Chapter 5

Edward nearly crowed in triumph. He had gotten under her skin – he knew he had – even if she refused to acknowledge it.

The more he saw her, the more he was captivated by her spirit just as much as he was by her beauty. It seemed she did not have to put much effort into her appearance – whether her hair was down and wild around her shoulders or tamed upon her head, she had a natural grace and elegance that he was sure had only been ripened by her maturity. He supposed she was likely about thirty, although he knew far better than to ever ask such a thing.

“Are you not in mourning?” he asked as she led him into what appeared to be a ballroom. She was pointing out the artistry of the paintings upon the ceilings and the marble columns, all angels and religious motifs, when he interrupted her.

She paused with her mouth open, mid-sentence. “In mourning?” she repeated.

“Your husband died what, six months ago?” he said. “Should you not be wearing black?” He gestured up and down at her brilliant red gown. He hoped he did not come across as judgemental, but rather, he was truly curious.

“I should be, yes,” she said with a small smile. “And when I am out in public, I do wear black, as is expected. But the truth is, Your Grace, I do not often do what is expected of me. And the fact is, I hated my husband. So why should I spend years clad in mournful black clothing when I am, in fact, glad that he is dead?”

Edward knew that many a man would be put off by her words, and he could see the defiance in her eyes, as though she was waiting for him to respond critically.

Instead, he grinned. “You are much smarter than most, my lady.”

“I know.”

He laughed then, a laugh that echoed over the harsh surfaces of the ballroom, and when she joined in with a throaty chuckle, a tingle ran through him that he had been the one to bring out such emotion in her.

“This home is beautiful,” he said as they continued on through drawing rooms and parlors, rooms that would have been found in a manor in England but here had slightly different styles and motifs, “but we know that there is nothing to be found here. Would it be possible to see the marqués’ chambers?”

“Why?” she asked dryly. “Do you believe he hid a shipful of treasure in it?”

“No,” he said with a snort. “I believe there might be a clue within as to where the shipful of treasure might be.”

“Very well,” she said, leading him up the stairs, stopping in front of the door that must have been her husband’s. It caused his eyes to slide over to the door next to it, as he was certain that was where she must sleep. “Here we are,” she said, pushing open the door, and he followed in after her.

The marqués’ chamber was styled in deep reds and navies, befitting the lord of a manor. Edward couldn’t help but wonder if the marqués had spent much time within.

“Go ahead,” she said, gesturing toward the room. “Look as you wish. If my husband had any secrets, I have no desire to keep them hidden.”

“Very well,” he said, walking over to the small writing desk and beginning to look through papers.

“What does your wife think about this adventure of yours?” she asked, her question said with apparent nonchalance, causing him to smile, for it showed him that she was more interested in him than she wanted him to believe.

“I do not have a wife,” he said.

Her brows rose, as she was obviously shocked by his answer.

“An English duke of your age without a wife?” she said. “What about heirs?”

“I will have them, eventually.”

“Best get on it quickly,” she said, amusement in her tone, and he turned around to look at her.

“How old you think I am, anyway?”

“Past the age when a man of your ilk should be having children,” she said.

“A man can have children at any age,” he countered, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I have been told, but you never know what could happen to you. Especially when you are intent on following any small clue that might lead to a ridiculous treasure hunt.”

“I have a brother.”

“Right, the one I would like,” she said with a smile.

“And you?” he said, turning the conversation around. “Will you marry again?”

“No,” she said so swiftly that it caused his head to snap up in order to gauge her expression.

“Why not?”

“My one marriage was more than enough,” she said bitterly. “I have no wish to go through that again.”

“Not every man is like your husband was.”

“I have no wish to find out,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed as she watched him. He wondered if she knew how her stance pushed up her cleavage. “When I met my husband, he appeared to be a wonderful man, loving and kind. That is what everyone believed, including me.” She shuddered, her eyes taking on a glazed, faraway look. “How wrong I was,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, wondering just how cruel her husband had been to her.

She waved a hand in the air. “Do not pity for me. Many women have it much worse than I did. He never laid a hand on me. Not really. It was his words that were… well, shall we say, most unkind.”

“That can be nearly as hard.”

“I’m sure not quite so much.”

