Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

A s Marianne stood at the edge of the parlor, watching her brother and so many of his good friends as they laughed and chatted, she felt the keenest sting of missing Claudia. She had invited her dear friend to Garringford Corners for this gathering a few times. She had only convinced shy Claudia to come once and then she had marveled at how Marianne could bear all the loud, boisterous men.

"They hardly see me," she had responded at the time, and they'd gone to get their tea without anyone even noticing they'd left.

But today it was different. There was no Claudia to cling to, giggling over the other guests. And she was no longer unseen. Several of Finn's friends occasionally looked her way with a smile or a tilt of their heads.

And there was always Sebastian, who was across the room at the fireplace, chatting with another gentleman. His gaze flitted to her over and over and she tried not to blush every time he did.

"Lady Marianne."

She jolted as she was approached by Mr. Lanford. He hadn't been invited to this event by her brother before, so she wasn't exactly certain why he was here now, but he'd been kind enough to her at the Brighthollow ball and she wasn't sorry to see him.

"Mr. Lanford, I'm so glad you could join us."

"You and your brother are kind to invite me," he said. "Your estate is lovely, as are you."

She glanced down at herself. Since that night at the ball, her maid, Hannah, had been altering her dresses, making all of them a little more daring. She still wasn't entirely accustomed to the lack of lace concealing her collarbones yet, but it was becoming less uncomfortable with every day.

"Thank you," she said, and felt the heat in her cheeks at the compliment. She wasn't used to receiving those, either. "And we do enjoy it here. We're close enough to London to make it convenient and far enough away to have some little peace. Not like Delacourt, which is days away by carriage."

He nodded. "I do agree that this close-in estate is heavenly. We can shoot in the morning and be out to some of the hells by night." He stopped himself. "Forgive me, I should not speak of such things with you."

She shook her head. Her ears had actually perked up when he said the hells. Playing faro in one of those mysterious places was on Claudia's list, after all, and she knew nothing of them. Since she didn't have Sebastian as a guide anymore, this was an opportunity to find out more in a natural way.

"Not at all. I've always been interested in hearing more about those places. They also call it the underground, yes? Are they truly under the ground? How would that work?"

He laughed, but it wasn't unkind. "No, my lady. Just secret. Well, an open secret, since we all know about them. Clubs where people can wager and drink and enjoy themselves a little more freely."

"And there is one close by?"

"Many are in the heart of the city, closer to where you live when you're in Town. But there are a few on the outskirts." He stepped a little closer. "Are you truly curious?"

She examined him carefully. He had a kind enough face and had not been untoward with her. "I…am," she admitted. "I don't suppose a lady such as myself might be invited along."

He glanced over his shoulder toward her brother. "Delacourt might not like it."

"I'm sure he wouldn't," she said. "But I am an independent woman, you know."

"You are, indeed," Lanford said with a sly smile. "I could escort you if you'd truly like to observe such a place."

Her eyes widened. "Would you? Oh, that would be delightful, Lanford, thank you. When?"

"Tonight?" he suggested. "After supper? If you can slip out, that is."

"Easily," she said with a laugh. "I fade into the woodwork here during these things."

"I doubt that," he said. "Excellent. Then meet me in the foyer at say, ten? I'll arrange the rest."

"I will," she said with smile before he nodded and excused himself.

When he was gone, she drew a long breath. This man was offering her a lifeline without even knowing it. If she put her focus back on Claudia's list, that would keep her mind off Sebastian and all the things she couldn't have when it came to him.

And since he wasn't even looking at her anymore as he chatted with his friends, that was for the best.

S ebastian didn't like feeling out of sorts and yet that was all he'd been since his arrival at Garringford Corners that afternoon. Normally, he found respite here with Delacourt and their friends, with Marianne. But since his arrival he had felt only frustration. Worse, he knew the cause. He could see it as Marianne stood across the parlor talking with some of the other gentlemen as they all shared an after-supper drink. He pressed his lips together and turned to where Delacourt had just finished a conversation with another of their friends and now stood nursing his drink.

