She pushed off her blanket, stood, padded over to the door, and opened it.
Nicholas stood there in his form-fitting breeches, bare feet, and a white shirt opened to the waist.
She peered out in the hall to ensure no one else was looking, then waved her hand rapidly to beckon him inside immediately. “Come in.”
Nicholas stepped inside and she shut the door behind him quickly.
“Thank you for letting me in,” he said as soon as the door was closed.
She hurried over to the desk and lit the candle. She was wearing her night rail and hadn’t even bothered to put on a dressing gown. Not to mention her hair was streaming past her shoulders and no doubt looked a mess.
“Did I have a choice? I couldn’t let anyone see you knocking on my door at this hour.” She’d already decided to give up the pretense of the lower-class accent in his presence. He’d already discovered it was false and it felt silly to continue to pretend.
“Everyone is asleep. They all drank too much at dinner,” Nicholas continued.
“Except you.”
“I told you. I don’t drink.”
The candle sprang to life and illuminated the small room. “Yes. Why is that?” She turned toward him and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I didn’t come here to discuss my distaste for alcohol,” he bit out.
She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him warily. “Then why did you come here?”
He arched a brow. “You don’t think we need to talk?”
“About?” She let the word trail off as if she didn’t remember what had transpired between them last night.
He gave her a long-suffering stare. “Really?”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Go ahead.”
Nicholas cleared his throat. “It seems we both know something about each other that we’d rather no one else find out about. Would you agree?”
She tilted her head to the side as she contemplated the matter. “Yes. Agreed.”
He nodded and continued. “Then it’s in both of our best interests if neither of us says anything about the other. Agreed?”
She nodded too. “Yes. Agreed.”
“Very well. I’ll leave you to your evening.” He turned back toward the door.
“Wait a minute. That’s all you have to say?” The outrage in her voice was noticeable.
He turned back around and scowled. “What else is there?”
She put her hands on her hips. “You’re not going to ask me my real name? You’re not going to tell me yours?”
A grin spread across his face. “I assumed you didn’t want to tell me your real name, but if you’d like to, I’m more than willing to listen.”
She blinked at him. “Are you going to tell meyourreal name?”
“No.”
She nearly stamped her foot. “That’s not fair.”
“I’m perfectly willing to continue calling you ‘Marianne.’”
