Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

M arianne stared at herself in the full-length mirror in her dressing room and shook her head for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes. She hardly recognized herself.

"You did wonders in such a short time, Hannah, I truly appreciate it," she whispered because she felt her servant staring and didn't want her to think the silence was due to disappointment.

No, that wasn't the emotion in her chest at all.

"Thank you. You really do look lovely, Lady Marianne."

"I assume my brother has arrived to escort Aunt Beulah and me to the ball. Do you think you could go down to them and tell them I'll only be a moment more?"

Hannah's brow wrinkled a fraction and then she nodded. "Of course, my lady."

She scurried from the room and Marianne looked at herself again. Where she normally had a plain bun at her nape, Hannah had wrapped and curled and braided her dark locks until they shone and fluttered in a more fetching way. She'd also put some jeweled clips into her hair, ones once worn by her late mother. They did draw the eye.

She'd lightly rouged Marianne's cheeks and lips, just enough to give color. A good thing, since she knew she was more pale than usual thanks to her nerves about the night.

And then there was the dress. She'd spun herself into knots trying to picture what it would look like. She'd feared looking almost naked with all the frills removed. And yet that was not the effect. Oh yes, there was more shoulder revealed, more of the curve of her bosom. But the increased simplicity of the gown actually made her feel…pretty.

She hadn't felt pretty in a very long time.

She shook her head and turned away from the mirror before she took her reticule, complete with her dance card for the evening, and made her way downstairs where her family waited for her. She drew a deep breath and smoothed her skirt before she entered the parlor.

Her aunt and brother were standing by the sideboard and he was smiling as she finished a drink. They both turned when she entered the room and she saw their expressions change to ones of twin shock.

"I-I'm sorry I was late," she stammered, knowing her cheeks were turning the same color as her dress beneath their intense scrutiny.

"Marianne!" Aunt Beulah gasped. "You look…"

She trailed off and Marianne found herself smoothing her skirt again. "It's too much?"

"No," Finn said, stepping forward. "You look lovely, Mari."

"Very lovely, my dear," Beulah reassured her.

They both seemed sincere enough and Marianne relaxed a fraction. That was the first test passed. Neither of them had called her a jezebel or laughed at her for trying to be bolder.

"Would you like a drink?" her brother asked.

"Oh, no, I couldn't," she said. "And I've delayed us long enough. We should depart, should we not?"

He stared at her a moment and then slightly inclined his head. "Certainly."

He took their aunt's arm and together they went out to where the carriage awaited them. Marianne tensed as he helped her in beside Beulah. She could feel Finn watching her, reading her. He had questions, it seemed, even if he had no judgments. And she didn't want to answer those questions. She didn't want to hear all his protection come to the forefront. She didn't want to feel him watching her all night as he tried to keep her from any harm or from any change that would help her be, even momentarily, something more than a boring spinster.

But somehow he didn't ask during the short ride. Beulah kept him busy discussing a play Finn had apparently seen a few nights before, and that allowed Marianne the ability to look out the window, take a few breaths and try to ready her mind for what was about to happen.

They came into the line of carriages that wrapped around the circular drive at the beautiful home of the Duke and Duchess of Brighthollow. She didn't know either of them well, though she did know the duke's sister, Elizabeth. The young lady hadn't been a wallflower or a spinster, per se, but it had been clear she'd never enjoyed Society much. Marianne had always liked her.

Finn helped them each down and once again escorted their aunt up into the house and the line of those greeting the duke and duchess. Since they were later than most, it all moved along swiftly and she found herself greeting the handsome duke and the truly beautiful duchess. The woman seemed to shine, with her bright blue eyes and sleek black hair. Marianne felt dowdy, not daring, next to her, dress or no dress.

And yet Her Grace caught both of Marianne's hands and squeezed after they were introduced. "Oh, Lady Marianne, I've heard so much about you from our dear Lizzie."

Marianne blushed at being remembered. "How lovely. I was just thinking of her as we came up the stairs. Is she in London?"