"I say, doesn't it bother you that your sister is center of attention to that…that pack of jackals?"

Delacourt blinked and looked across the room. "You consider Mr. Lanford and the Marquess of Millington to be jackals? One is nothing but a gentleman and the other is married."

"Marriage hasn't stopped many a man, and you know it. And as for Lanford, he is nothing but a gentleman on the surface ," Sebastian huffed.

"Are you saying you know something untoward about the man?" Delacourt asked, his grip tightening around his glass.

Sebastian briefly considered lying, giving an answer that would put Delacourt on guard with Lanford. But then he shook his head. "I…no. I hardly know him. That's what I'm saying. He could be any kind of man. Why did you invite him anyway? He never ran with our group in school."

Delacourt shrugged and he was back to the nonchalant disconnection from the subject. "I thought Marianne might like him to be here. She mentioned he was friendly to her at the Brighthollow ball a few weeks ago."

"She mentioned him?" Sebastian repeated, feeling the flare of his nostrils at that fact. He hated that he was jealous. He was never jealous.

"In passing." Delacourt faced him full on now. "What is wrong with you? Marianne always plays hostess at these things. She's bound to draw the polite attention of the attendees."

Sebastian folded his arms. "I simply find it odd that you are so protective of her around me, but not around them."

Delacourt arched a brow. "It seems to me that you are the one who could hurt her more. If you don't know why, then you have no observational skills."

He turned and walked away and Sebastian stared, stunned by that statement. He looked at Marianne again. She was laughing and her face was lit up the same way he'd seen it a dozen times over the years when she stared up into his eyes.

Delacourt couldn't mean that Marianne had feelings for him. The desire, yes, of course. That was a recent development. Or was it? Now he couldn't be certain.

He gulped for air as Lanford separated himself from Marianne at last and headed his way. Marianne had turned her attention to the marquess now and was continuing to talk, though with far less animation than she had with Lanford.

"Ah, Ramsbury," Lanford said with a friendly smile when he reached Sebastian. "Quite a gathering, isn't it?"

"Yes," Sebastian grunted, making the barest effort to be civil. "Seems you're enjoying yourself greatly with Lady Marianne."

Lanford looked across the room at her. "She's a fascinating little creature, isn't she? A wallflower, but something more is there under the surface."

Sebastian said nothing and dropped his gaze to the drink he gripped in his white-knuckled hand. "Indeed."

"I say, a few of us are going to Hedgewig's tonight around ten to gamble. Will you join us?"

Sebastian lifted his head. Hedgewig's was a shabby little hell just two miles from Delacourt's estate. Normally he didn't mind the place—it wasn't the worst, nor the best of its ilk. He had gone there plenty of times over his many visits here.

But tonight he had no interest. In fact, he was pleased this man would just go away . Perhaps it would give Sebastian a chance to speak alone with Marianne. Only to make certain that she understood what a man like Lanford was capable of expecting, even if he presented himself as a gentleman to her.

"No," he said. "I appreciate the offer, but I'll decline this time."

Lanford shrugged. "Suit yourself, Ramsbury. Ah, I see Mr. Pettigrew motioning my way. Excuse me."

Sebastian nodded him away and then drew a deep breath. Good, now he had a plan. If Lanford's group was to depart at ten for their outing, he would find Marianne by ten-thirty and speak to her. Settle things with her. Protect her. That was all this was about, after all. Protecting her.

There was nothing else to it at all.

S ebastian stepped into the library at precisely ten-thirty and expected Marianne to be there. After all, that was her habit when she came to this estate. Read before bed for precisely three-quarters of an hour.

How did he know that? He couldn't recall when he'd learned it or how he'd saved the knowledge over the years. But there it was.