A tense silence filled the air, and Edward continued his search, finding nothing out of the ordinary so far, just what one would expect of a man’s grooming essentials.

“I am sure you must have women lined up at your door, waiting for you to pick one of them,” the marquesasaid, to which Edward couldn’t help but snort, so right she was.

“Yes,” he said. “One of these days I’ll have to. Although?—”

He stopped, oddly not wanting to speak of it.

“Although what?”

“I am all but promised to a woman.”

“I see,” she said with a small nod. “The poor thing.”

Her joke cleared the tension, and just when he was about to explain that he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to marry the woman, that she was so meek and mild he couldn’t imagine how they could ever match, his eyes caught something in the desk drawer.

“Here,” he said, his word coming out on a hiss as he studied the paper he held.

“What is it?” she asked.

He looked up, a smile on his face. “The plan of the San Juan’s last journey.”

The evidence seemed so perfectly situatedand discovered that Mariana eyed the duke with suspicion, wondering if he had, in fact, placed it there herself. But for what reason, she wasn’t sure, and so she accepted it, albeit with a great deal of skepticism.

“It might be proof, yes, but it doesn’t give you any idea of where a treasure might be, does it?” she remarked, and he shook his head, such apparent sadness in his eyes that she nearly laughed.

“No, it does not,” he said morosely. “I think I will venture into the town, do a walk around, see if there are any areas near the docks that might be of interest. Perhaps I could also try to determine if anyone saw anything.”

“They are not going to trust you, strange Englishman,” she said, and he grinned.

“I know. That’s why you are going to come with me.”

“I am, am I?”

“You want me out of your life? Then let’s get this done.”

“Very well,” she said, wondering just what Raquel was going to have to say about this. She had told Mariana to be open to whatever came her way, had she not? Little could she have ever imagined that it would be an English duke who would find her.

“What’s so funny?” the duke asked, and Mariana realized she had worn her emotion on her face.

“Nothing,” she said brusquely. “Let me collect my hat.”

“Do you need a maid?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I am a widow. If there is one advantage to my marriage, it is that I can now do as I please.”

With that, she led him out the door.

“We shall walk,” she said decisively. “It is a beautiful day, and the town isn’t far.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, and she fixed him with a stare.

“Of course,” she said. “I wouldn’t have said otherwise if I wasn’t. Besides,” she lifted the hem of her dress ever so slightly to show him her footwear. “I am already wearing my boots.”

“Should you be dressed for mourning?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“You know what? I think I’ve mourned enough.”

Mariana asked him of home as they walked into San Sebastian, and she wasn’t surprised that he told stories with surprising ease, his words flowing and his expressions intriguing. He told her of his brother, the loss of his father, and freely described how unenamoured he was with taking on the role of duke.

“You do not enjoy being one of the most powerful men in the country?” she asked with an arched brow, and he shook his head.

“I do not like having people rely on me,” he said. “I would far rather simply look out for myself. A life of duty, responsibility… It holds no attraction for me. Adventure and a thrilling chase are what captivate me.”

“Which is also likely why you have no wish to marry,” she remarked, and he looked at her quizzically. She laughed, wondering why he had never seen it for himself.

“If you enjoy the adventure and chasing things, what interest would you have in settling with one woman for the rest of your life?”

“I never quite thought of it that way,” he said, looking her over. “But I suppose if it was the right woman…”

She laughed out loud then. “I hope that was not an invitation to me, Your Grace.”

“What, you wouldn’t want to come brave England’s winters?”

“Absolutely not,” she said with a snort. “Besides, I already told you. I have no wish to settle down again with one man.”

“I can appreciate that,” he said, his teasing subsiding. “Although something can be said for opening yourself up to some fun, can it not?”

Mariana felt the heat spread through her body, seeming to emanate from the very place her hand was resting lightly on his arm. She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering what it would be like to allow a man to touch her again, to invite him to her bed. As much as she played the part of wealthy widow, she had not been with another man since her husband, nor did she have any wish to.

Especially with an English duke.

Except… he fired something within her, something that no other man had, including her husband in the days before she had realized just what sort of person he truly was.

She shook her head, ridding it of those thoughts. No men, she reminded herself.

Including – and most especially – this one.