Chapter 18

Anthony would have recognized the painting anywhere. It had hung in his father's private reading room for years unnumbered. His most cherished memories—his father reading to him late into the night—featured that same Velasquez painting. It was the same painting that had been sold while his father was ill, according to Mr Acaster.

All along, it had been sold to Warren, Anthony thought through the cloud of his rage. But when I asked Warren about my father's final months, he said he knew nothing about the paintings. And if he lied about that …

A dark feeling bloomed in Anthony's chest. He was torn from his shock only by the pressure of Marianne's hands clutching at his coat lapels, shaking him.

Marianne … What am I doing? I had almost kissed her, and now …

She released him suddenly, her eyes rounding in fear. Turning, he saw Eliana—like she had. And Eliana had obviously seen them.

He shouted something, trying to stop her from leaving. But Eliana had always done what she wanted. She dashed from the room, and Anthony, without thinking, turned to give chase.

"I'm so sorry," he said to Marianne as he left. "I have to find her … I'm sorry."

Marianne would hate him for leaving her, and maybe that was for the best. If he had so little control over himself, over his feelings for her, that he had almost ruined her, then she was better off without him anyway.

Eliana didn't stray far. He heard a door closing, then felt a draught splice the air of the primary gallery room. A glass door led to the garden, and Anthony followed Eliana outdoors.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness outside, feeling lost and helpless. The grounds of Hagram Park stretched out in front of him like a black, endless sea. How could a place he had once considered a second home now feel like a freshly dug grave waiting for him to fall? Eliana would bury him if only to spite Marianne.

"I gave you too much credit," she said in the darkness. "You are hopeless after all. Not just hopeless, but a rake, too. I don't know whether to be impressed or disappointed."

Anthony spotted her leaning against the stone fence that separated the back terrace from the grounds. She began to walk away once Anthony approached. He was quicker on his feet and grabbed her wrist long enough to stop her.

"You saw nothing," Anthony said, gritting his teeth together.

Eliana laughed. "Oh, we're playing that game?" She leaned forward, taunting him, no less a child than she had been when Anthony had first met her. "I saw everything, Anthony. You are so stupid. You had to succumb to your urges here, of all places? Is the bastard daughter of Nicholas Chambers really so tempting? Little succubus …"

"I will not stand to hear you speak of her that way." Anthony clenched his fists, snarling in her face. It only seemed to please Eliana, who had him right where she wanted him. "Whatever you might think you saw—think of me—Marianne is blameless. Do not ruin her for your own satisfaction. Nothing has happened that you have not imagined."

"Because you didn't kiss her but almost kissed her? Almost is more than enough." Every word lilted like they were playing a game she knew she would win. "Tell me why I shouldn't go inside and tell everyone what I have seen. It is the right thing to do."

Anthony had clearly lost sight of what was right and wrong. It didn't matter how strongly he cared for Marianne—having realized as she gazed into his painting, and he gazed at her, that he was dangerously close to falling in love with her. It didn't matter that he had been stopped from kissing her by Warren's theft. The thought alone was shameful, and thinking it shamed her. She deserved so much better. She was the most beautiful, funniest, cleverest woman he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. He couldn't have stopped himself from wanting her if he had tried. And he had. He was long past right and wrong.

He felt sick, knowing what had to be done but wishing there was another way. He thought about Marianne, wondering whether she had wanted him to kiss her or had only stood there out of fright. He didn't have time to ask her now. He could only mitigate as much of the damage from his mistake as possible—even at the cost of his honour. It would be worth it to damn himself if it meant protecting her.

"I'm waiting," Eliana said.

"So you are … I had always known your morals were skewed, but this is wicked even for you." Anthony swallowed hard, trying to devise anything that would stop her from ruining Marianne. "I doubt your father will be half pleased hearing of my transgression."

"He'll be positively crushed." She pouted teasingly. "He always did so like you. I never quite understood why. At least in that, I am vindicated."

"Vindicated so soon?" Anthony paused, despising himself more with each word. "For just this morning, he had all but given me his blessing to become his son-in-law. I cannot imagine you were not included in the conversation. But I suppose, in light of this, the offer is off the table."

Eliana was quiet at last. Good, Anthony thought. He didn't need her to believe he wanted to marry her—he wouldn't, not even now. But he just needed to buy enough time to ensure her silence until he could figure out what to do next.

