Marianne paused. The more time she spent with Lucien, the more interested she was becoming in his history: in what he wanted, what he thought, what he dreamed of, what made him the man he was today. And yes, she wondered about his wife. So she nodded. “Very well, if you do find out anything of consequence, by all means, tell me.”
The horse had come to a stop at last, and Lucien lifted Henry down onto the ground. The boy ran forward but then tripped, falling forward into a puddle. Marianne turned, wondering if she should assist him, but instead of crying as she had thought, the boy got up. He chuckled, and Lucien knelt beside him. Thelittle boy whispered something to his father. Lucien looked up at Marianne and then replied to Henry, who suddenly turned around and raced across the paddock. He climbed underneath the fence and then focused on Marianne. She stood, unsure of what to do, remaining in place.
Then, before anything else could be said or done, Henry wrapped his arms around her, patting his hands across her skirt.
“Henry,” she called, seeing that his hands were covered in mud, which had now transferred to her gown. Lucien walked across the paddock, bent down, and snuck out through the fence.
“Do not fret,” he said with a chuckle. “I told you, our staff is very good at removing mud and any manner of stains.”
Marianne stood there feeling foolish. Henry had stepped back and laughed as though this were the greatest jest ever played upon anybody. She looked down at her gown, one of the nice ones her aunt had bought her. It was a cream color, except now, the area around her knees and thighs where Henry had hugged her was covered in mud.
“That... That was not very kind,” she said.
“No, indeed, it was not,” Juliet said. “Not kind at all, my lord.”
Marianne looked up, confused, as Juliet stared at Lucien, her arms pressed to her hips.
Lucien looked quite pale.
“Pray allow me to explain,” Juliet said.
“It was merely in jest,” Lucien said defensively, which gave Marianne pause at once.
“What was? What was?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Juliet said. “Come, let us get you changed. Besides, it is going to rain soon.” She wrapped an arm around Marianne, and the two of them walked away together. But when Marianne looked back, she saw Juliet was glaring over her shoulder at Lucien. What had just happened? What had he said? Why was she so angry at him?
Juliet did not leave her any time to ponder the matter, for they were already passing the stable, having left father and son behind.
CHAPTER 14
LUCIEN
That evening, Lucien sat in the armchair by the fire, drumming his fingers on the wood.
Marianne had sounded really upset at the paddock. Not angry, but sad. Humiliated.
He’d felt ashamed the moment he saw it. He’d gone too far.
When Henry had asked him if he could hug Marianne, he’d encouraged him, even though his hands were mud-stained and Marianne’s gown would get dirty.
She had to learn not to be so afraid of getting a little bit dirty. And what better way than to have a little boy pat down your riding habit with his dirty palms? Riding habits were the one garment meant to get dirty, after all.
The new maid, Juliet, however, had certainly reacted as though it were a most offensive crime. And now Lucien felt bad about the whole thing.
Marianne hadn’t come down to dine with them that evening, and he’d worried it was because she was angry. However, Mrs Greaves had assured him it was because her bath had taken longer than anticipated due to a spillage on the stairs.
He’d been relieved, but he’d also realized that he had created a situation that could potentially have caused conflict. And for what? A little amusement?
He couldn’t stop fretting. She was perhaps a little stiff, but beyond that, she was a lovely woman. She had tried to read to Henry, tried to show him a trick at breakfast with her egg. Yes, it had misfired, however hard she had tried.
He took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of the cedar wood burning in the fireplace. It was comforting, but that ill feeling in the pit of his stomach remained.
He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Marianne’s face as she had tumbled off the horse earlier. His hands tingled with the recalled sensation of holding her to keep her from falling. No, that wasn’t even true either. He hadn’t just stopped her from falling—he had held onto her for an unreasonable amount of time.
He should have stopped her fall and stepped back. Instead, he’d stood there like a fool, hands on her body as her warm breath brushed over his skin.
He couldn’t—he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. It made no sense. They hardly knew each other. Yet that physical connection had caused some turmoil within him, and he loathed to examine too closely.
