“How far is it?”
“Six miles. An hour’s ride, if I keep a steady pace.”
An hour pressed so close she could feel each breath andshift of muscle? An hour to decide how to repay her debt to him without risking her heart? It would feel like a lifetime.
Even this late at night, they drew looks from those souls still abroad. What must people think? “The gossip will be rife tomorrow. They’ll say you kidnapped a maiden in her nightclothes and paraded her through the city.”
“You’ll be the latest addition to my non-existent harem. I can add devil and despoiler to my litany of sins.”
Sadness crept into her heart. He had saved her life and did not deserve their censure. “The only name that springs to my mind is hero.”
His sharp intake of breath matched her own. It was a foolish thing to say. Now he would think … she didn’t know what he would think, and so held her tongue all the way to Islington.
She must have closed her eyes, for she started at the sound of his deep, steady voice. “We’ve arrived at Studland Park, Miss Woolf.”
They were already halfway up the long, sweeping drive when Olivia raised her head and almost slipped from the horse in shock.
Studland Park rose from the darkness, a vast palace of pillars and pediments, built for gods, not mortals. It stood as a monument to irony. With its countless sash windows, one might expect clarity, yet for a decade the marquess had battled in the dark. Candlelight spilt from every room, though the chambers lay empty. He rarely entertained guests. Few people were welcome here.
The house was nothing but an illusion.
A gilded cage.
A prison masquerading as his sanctuary.
“Don’t be alarmed,” the marquess said, sensing herunease. “Like its master, the house is far less intimidating than it appears.”
Strange that a man so perceptive couldn’t see what was plain to her. Sadness clung to these majestic walls as it did to the air about him. He didn’t terrify her. He intrigued her, as a line of poetry did, a mystery begging to be unravelled. What lay beyond these walls and his words fascinated her more than it should.
“Things are never as they seem.”
“Including you?” he said.
“Including me. You would be wise to return me to World’s End.” It was only right she should give him fair warning. “The last thing you need is another burden. The wrong company won’t ease your loneliness.”
He snorted. “Is that what you think I am? Lonely?”
The hollow look in his eyes spoke of a man more isolated by wealth than enriched by it. “Yes, and so tethered to the past, you’re in danger of ruining your future.”
He offered no quip, only brought the stallion to a halt before the grand entrance, its columns soaring skyward, too vast for mortal hands to have raised. A footman hurried down the steps, livery gleaming, his buttons as polished as his bow.
The marquess made no move to dismount. He kept her locked between his powerful arms, bent his head, and whispered, “I need you to cut the tethers. I need to leave the past behind. We both do.”
He spoke with finality, as if he believed this moment might determine the course of their lives. How did one change such a stubborn man’s mind? How could she explain she was no one’s saviour?
“Help Miss Woolf down, Albert. Take her arm. An hour in the saddle can unsettle anyone.”
The footman bowed low. “My lord.”
He moved swiftly to her side, supporting her as she slid to the ground. But aching muscles were not the problem. The chill breeze tugged at her nightclothes, and she found herself longing for the solid warmth of Lord Rothley’s chest.
Dismounting with ease, the marquess patted the stallion’s neck and stroked his nose. “Tell Lumsden to take extra care of Hector tonight. We’ve put him through his paces. There’s a discharged pistol in the saddlebag. See it’s cleaned and returned to my case.”
“Yes, my lord.”
And then the marquess’ hand was at her back, guiding her up the broad staircase towards the great oak doors. “I know it’s late. But we must come to an understanding before we retire tonight.”
Perhaps he might come to his senses. Perhaps she might persuade him that marriage was a foolish endeavour. That the solution to one problem might well ruin their lives.