"No, you may have heard of her recent marriage," the duchess said with a quick glance and smile toward the duke. "She is honeymooning right now at our country estate."

"Ah, yes, I'd heard of her marriage." Marianne tried to maintain her smile. She hadn't been jealous of Elizabeth when the news had spread. There was no one in the world who deserved more happiness than the kind, quiet young woman. But she certainly had felt a little deflated by it. She sometimes allowed herself to believe that after a certain point, one just gave up on the idea of a union.

Any time that was thwarted it made her feel like a failure.

"But we're hoping to coax the couple to Town sometime after the summer," the duke said, taking his wife's hand and sliding into the crook of his arm with an indulgent look at her. "If we do, we'll be certain to hold a soiree and invite you all. I know she'd love to see you."

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Marianne said, and then nodded to excuse herself as another group of stragglers entered the foyer and the duke and duchess turned to greet them.

She followed Finn and Aunt Beulah into the ballroom. They were announced and the eyes of the room turned toward them. Normally that didn't trouble her, for the people around them were always looking through her, looking at Phineas. He was a catch, after all.

But tonight their gazes lingered on her. Whispers began as ladies talked behind their fans and gentlemen who she was certain didn't even realize she existed now took a longer look at her in her new gown.

It seemed daring was, indeed, a draw. It made her a little hot and dizzy, frankly. Were they speaking unkindly of her? Did they think her a fool for putting herself on display as she had?

Their aunt excused herself and made her way toward her group of friends, and that left Marianne alone with Finn. He turned toward her, her brow slightly wrinkled.

"Marianne," he said, and in his voice she heard all those questions she'd wanted to avoid in the carriage.

But before he could ask them, a voice from one of the nearby groups called out, "Delacourt!"

He looked toward them with a flash of annoyance and then back toward her. "Forgive me. I have something to discuss with those gentlemen. I hope you'll save me a dance later."

Marianne almost laughed. Her dance card was only ever filled by Finn's name or the occasional name of a gentleman who was his friend, like Sebastian. The idea she had to save anything was absurd.

But she was happy enough for the freedom from whatever questions he would ask and waved him to go before she started through the crowd herself on her way to the wall.

"Good evening, Lady Marianne," a gentleman said as she passed him, and she inclined her head as she continued her way through the crowd. Had that been Mr. Lanford? The third son of Viscount Lanford? He hadn't spoken to her in years.

"Lady Marianne," came another voice of greeting, from another gentleman who nodded as she went by.

Yet another inclined his head with a brief smile. She was utterly confused as she reached the wall and took her normal place there to stare out at the crowd. Only this time some of them were looking back at her. It was entirely odd.

Normally it was only Sebastian who ever found her on the wall. And just as that thought entered her mind, she found him in the crowd. And he was, indeed, watching her as he often did. But tonight there was a different expression on his face than normal. It was more intense, more focused. She smiled at him and she saw him draw a breath in response.

He took a step her way and her heart leapt but before he could close the distance between them a gentleman stepped into her line of sight, closing her off from her view of Sebastian.

"Good evening, Lady Marianne," the man said.

She blinked. It was Mr. Lanford again, the first man who had greeted her as she made her way through the crowd a few moments before. "Mr. Lanford," she said, forcing her words out past a suddenly dry throat. "How nice to see you."

"And you," he said. "Since you have only just arrived, I hoped that your dance card might not be full yet and that you might honor me with the next."

He smiled as she said it and in her shock at the question she examined him. He didn't look to be making fun of her or be forced by some unknown reason to ask her for the dance. He seemed sincere, even if she didn't think she'd ever danced with him before.

She glanced over his shoulder, but found Sebastian was no longer where he'd been standing earlier. It seemed there would be no battle for her attention. She'd probably only imagined Sebastian's interest anyway. Once he realized he wouldn't be forced to entertain her, he'd likely been pleased and moved on to more interesting quarry.

"Lady Marianne?" Lanford said, a little more gently.

She forced a laugh. "Of course. I'd be happy to dance, with you, sir."