Only when he came into the chamber, the room was empty. Not even the fire was lit. He wrinkled his brow. She had excused herself just before ten, so he had assumed…

He turned and nearly ran into one of the maids as she came up the hallway.

"Excuse me," he said as she stepped out of his way with a bent head. He looked more closely at her. "You are Lady Marianne's maid, are you not?"

The young woman lifted her gaze. "I am, my lord. May I help you?"

"Perhaps. I'm looking for her. Do you know where she might be?"

"She retired to her chamber a while ago," the maid said. "But she hasn't yet called for me to help her ready for bed, so she's likely reading or sewing there. Would you like me to find her?"

Sebastian's mouth went dry at the idea of Marianne in her bedroom. Alone. He shook the thought away. "Er, no. If she's retired, I wouldn't want to trouble her. I'll speak to her tomorrow. Thank you."

The maid curtsied slightly and then walked away. He waited a moment, then cursed beneath his breath as he started toward the stairs. He would have this conversation with Marianne tonight. Before she allowed herself to get caught up in what might be a foolish friendship. At least he had to help her keep her eyes open, didn't he?

Only that didn't feel like his purpose as he stepped up to her door and knocked. He waited a moment, but there was no answer. Was it possible she'd fallen asleep? He knocked again, this time a bit louder. Still there was no reply.

He was about to step away, to go look for her again, when he bumped the door and it opened slightly. His breath caught. Entering her private rooms was not only rude, but it was scandalous. The exact kind of thing that could inspire her brother's rightful rage or even harm her reputation. What he should do was close the door firmly and either send for the maid to fetch her or just wait until morning to talk to her.

"Probably would be best for me, as well," he muttered to himself as he stared at that cracked door.

And then he pushed it open and stepped inside.

Although he'd known Marianne for as many decades as he'd known her brother, he'd never seen her private chamber. Of course he wouldn't. He'd never found himself curious about it, either, but now he stared around the antechamber and his breath caught.

It was lovely. She had decorated it beautifully, with unique art and dried flowers. There were sketches framed on the walls, too, ones he thought she might have done herself over the years. He vaguely recalled her sometimes having a blank book for that purpose when they hiked around the estate in the summer. And there were piles of books everywhere, on almost every surface. The room looked lived in and treasured, a little feminine escape from a world where she mostly spent time with her brother or friends like the ones gathered here this week.

"Marianne?" he called out as he drew a finger across a table that contained stationery, quills, a wax seal for letters. He recognized her scrawling, messy handwriting on one of the pages, though he didn't read the words. He only thought of all the letters she'd written to him over the years and smiled.

"Marianne?" he repeated as he came closer to the door across the antechamber. The one that led to her bedroom. He briefly pictured her curled up on her bed, dozing. Pictured crossing to her and waking her with a kiss. Where would a kiss lead in the dark quiet of a private room? Would he be able to stop himself from losing control if she wrapped her arms around his neck and…

He shook his head and opened the door to the adjoining bedroom. "Marianne?"

Only there was no one inside. Her bed was perfectly made, her fire burned low. There was no candle or lamp lit to ease her reading or drawing or sewing. She wasn't there.

He definitely should have left then, but he found himself violating her privacy further than he already had by stepping fully into the room. Again, it was a beautiful chamber that contained all the depths of Marianne's personality. There was a cozy chair by the fire decorated in a pretty woven fabric of pinks and yellows and blues and more books beside it, as well as a half-finished blanket she must have been crocheting.

She brought the things she loved into these four walls, including a few miniatures on a dressing table by the window. He moved toward them and smiled at the picture of her brother staring back at him. This was a likeness made just after he'd inherited his title. There was one of the two siblings together as well, Marianne's lips just barely smiling like she was trying not to laugh and Delacourt's eyes slightly cast toward her.