"Impressed," Eliana murmured, answering her own earlier question. She straightened, and her jaw tightened. "I have tried to blackmail you, and now you are blackmailing me …? And here I thought we couldn't have been more different. I know you are not seriously considering my father's offer, so don't pretend to be in love with me. Your affections, deluded though they may be, clearly lie elsewhere."

"I would not have disgraced either of us by pretending to care for you more than I do." His care for her at present was null. "I am merely stating the facts. If you return inside and inform the ton of my indiscretion, more will be lost than just my honour."

She sighed deeply, turning to look back at the manor. Shadows danced along the terrace in squares of pale light. Anthony hoped that Marianne was back among them, flexing his hand as he recalled the softness of her skin against his palm. Another thing that was lost because of his indiscretion.

"Have it your way," Eliana replied. "I will keep your dirty little secret for now. But I will not keep it forever without good reason. I suggest you come up with one. Quick."

Anthony nodded, feeling faint as she began to walk away. They would survive the night. But it was anyone's guess what would happen in the morning.

"Wait," he called, stopping Eliana as she reached the door. "In Warren's gallery, I saw a painting that had once belonged to my father. It was a Velasquez, and my father cherished it. Do you know nothing about how it was acquired?"

Eliana raised her brows in apathy. "I have much better things to do than track every painting my father buys. To answer your question, no. I have no idea about any purchases from the Colline estate, Velasquez in nature or otherwise." Her slippers clicked against the ground as she proceeded to the door.

"But if I were you, I would not abuse our hospitality any more than you have. I am still my father's daughter. If you try to cross him, I will not hesitate to retaliate. You would do well to remember that, Anthony."

As if he could forget.

*

Marianne clutched her arms as she looked out over the gardens. The dancing that evening had ended two hours ago, and the last guests had filtered inside from the terrace half an hour prior. Miss Barclay had come and gone, preparing Marianne for bed. If she had noticed anything strange about her, she had been kind enough not to say anything.

She raised a hand to her cheek, touching herself where Anthony had cupped her face. He had left her in the gallery, and after recovering from a fit of panic, Marianne had returned to the ballroom expecting to find Eliana and her father waiting for her at the pillory.

But no one had said anything about her disappearance with Anthony. Patrick had found her and taken her to watch the dancing with some of his new friends. And then Marianne had feigned a migraine right as the party had started to die down.

Whatever Anthony had done—wherever he had gone—he had stopped Eliana from reporting the scandal to the others. Marianne knew better than to be pleased.

Because he has obviously made a deal with the Devil.

She stepped away from the window. If Anthony had gone for a walk, the chances of him passing beneath her room were slim. She drew back the coverlets of her bed, knowing she would not sleep that night, then leaned down to extinguish her candle anyway.

A gust of breath swelled in her lungs and stayed there. The flame remained lit, flickering as she stood upright at the sound of a knock on the door.

The doorknob was icy against her skin as she pried it open.

"May I come in?" Anthony asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Marianne pushed the door open further, checking the hallway. "You can't come in," she whispered. "If someone saw us …"

"Again, you mean?" Anthony shook his head. "They are all gone to bed. I have to speak with you, and it should not wait. But I will not force you—"

She grabbed his wrist, pulling him inside. Closing the door carefully, she clicked the lock into place. She couldn't bring herself to look at Anthony at first, unsure what she was supposed to feel. Angry, upset, abandoned … Those were all perfectly reasonable reactions. Yet Marianne was only relieved.

Relieved and then embarrassed as she looked down at her state of dress. Her thin cotton chemise bunched around her chest as she crossed her arms over herself, pressing into the door. Anthony was still wearing his clothes from that evening, looking haggard and upset. He turned in a circle, scrubbing his face with his hands. Marianne used the opportunity to grab her nightgown, wrapping it around herself.

"Should I offer you tea?" she joked—because what else was she supposed to do? "Isn't that what women do with gentlemen callers?"

Anthony smiled. It looked like it hurt. "Oh, Marianne," he groaned, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "How can you joke with me at a time like this? You should be outraged that I …" He let the sentence trail off.

"Well, I've never been particularly good at doing what you've told me," she said, wanting to join him on the bed but fearing his reaction. "And I think it is my choice regardless to decide how I should feel about what happened. I am angry," she confessed, tears smarting behind her eyes. "You left me, and I didn't know where you went."

