Chapter Fourteen #3
Ambitious with his future. Hardworking and hopeful.
Did he show this side of himself to Lady Diana, too, when he called upon her? The woman must be beside herself with wanting.
He huffed. “I am seconds away from taking your hand myself.”
I quirked a brow, daring him to try.
I looked around. There was only black and the moon. Distant lights. Lanterns closer to the house. Sighing, I lifted my hand and laced it through his arm.
His warmth felt like a comfortable, well-worn glove, and despite my anxiety, I quickly relaxed in his hold. He drew me nearer to his side and lifted his candle ahead of us. Together, we walked. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“You are very warm,” I admitted. And he smelled so, so good. Like spicy oranges.
“Because I’ve come straight from the furnace of the underworld.”
Caught off guard, I laughed aloud and bumped into his side. How different he was out here, just the two of us. I much preferred this duke. This man.
“For someone who doesn’t read fiction, you have quite the imagination. Heavens, I haven’t laughed so much in an age.” And it was true. I couldn’t remember the last time my stomach ached as happily as it now did.
“I think you, Georgiana Wood, prefer a villain to a dashing hero, don’t you?” His voice was husky and low.
We were halfway to the house, nearing the gravel drive. I thought of Sir Ronald, a hero to his core. Had I had half this much fun in a single night with him?
No. Not once.
Ronald and I had laughed, but it had never felt as real, as natural, as this. Perhaps, all along, I’d been looking for the wrong sort of man.
“I suppose we shall see what Mrs. Johns comes up with.”
Marlow groaned, somehow tightening his hold even more. He made us slow our steps.
And then lights appeared to our left. Moving lights.
Lanterns. And the pattering of horses’ hooves.
I froze, yanking him back a step. “Who—”
“Gabriel must be home at last.” Marlow started to walk toward the house.
I dug in my heels, tugging him backward before blowing out his candle. “We cannot be seen!”
“Georgiana,” he protested, laughing, but it was a half-hearted chiding. He tossed his smoking candle and silver holder in the gravel ahead. He let me tug him back and toward a tree to the right. We moved around the wide, old trunk until I was satisfied we were hidden.
As though we could be seen this far from the house in the middle of the night anyway. But the candle had illuminated us some.
And if Gabriel found us out here in the dark alone, he’d tell Maggie, and Maggie would—heavens, what would Maggie think? She would certainly tell the duchess, who would have my head regardless of what Marlow said. I had promised her I’d play my part.
Marlow needed a wife—a nice, well-mannered lady of good standing and wealth.
He certainly did not need to be spending his evenings wandering around with me.
Not that I was presumptuous enough to think that anything I did or said would keep the Duke of Marlow from marrying the woman he wanted to marry.
I poked my head around the trunk as the carriage slowed in the drive. The driver did not so much as peek in our direction.
Then Gabriel stepped down. We watched with bated breath as he took the stairs to the front doors. When he reached the top, he turned and looked out in the darkness. Straight toward us.
He lingered for a long moment. Then he turned and entered the house.
He knows.
I didn’t know how. I didn’t have any reason other than a feeling deep in my gut.
But I had already wagered that Gabriel was far more intelligent than the duke gave him credit for. I suspected Gabriel knew something about the nature of my relationship with Marlow—that it was not based entirely upon truth.
“Come,” Marlow said, urging my hand back in the crease of his arm. “Before you catch your death out here.”
“Before you catch yours,” I muttered.
His laugh was deep and infectious.
An hour later, I was safe and warm in my bed, no one the wiser for it, and drifting to sleep to the scent of spice and oranges still lingering on my skin.
The next morning, I awoke late to Jane placing a tea tray with pastries, fruit, and lavender tea on my bedside table.
Beside it sat my copy of Udolpho, which I’d forgotten in the library, with a little note attached.
From the ghosts of Ashburn Abbey’s passageways.
The Duke of Marlow hopes you are well-rested. He reminds you that the stables are yours, at your leisure, should you wish to explore them, as is the rest of the house and grounds. At your leisure. Should you wish. (Not a command.)
Enjoy the day.
My cheeks ached from how hard I grinned. I read the note three times over, tracing the slanted scrawl with my fingertips.
Against my better judgment, I felt his words take root in my heart and expand. I shouldn’t let them. I should dig them out and toss them aside before they took hold of me. Before they grew. I had let such feelings take root before, and it had ruined me.
I’d let myself feel things the other person hadn’t. I didn’t want that to happen between Marlow and me.
I feared it already had.