There was a larger likeness of their parents on the table. Unlike the other portraits, there was no warmth to them. But then again, that reflected their reality just as much, if Sebastian recalled correctly. The late earl and his wife had had a volatile relationship. One that had led to the countess's early demise, which had been whispered about endlessly. The scandal had cut short and ultimately damaged Marianne's coming. And her father's drinking and loud, uncouth cruelty to everyone he had encountered in the following years had done nothing to help her recover from that loss.

As he picked up the silver-framed painting to look at it, he realized that there was another hidden behind it and the discovery of it made his knees wobble a little. It was him. His miniature was placed here with the rest, a very old piece done when he was still in school. How had she even gotten this? And why had she kept it?

He placed the portrait of her parents back where it had belonged and caught his breath, which was suddenly short. He didn't know why or how she had the picture. More to the point, he shouldn't care about it either. He had come into this room without her permission and he didn't want to see anything more of her internal life.

He was about to turn and flee when he noticed a large sheet of heavy vellum that was folded haphazardly next to the collection of portraits in front of a pretty jewelry box with an intricate design of brass overlayed on it.

He didn't recognize this handwriting, and for a moment his heart leapt. What if it was from an admirer? Even Lanford? Would that explain Marianne's absence from the places Sebastian believed she should be?

He picked it up, hating himself even more for these betrayals after betrayals he was committing against her. But it didn't stop him from unfolding the sheet.

Only to find that it wasn't a passionate letter from a lover at all. It was a list entitled Daring to Live Before I Die, Things to Do .

Sebastian's nearly toppled himself over as he rushed to the fire to read the message more clearly in the light there. Die? Was Marianne dying? No, this wasn't in her hand. And it didn't seem to be a man's hand either, for it was delicate and neat and decidedly feminine. And then he recalled her friend's death. Claudia. She'd been ill, hadn't she? Perhaps knowing she would die.

Was this her list?

His gaze darted from one item to another, not even in the correct order in his panic, and his eyes widened:

Learn to Play Billiards.

Say Something Shocking.

Learn What Naughty Words Mean and Use Them in a Sentence.

The last one was crossed out in a different ink then it had been written in. He tensed as he thought about that day in Marianne's home when he'd taught her all those naughty words and watched her sweet mouth form them as his body became edgier and more focused on her. He pushed those thoughts away and continued to read the list:

Go to a Party Uninvited.

Wear Something Daring.

Again, that one was crossed off and he pulled the list to his chest and thought of Marianne in her beautiful gown at the Brighthollow ball. The one that had drawn every man's attention in the room, including his own. The one that had made her look so intoxicating that he hadn't been able to stop himself from kissing her as he asked…

As he asked her why she had been behaving so strangely recently. When she'd denied him an answer.

"Marianne," he groaned as he began to realize exactly why that might be. He returned his attention to the list:

Be Unchaperoned with a Man.

That item had a question mark next to it and in Marianne's hand, for he knew it instantly, it read: Does Sebastian count?

He stared. The annotations on the list, the lines through the items, those were in Marianne's hand. He looked further to verify:

Get Drunk. Crossed off.

Find Out What Boxing is All About. Crossed off.

Experience a Perfect Kiss.

His breath caught as he saw Marianne had crossed that item off, only the line was shaky, as if she'd been trembling when she did it. The perfect kiss. The kiss they'd shared on the terrace, perhaps. It had been a perfect kiss. Powerful and heated and passionate.

He continued to scan the list and saw the words love affair , but before he could read that further, he was drawn to another item, this one with one more of Marianne's notes beside it.

Play Faro in a Hell.

His stomach clenched because next to that item, she'd written: Mr. Lanford .

"Christ," he muttered, tossing the list aside on the table and pivoting toward the door. She was going to the hell with Lanford. After so much time since he'd last seen her, she was likely already at the hell. And there were those kinds of places where a lady wouldn't stand out, but Hedgewig's wasn't one of them. Marianne didn't belong there.

And he needed to get to her as soon as possible so that she didn't get herself into too much trouble.