Then he was gone, leaving her breathless against the wall.
Seven o’clock—but a few hours.
A few hours until her wedding night. Until she discovered what it meant to belong to Adrian Blackwell, body and soul.
The thought terrified her.
It also thrilled her beyond measure.
She made her way back to her rooms, where Sarah had laid out several gowns for her consideration. The green silk from the opera lay among them—its low neckline a reminder of how this all started.
“That one,” she said, decision made.
As Sarah helped her bathe and dress, Marianne tried to calm her racing nerves. This was what she’d chosen. Not the hasty marriage or the scandal that prompted it, but him. Adrian. She’d chosen him that first night when she’d refused to look away.
Now she would live with that choice.
***
The dining room was intimate despite its size, candles creating pools of golden light. Adrian waited by the fireplace, devastating in evening black. His eyes tracked her entrance, darkening as he took in the green silk.
“Punctual,” he said. “I appreciate that in a wife.”
“I aim to please.”
He smiled faintly. “You aim to provoke.”
“Is it working?”
“Impressively.”
Dinner unfolded in an exquisite tension of glances and silences. Every time she raised her glass, his gaze followed the movement. Every time her tongue touched the wine, his breath seemed to catch. The footmen moved like shadows, wise enough to vanish quickly.
“Not hungry?” she asked as he pushed food around his plate.
“Ravenous,” he corrected. “Just not for food.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Adrian—”
“I like it when you say my name,” he murmured. “Say it again.”
“Adrian.”
“Again.”
“This is absurd,” she said, half laughing.
“Is it?” His gaze was molten. “Every glance, every word between us has been the overture, Marianne. The opera, the musicale, that damned conservatory—they were all merely the beginning. And now, finally, we get to the main event.”
Chapter Six
“Are you going to hover by that door all evening, or shall we attempt conversation like civilised people?”
Adrian’s voice carried across the chamber with dark amusement, though he hadn’t turned from the window, the firelight catching on the glass of brandy in his hand.
Marianne forced herself further into the room, her chin lifted in defiance she did not quite feel. “Civilised? That is rich, coming from the man who all but spirited me from London before the ink on our vows was dry.”
“I don’t recall you protesting.” He turned at last, and the look in his eyes made her breath falter. “In fact, I remember you saying yes with rather shocking conviction.”