"I will regret that moment for as long as I live," Anthony said, hanging his head in shame. He scowled and shrugged off his jacket, laying it next to him. "But I had to ensure that Eliana did not go directly to her father. By the time I had rejoined the party, you had gone. It was not until now that I felt it was safe enough to come and see you. And I did want to see you. Most desperately …"

Marianne took a step back, her heart fluttering. She could hear the desperation in his voice, could see it, as he rose from the bed and crossed the room in one quick movement, stopping in front of her. Marianne had been so busy trying to manage her fear that she hadn't stopped to consider the implications of their interrupted encounter. What madness had overtaken Anthony for him to try to kiss her?

He was as far from a rake as one could be. He was a gentle and rational man, and if Marianne had unwittingly convinced him to abandon his morals in that moment of folly, potentially dooming them both, she would never forgive herself ...

Even though she had wanted to be kissed by him more than she wanted to live.

The other alternative—the only other alternative—was not worth her consideration. Because while Marianne had been deathly afraid of his kiss, she was more afraid that Anthony might have genuinely come to care for her—and that just as quickly as he had revealed his feelings, Eliana had come in to take them all away.

So yes, it was better, safer, for Marianne to accept the likely truth that she had not inspired love in the duke, only lust. That their friendship had gone too far, the lines blurred between them because of their familiarity with one another.

"You've maddened me," Anthony whispered, confirming her suspicions yet making her heart ache all the same. "From the moment I met you, I have not acted in a manner befitting our circumstances. I have found myself, in fact, acting out of a place of selfish pleasure, for there is nothing about you that I do not like and no moment of the day that is not improved for your being in it. I forget myself with you.

Not only in that I forget my good sense, but I forget who I am and all that worries me—and I like that too. And then when we spoke of my painting and home, I thought that, yes, it had become your home too ... Oh, Marianne. I hardly know what I am saying. I should not burden you with these thoughts. I have tried not to, I swear."

He pressed his eyes shut, hanging his head. Marianne's hand twitched at her side, her body begging for permission to console him. If she confused him as much as he seemed to imply, she needed to be strong enough for them both.

Marianne sighed. "It is my fault—"

"It is not."

"It is my fault that—"

"Marianne, it is not." Anthony shot his head up, glowering at her. The anger in his eyes dissipated as they searched her face. "You have done nothing to encourage these feelings in me but exist and be exactly as you are. I am to blame. If I had kept my distance, or perhaps told you of these," he balled his fist over his heart, "passions the moment they first occurred ..."

"Things would have been no different." Marianne took his hand gently, unfurling his fingers. She could barely breathe until she released him, dizzy from the knowledge of what needed to be confessed. "Do you really believe that I have not had similar thoughts about you? This friendship between us has been one of the only things keeping me sane.

And there have absolutely been times when I have allowed my own imagination to run rampant with childish dreams of you. Of course, my existence has incited you to feel this way. Because even if I have not said it aloud, my every second thought has belonged to you—been of you. You have only sensed what I have been too cowardly to admit outright."

He remained quiet, and Marianne didn't have the wherewithal to tell whether he was terrified of what she was going to say next or relieved.

"I am not offended by what happened. I was startled, certainly. But the attention was far from unwelcome." She swallowed hard, too scared to look at him. "I am only afraid of what it means now. As far as I see it, that moment in front of your painting was the effect, not the cause, of another problem entirely. From the moment we met, I have trusted you. One moment of madness does not change that."

Her confession hung in the air. She half-expected Anthony to scoff in disgust and turn for the door. Instead, she felt him take a step closer. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up at him. His thumb grazed the edge of her lip, and she froze beneath the gentle ministration, pliable and weak.

But this was not the start of something new. It was the conclusion of an unfinished moment.

"But what if it does? What if it must change things?" Anthony asked in a whisper. His lip quivered, and he released her, turning his back to her. "When I found Eliana, she had been determined to tell the other guests what she had seen. I used something as leverage ..."

He raked his hands over his face. "And we have weeks, perhaps, before she retaliates. In that time, I must come up with a solution to protect you." He turned around, eyes wide. "And I will protect you, Marianne. Even if it kills me."

Marianne wondered what he had done. Anthony had always been honest with her. If he refused to tell her about his deal with Eliana, there must have been a good reason. But she had abused his trust enough for one night, keeping her questions to herself.

"You must allow me to help you," she said. "Regardless of who is to blame, I will not leave my fate in your hands alone ... What do you think can be done?"

"There is one obvious solution, but I would like to avoid giving Eliana what she wants so long as we have other options." He hesitated.

"Even if I were to force you into a marriage with me, you would not be protected. The ton will show you no mercy, not even as a duchess, not if this comes to light. I can only imagine the things they will say about you. That you were a temptress, and I was a guileless fool for falling for your tricks, even though we both know that could not be further from the truth. They won't care about the truth. They never do."