He held out an arm, which she took and then allowed him to lead her to the dancefloor and the quadrille that was just beginning.

S ebastian stood in a corner of the ballroom, drink clutched in his white-knuckled hand, and he watched Marianne. He had been doing the same all night, it seemed he couldn't stop himself, and so he'd seen her dancing virtually every dance. When she hadn't been spinning around the floor, she'd been chatting with gentlemen of varying quality. She'd also been watched by a great many others.

What was most interesting was how utterly unaware she seemed to be of the splash she was making just by wearing a more audacious gown and arranging her hair like a goddess who had deigned to come down from Mount Olympus and allow her subjects to worship.

She seemed equally unaware of how being an observer of it all made Sebastian burn. How could she be aware? Aside from one brief look at him after her arrival, she hadn't noticed him at all.

And now she smiled at the gentleman who was just leaving her side and noticed the next one who was stalking up on her, ready to stake his brief claim on her attention. But to Sebastian's surprise, she didn't look excited by the next attendee, but exhausted. She ducked to the left, obviously pretending she didn't see him and then weaved her way through the crowd.

Where was she going?

The terrace. She was escaping to the terrace. He realized he was moving before he meant to do it. Following her. Why, he didn't want to examine. After all, he couldn't begrudge her this attention. Couldn't begrudge her looking beautiful and having others notice it. Delacourt had said it at the Donville Masquerade a few days before that he'd hoped Marianne might have still had a chance at something beyond the life of a spinster.

And yet Sebastian still found himself opening the terrace door he'd watched her go through moments before and stepping out into the cool night air to look for her.

She was standing at the terrace wall, staring out into the inky night. There were a few lanterns lit for those who might come out and in the dim light of the one she stood near, he saw her discomfort. Her overwhelm. And once again he was mobbed by questions about her recent behavior.

He stepped toward her and she turned to face him with a jump of surprise.

"Marianne," he said, without preamble. "Why are you doing all this?"

She shook her head and lifted a hand to her chest, forcing him to follow the action almost against his will. "Sebastian, you frightened me."

"Why?" he insisted.

Her brow wrinkled. "Doing… what ? I came to a ball where I was invited and?—"

He shook his head. "The drinking, the swearing, the fighting, that—" He swallowed as he looked up and down her body now that he was close enough to really enjoy it. "That dress. Why are you trying to be someone you're not?"

Her face fell at that question and the hurt was as evident as the fullness of her lips. "Someone I'm not," she repeated. He nodded slowly. She folded her arms, her expression hardening from hurt to anger. "Because I could never be so interesting, is that what you mean?"

He drew back at her tart tone and the flash of her eyes. "No. I'd never say that."

"No, it would be impolite to point out that I'm a dowdy spinster doing things she shouldn't be out of some pathetic attempt to be someone she isn't." She tilted her head. "Oh, wait, that's exactly what you just did."

He flinched. "That wasn't my intention. I worded it badly. Let me start again. Something is clearly wrong, Marianne. Or…different, anyway. Your friend died and suddenly you have started doing all these out of character things. I worry about you. As a friend ."

She shook her head. "Oh, please. No matter what you said to me before, no matter how you try to pretend otherwise, we both know that you are only my friend out of loyalty to my brother. And out of pity. Someone like you could never understand someone like me."

He moved closer, almost impossibly close now. He could smell the lemon and rose petal scent of her hair, see the shine of unshed tears in her dark eyes.

"I know what it's like to want to be someone different. Anyone but myself." He heard those words he never spoke out loud leave his lips and wished them back almost instantly.

She stared up at him, but her expression remained doubtful, hurt, angry. "Liar," she whispered, and then moved to step around him.

He caught her arm almost out of instinct and brought her back to him in one gentle tug. She fell against his chest just as she had in his boxing ring days before, and once again she stared up at him, her breath short, her pupils dilated, her fingers tense against his chest.

But tonight he had no ability to fight what he wanted. Tonight he cupped her cheek, splaying his fingers against impossible softness, bent his head and kissed her.