her blush from the tips of her toes all the way to her cheeks.

That glass of champagne must have gone straight to my head for me to have let my guard down so.

Almost as if he had heard her thought, Andrew's hand suddenly appeared in front of her, holding her glass which he had refilled.

"You forgot about this," he said softly.

Marian took the glass wordlessly, her legs suddenly weak.

It would be a mistake to drink any more. I'm already feeling tipsy. I should make my excuses and leave. That would be the proper thing to do. The right thing to do. And yet…

And yet somehow her hand was raising the glass to her lips, and she was taking a sip, enjoying the way the bubbles exploded on her tongue. It had been a long time since she had tasted something so delicious, and she twirled the golden liquid around in her mouth, feeling almost decadent as she luxuriated in the unaccustomed sensation.

Andrew was still standing behind her. He hadn't spoken, but she could feel his presence, almost as if he were touching her.

I wonder what it would feel like if he…? No. I mustn't let myself think like this.

Nevertheless, her confidence had started to grow, and as soon as she was sure her complexion had returned to its usual shade, Marian did something she considered to be both very brave and rather dangerous.

She turned around.

He was standing so close behind her that the movement brought them face to face, and the room seeming to fade away around them until there was just him and her.

"Don't you want to know what it's about?" Andrew asked, his eyes fixed on hers.

Marian blinked rapidly. For a moment, she had no idea what he was speaking about then she glanced down and saw the book in his hands which he flicked through without dropping his gaze.

"Oh! Reading! We were talking about reading! Yes, please, tell me. What's it about?"

She was flustered, and he knew it; she could tell by the way his full lips — his really quite beautifully full lips — curved up in an approximation of a smile. It was a nice smile, Marian decided. A kind smile, surprisingly. And it was so at odds with everything she thought she knew about him that it left her thoughts in turmoil.

"It's Ovid's Amores," he told her. "A book of poetry."

"Oh."

Marian did not know why she felt disappointed by this, and yet somehow, she did.

"It's written in Latin," the Duke went on. "But the translations are very… interesting. And rather inappropriate for a young lady such as yourself, I would imagine. My apologies, I will find something more suitable."

He reached around her to replace it on the shelf, and Marian felt every nerve ending in her body stand to attention.

"No," she said, surprising herself with her boldness. "I… I should like to hear some of it. Very much."

She raised her glass for another sip, but Andrew took it from her and placed it on one of the shelves, leaving her hands empty.

Marian looked up at him, her heart beating so hard in her chest it felt almost as if it were trying to escape her body. Her skin still felt flushed and sensitive in a way that was not unpleasant.

No, it's definitely not unpleasant. I wonder if he can tell?

Andrew looked back at her, considering her request.

"It would be extremely inappropriate for me to read some of this to you," he murmured, his face still very close to hers. "If anyone were to find out —"

"But how could they?" Marian pointed out immediately. "It's just the two of us here. And if I don't tell —?"

Andrew grinned widely then opened the book to a page which Marian could see had been folded over as if he'd read it many times. Her breath sped up in anticipation.

Clearing his throat, Andrew began.

"There is no shame to take off your tunic," he read, "And put your thigh upon a man's thigh. Bury your tongue between crimson lips…"

His voice trailed off.

"On second thoughts," he said, looking back up at her, "I think it would certainly be wrong of me to read any further. I would not want to shock you."

"But what if I want to be shocked?"

Marian did not know she was about to speak the words until they had escaped her lips. She didn't even know she was capable of such forwardness. But she was not lying. Having led an innocent, sheltered life for every one of her twenty-three years, she suddenly found that she was tired of it.

I want more. I want to feel something other than grief and boredom and fear. Something that makes me feel like the champagne bubbles did as they burst on my tongue. Something like the words of that poem. And yes, I want to be shocked.

She raised her chin defiantly. She wasn't sure whether it was the simple effects of his presence or the words of the poem he had read to her, but her body felt suddenly restless and unsatisfied as if she had an itch that she could not possibly scratch. It made her feel lightheaded and reckless — almost as if she wasn't totally in control of herself.

But of course, I'm not in control, am I? He is.

For some reason, the thought excited rather than scared her, and when Andrew placed his fingers under her chin and raised it until she was looking him in the eye, she forced herself to meet his gaze unwaveringly.

"I'm not sure you quite understand the danger you're walking into right now, my sweet," he warned, his voice low and husky. "I don't think you know what you're doing to me. Or how hard it might be to stop me if you let me continue now. Do you?"

Marian, of course, did not know. How could she? And yet, she wanted to. It was all she could think of in fact. So, by way of response, she simply nodded firmly. There would be no going back from this point — she knew that. But as Andrew let her face go and placed his arms on each side of her, caging her between his body and the bookcase she leaned against, she felt a thrill run through her body such as she had never felt in her life before.

"You don't know what you do to me," he said again, his voice tortured.

Then, before she could reply, his arms were around her waist, his lips were on hers, and he was kissing her as if he had waited his entire life for this moment.

It was the first time Marian had ever been kissed, and yet even she knew that this was not a chaste kiss. It was not gentle or soft, but somehow, it was exactly what she needed, and without even thinking, she looped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she kissed him back, her body knowing exactly what it needed to do to give the most pleasure.

Andrew moaned softly into her mouth, his arms tightening around her body. Pinned between his body and the bookcase, Marian couldn't move — all she could do was submit to the kiss which increased in intensity as the Duke pushed his body urgently against her. She gasped in surprise as she felt his hardness press into her, but as her lips parted, Andrew's tongue was suddenly there between them, opening them further and making her gasp again.

Marian had not known a kiss could feel like this, and now that she did, she wondered if she would ever be able to stop.

To be able to feel like this every day. What a treat that would be.

Far too soon, however, a sudden knock on the door interrupted her, and Andrew sprang away from her, just as the door opened to admit Ben, who peered around the room, surprised to find his master standing in the corner with a flushed Marian beside him.

"My apologies for the interruption, Your Grace," the butler said, "but there is urgent business I must discuss with you."

"Of course." If Andrew was discomposed by the intrusion, his handsome face bore no sign of it, much to Marian's surprise.

How can he kiss me like that and yet still look so absolutely normal? Why, my heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest!

Andrew, however, simply crossed the room and joined Ben at the door, looking for all the world as if nothing had happened.

"Shall I show the young lady to her room?" the butler asked, looking curiously at Marian, who was having a much harder time recovering her composure.

"No. No, it's fine. I'll be fine. I know the way. Thank you, Ben," she said, flustered, suddenly eager to be alone, so she could think over all that had happened.

"Goodnight," she said softly to the Duke as she passed him on her way out of the room.

"Goodnight."

His tone was formal as ever, but as the door closed behind her, Marian found her legs were suddenly trembling so much she was forced to stop for a moment and lean against it. Pressing her hands to her cheeks, she realized they were burning hot, and she blushed again, wondering if the butler had noticed. Embarrassed though she undoubtedly was, however, there was another emotion lying underneath this which was far more interesting to her.

Excitement.

She had just been kissed by a man for the first time in her life.

It would be fair to say that Marian was no longer bored.