The mention of marriage gave Marianne pause. She couldn't believe Anthony would even contemplate marrying her—in a forced arrangement or otherwise. She thought back to their discussion on the lake about the lengthy list of requirements Anthony's future wife needed to meet. If they did marry to protect her honour, his name would be tarnished not only by his selection of a bride but by the cause of their betrothal.

She couldn't do that to Anthony, and she couldn't do that to herself. She would not become someone's wife by coercion, never knowing whether Anthony only tolerated her because he had to. An arrangement of that nature would erase any semblance of affection she and Anthony might have held for each other. It was a fate worse than ruin.

"There is something else," Anthony continued. "When we were in the gallery, I pulled away not because I regretted my actions but because I saw something on the wall." He pointed to the space behind Marianne, reliving the moment.

"Warren is in the possession of a painting my father once loved. And I know for a fact that he did not want me to discover it." His hand fell to his side.

"A less hubristic lord would have kept it hidden until I was gone. Or perhaps he did not think I would remember it. Either way, I did recognize it. If Warren has lied about something as inconsequential as a painting, then I have to imagine that he has lied about a great deal of other things as well ... Things concerning my father."

Marianne hummed, worried that Anthony was clutching at straws. The mention of his father unsettled her. He was still deep in his grief, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself. Anything that could help to explain the late duke's passing was an avenue Anthony was going to explore.

"Is it not possible that the marquess simply didn't want to admit to having the painting out of fear that you would take it back?" she asked. "You said he was an avid art collector ..."

"It is possible but not likely. He will not have stolen the painting. My father must have sold it to him or gifted it to him. It is not the transaction that he sought to hide. The painting was hanging in plain sight." Anthony paused. "It is the reason for the transaction—a debt that was covered, some sort of wager that could point to something more. I don't know ..."

"And if you discover these lies," Marianne asked, contemplating his plan, "you believe you can use them to secure his daughter's absolute silence?"

"Perhaps. I know only that my gut tells me something here has run afoul. If there is even a minute chance that this mystery will guarantee your protection while helping to clarify my father's death ..." His brow furrowed in pain. "I have to do this, Marianne."

She nodded. "Then I will help you in any way I can."

"I hoped you would say that," Anthony said through a sigh. "And I am infinitely relieved for your pledged support in this—again." He cast a glance at the clock. "I should not push my luck. You were kind to allow me to discuss things with you, and I am glad ..."

He bit his lower lip, and Marianne's skin tingled with longing and fear. "I am glad you do not despise me for my abhorrent behaviour. And I am glad my care for you was not wholly one-sided, despite how dangerous such affections may be."

With a timid bow, Anthony proceeded towards the door. Marianne remained where she was in the centre of the room, not trusting herself enough to escort him out. One accidental touch could undo all of Catherine and Miss Barclay's lessons on propriety.

"Good night," she thus said over her shoulder.

"Good night, Marianne," he replied.

The door clicked into place, and Marianne dashed towards it. No sound came from the hallway, and she hoped Anthony had gone unremarked. She pushed back from the door, steadying her breathing. Her mind filled with Anthony's confession. He had genuinely wanted to kiss her, and like her, his passions had got the better of him. There was no telling what their mistake was going to cost them.

But at least, she thought, we will weather the coming storm side by side.

Tiptoeing back to her bed, Marianne untied her robe and cast it over the vanity table. A rushing sound made her jolt. She turned towards the door, squinting against the darkness.

At the base of the door was a leaf of paper.

Marianne picked it up, taking it for examination by the candlelight of her bedside. Her own face stared back at her, sketched in stunning detail. She gasped at the sight of Anthony's work—the sketch from the lake.

"Is this how he sees me ...?" she whispered, running her fingers over the lines of his drawing. "But I'm so ... I look so lovely ..."

Marianne's eyes welled with tears. Anthony had depicted her true to nature, but everything about the sketch screamed of his admiration for her. The playfulness of her expression; the effortless femininity of the way she posed; the slope of her nose and the way her lips gently parted; the lines of her gown, pooling at the bottom of the boat ...

She retraced his labour, exploring the shadows, the highlights, the details that only someone who genuinely knew and appreciated her would have included ...

Suddenly, the tragedy of their situation dawned on Marianne at last. Whatever existed between them was more than friendship, more than madness. And because of their own recklessness, nothing more than an attempted kiss would ever come to pass.