Anger rose in Alexander’s chest, washing over him in an unexpected wave. How dare her cousin create such an environment for those who were now in his care? How dare he make Marianne worry even for a moment when she was already experiencing grief and pain and humiliation?
“I will have a seamstress come,” he said softly, “and a few additional gowns made for you. Once your sister arrives, I will extend the same to her.”
Marianne blinked in what appeared to be disbelief. “You would—you would do that for me? For her? That is outside the bounds of our agreement.”
He waved his hand to dismiss the concern. “The bounds of the agreement are what I say they are. You will have the gowns, I’ll have arrangements made in the morning.”
“I-I cannot repay your kindness,” she whispered, and he heard the tremble in her voice. The fear and the pain there wormed its way into a heart that had been so cold for what felt like a lifetime.
He cleared his throat. “You are repaying it. Now, supper is ready. Will you join me?”
She stepped toward him and he held out his arm to her in offering. But she didn’t take it. Instead, she lifted to her tiptoes and brushed her lips to his cheek. He turned to her, their eyes locking. The moment grew heavy with desire, the kind that was always between them. But there was something else there too. Something far more terrifying.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick. “You do not have to be kind. I know you say that is for your own purpose, but it makes my life easier nonetheless. No one has made my life easier for a long time, so I-I appreciate it.”
He didn’t know how to respond to her words, nor to the warm reaction that spread through his entire body. So he merely took her arm and led her into the dining room for their supper.
Marianne couldn’t stop staring at Alexander as the servants drew away the final dinner course of the night and replaced it with a raspberry tart that made her heart leap with its fruity scent.
The man was a riddle. Just like the tart, actually. Its center was bitter, but also sweet. Together, the combination was surprising and tantalizing.
Alexander was much the same. He could be so cold and dismissive, making her feel with every fiber of her being that this was a mere arrangement for him. That he gave no more care for her than he did a person he passed on the street.
And then he could be so much more. Like when he touched her, pleasured her. Or when he offered her an effortless kindness as he had in the parlor before supper.
And now he was somewhere in the middle. Quiet but not cold.
“This tart is divine,” Marianne said, searching for something to fill the silence that suddenly felt uncomfortable because she had analyzed it too much. “I do love dessert.”
He arched a brow. “I will pass that along to the cook. She’ll stack desserts to the ceiling if she thinks it will please me.”
“Ah,” Marianne said with a smile. “So the servants want to please you.”
He wrinkled his brow. “You sound as though that is a surprise or a discovery.”
“You are so reticent to share your thoughts, Your Grace, I am forced to determine them myself. Determine anything about you, really.”
He was staring at her now, his expression unreadable. Immediately she began to regret her cheeky outburst. Hadn’t she been told a hundred times to not be so bold? And yet she’d done it, so it was too late to escape the consequences now.
“It’s almost a game,” she continued.
“A game,” he repeated.
She nodded. “Yes. Certainly you are not unfamiliar with the concept. You must have played games now and then when you were a child. Though you seem the kind of man who has always been an adult.”
His cheek twitched and she thought he might be trying not to smile. That buoyed her confidence and she arched a playful brow at him. He sighed. “Yes, Marianne, I know what games are.”
“I love games,” she admitted. “Juliet and I are always making them up. Guessing how many sweets are in a dish or how many steps it is from one side of a room to another. Anything can be a game if one tries hard enough.”
She knew she was talking too much and expected Alexander to cut her off from her foolishness. But instead he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Including the reading of my thoughts.”
She nodded. “Certainly.”
“And you’re very good at games,” he drawled, his voice suddenly infused with that dark sensuality that made her toes curl in her slippers.
“Er,” she stammered, suddenly thrown by the glint in his eyes. She’d thought her playfulness would irritate him, but it didn’t seem to have that effect at all. “I’m good enough.”
“All right,” he said softly. “Then tell me, Lady Marianne…how many times have I kissed you?”
