“You didn’t need to.” He moved closer—not touching, but near enough she felt his heat.
She stepped away from his intensity, her face flushed.
“This conversation is highly inappropriate.”
“We did away with propriety when you followed me here.” He stopped himself, jaw clenching. “You should go. Return to Eleanor. Pretend this never happened. Pretend we’re nothingmore than two people bound by duty and a marriage neither wanted.”
“And if I don’t wish to pretend?”
He went still. His eyes searched her face with intensity that made her flush despite the chill.
“Then we’re both in considerably more trouble than I anticipated.”
The library door swung open.
Eleanor stood there, expression caught between exasperation and alarm. “Forgive the intrusion. Lady Whitmore has requested Lady Blackwood’s presence. Some matter regarding the incident in the garden.”
“Well,” Eleanor whispered with a glimmer of a smile as they left a seething Thaddeus in the library. “For all who believe this marriage is born of convenience, you just provided much fodder.”
The woman sounded positively gleeful, and Maribel looked at her aghast. “But… but it is convenience. We merely…”
“Oh, pish,” Eleanor interrupted. “You would much rather have them speculate about your marriage than about the boy’s suitability and future, would you not?”
There was nothing Maribel could do but nod.
She didn’t see Thaddeus again before the party ended.
Maribel returned to Blackwood just as twilight surrendered to darkness. Mrs. Allen waited with Oliver dancing impatiently at her side.
“Maribel!” He launched himself at her. “You were gone ages! Were there cakes?”
She gathered him close, breathing in soap and boy and unconditional affection. “Far too many cakes.”
“Did you bring me one?”
“I didn’t think of it. Shall I commission Cook to make something special tomorrow?”
His face brightened. “With icing?”
“What use is cake without icing?”
Mrs. Allen cleared her throat. “His Grace returned an hour past, my lady. He asked that you attend him in his study.”
The flutter in Maribel’s chest had nothing to do with anxiety.
“Thank you.” She set Oliver down. “Run to the nursery. I’ll come read shortly.”
“Promise?”
“Have I ever broken a promise?”
He considered this theatrically before shaking his head, then raced upstairs.
Maribel stood in the entrance hall, heart beating too fast, hands smoothing over her skirts.
The study waited.
She moved through corridors with measured steps, rehearsing opening remarks. But when she reached the door, all planning dissolved.
