Chapter 3

"I… I think I need to sit down," Marian murmured, looking around for a chair. Before she could move, however, the Duke had sprung to action, pulling one forward and placing it courteously before her.

She was confused.

The man standing before her was far too handsome to be the most notorious Duke in all of England. Surely someone who had committed the crimes the Duke of Rottdwell stood accused of — who had murdered his entire family, seemingly without a motive — would show some sign of such evil in their outer appearance? Surely his face and body should be as twisted and rotten as his heart must be to have done such terrible things.

But Andrew Rueford did not look like a monster. She had already decided that just minutes before, but now, it seemed, she had been terribly wrong.

It seems appearances can be deceiving after all.

She was not the type of woman to fall into a faint at the slightest shock, like her best friend Charlotte, who Marian was convinced just liked to do it for attention. Nevertheless, something strange had happened to her legs which no longer seemed capable of holding her upright.

He may be a monster, but someone's clearly taught him manners at some point. I wonder who? And where were they when he decided to murder his own flesh and blood?

The thought overcoming her, Marian sank gratefully into the chair, her eyes still fixed on the Duke as if he might leap forward and attack her at any second. Which, now that she knew who she was, she feared he very well might.

The Duke chuckled darkly and without humor, watching her speculatively.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, I am not going to hurt you," he said at last, annoyed. "There is no need to cower so. I preferred you the way you were before when you had some spirit about you."

Marian chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, not knowing how to answer that. Her mother had always scolded her for her hot temper. It had been the bane of every governess' life.

"No man will ever wed a woman who stands up to him,"her father had warned her, back when Mama was still alive, and he still had the ability to care about things other than his brandy.

"Then I shall never marry,"Marian had replied, tossing her hair, not caring.

Any suitor who cared for her would have to take her the way she was. She had not, however, expected to find herself praised for that attitude — and certainly not by the Duke of Rottdwell, whose home she still could not quite believe she was sitting in.

"I have plenty of spirit," she answered him cautiously. "But I did not expect to find myself in such notorious company. You must forgive me if my courage is somewhat lacking under the circumstances."

"Oh, I don't believe it is," the Duke said. "If it was, you would have tried to run by now. And yet here you still are."

"I don't appear to have much choice in the matter," she retorted with something of her old attitude. Enough time had elapsed for her to be convinced that if the Duke did intend to kill her, he at least did not appear to be about to do it imminently. It wasn't much in the way of reassurance, but it was at least something, and Marian grasped onto the thought gratefully.

Before she could ask what he did intend to do with her, however, there came a knock on the door, and the elderly manservant, Ben, appeared, carrying a bundle of what appeared to be women's clothes. The Duke glanced at them then immediately looked away, his face registering a pain that took Marian by surprise.

Whose clothes are these? And why does he seem unable to look at them?

"Those are for you," he said brusquely. "You may change into them tonight. Ben will take your gown and dry it by the fire."

Marian blushed all the way from her feet to the tips of her ears. He spoke of her undressing as if it was nothing. She had never met a man who would even allude to a lady's clothing or its removal.

It was already becoming clear, however, that the Duke was not like any of the other men she had ever met. What was less clear was whether this would turn out to be a good thing or a bad one, so Marian simply took the clothes the old man held out to her and stood there uncertainly, her eyes wide in her pale face.

Did he mean for me to change out of them here? In a drawing room? With him present? Surely not.

"I'll show you to your room," the Duke said as if reading her mind. "Come."

"My room?" Marian was confused. He'd told her in no uncertain terms that she would not be permitted to stay under any circumstances. But now, he was showing her to a room?

"Unless you'd prefer to sleep on that chair?" he raised his eyebrows, the scar white against his skin. "You did say you wanted a bed for the night, did you not?"

Marian swallowed hard and followed him out of the room. There was much she wanted to ask him, but the thought of spending the night here, in his house, was suddenly more daunting than that of sleeping in a stable which meant?—

A stable! I almost forgot Beauty!

"My horse," she called to the Duke's retreating back. "She's still outside."

"I'll deal with the horse," he replied with a glance over his shoulder. "Just let me deal with you, first."

Marian's stomach twisted with nerves.

"What do you mean, ‘deal' with me?" she asked bravely, catching up with him. "You speak as if you're taking me prisoner."

"You should be grateful that's all I'm doing," he replied, the eye with the scar closing in a wink which Marian assumed to be intended to lighten his words, but which, nevertheless, did something to her insides that she could not quite understand.

It's unfair of him to be so handsome. It makes me feel things I'm not sure are altogether appropriate.

The Duke led her up a sweeping staircase, which was badly in need of a good cleaning, and along a dark corridor until they reached a door which he pushed open, standing back to allow her to enter.

Marian paused in the doorway, the bundle of clothes still clutched in her hands. It seemed to her that she stood on a threshold, not just of the room itself but of something much more significant. The Duke's treatment of her had — so far, at least — been unfriendly but fair. He had not welcomed the intrusion, but nor had he cast her back out into the rainy night. Now he was offering her a bed for the night, just as she had asked. But he had also told her who he was. And that simple fact left her wondering if the door he held open for her would, indeed, simply provide her with shelter for the night, or if he might do as he'd hinted and lock her inside it.

Or worse. There's always the possibility that he might do worse.

She hesitated, looking up at him as if for a clue.

Her current situation was scandalous. If anyone found out that she'd stayed under his roof without a female companion, her reputation would be ruined.

Then again, if he really is guilty of the crimes he stands accused of, my reputation is likely to be the least of my worries.

Marian's heart lurched with fear as she stood frozen in the doorway, undecided.

"You are, of course, free to sleep in the hallway if you prefer," the Duke said, sounding bored. "But either way, I'd rather not have to stand here all night, waiting for you to make your mind up, so I'll bid you goodnight and take my leave."

With a small bow, he stepped away and made as if to leave. Marian's mind was made up.

If I'm not to be held prisoner, then I may as well make myself comfortable. Or as comfortable as a woman can be under such circumstances as these.

Nodding her assent, she stepped forward and into the room, closing the door and then immediately turning the key she found in the lock, locking herself inside.

She was safe.