And even in the harsh light of day, he couldn’t even say he regretted it. In fact, he wanted to do it again.
Marianne was passionate. Passionate and practical. Something told him that laying with her wouldn’t be like laying with anyone else. And he’d been right. The experience had been unlike any other in his life. But why? It made no sense. Why would a lady’s maid, especially one with an affected accent and who was lying to him, make him feel things he’d never felt before?
Not only was she lying to him, she’d tricked him into telling her his name. Somehow, she’d known his name wasn’t truly Nicholas, while she’d also known she wouldn’t be giving away much by admitting that he already knew hers. He did believe that her Christian name was truly Marianne, however. He could see the veracity in her eyes when she’d said it.
Beau shook his head. He had to admit it had been clever of her to trick him into revealing his name. Quite clever. She’d outmaneuvered him. And he wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered by anyone. Perhaps that was what intrigued him so much about her. He usually knew precisely who he was involving himself with. Marianne, however, was shrouded in mysteries. Mysteries that he greatly wanted to solve.
And one of the mysteries about her was what precisely had happened to her brother.
Whatever the story, it clearly wasn’t one she wanted to talk about much. Why not? Because it was so painful? Something told him it was more than just that.
It was not yet midnight when a knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. Reluctantly, he stood to answer it. No doubt it was Kendall again with more excuses about why he refused to fight for Miss Wharton.
Beau ripped open the door, saying, “You’d better get down there, no doubt dinner is mostly over.”
“Dinner?” Marianne stood there in her ubiquitous blue gownsansapron, a confused look at her face. “In the dining room? I have it on good authority that it ended quite abruptly this evening.”
Whatever she meant about dinner was quickly lost in Beau’s excitement that she had come to his room. After what had happened last night, he’d half-expected her to avoid him like a bug-ridden mattress from now on.
As was their ritual, Beau glanced both ways into the corridor to ensure it was clear before tugging her softly into his bedchamber.
“You’re here,” he said inanely after he’d shut the door behind her.
“I am,” she replied, biting her lower lip and staring at him uneasily, as if she were prepared to bolt at any moment if he made a sudden move.
She stepped toward the cot and gestured to it. “May I sit?”
“Please do,” he blurted, taking a seat on the window ledge next to the bed. He wasn’t about to get too close and scare her off. He wanted to hear what she had to say.
Marianne lowered herself to the cot and expelled her breath. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.” Her voice was calm and even.
“The thought did cross my mind,” he admitted with a wry smile.
She took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize…for running you off so quickly last night. The truth is…you frightened me.”
“Frightened you?” he echoed, leaning back into the window frame and propping up one knee. He needed to hear her out, let her say whatever she needed to say.
“More than a bit,” she continued, smoothing her hands down her skirts repeatedly. “I’d never…” Her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink and she dipped her head. “I’d never experienced anything like that before and I…it frightened me.”
A frown marred his brow. What exactly what she saying? “You told me you weren’t innocent.”
“I’m not… I wasn’t.” Her blushed deepened, but she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “But what happened between us last night…was unlike any of the times before.” She finished by expelling her breath again as if she’d just made a distressing confession.
“I feel the same,” he said quietly, hoping to make her feel comfortable by admitting the truth as well.
She nodded and folded her hands together in her lap. Her blush had not completely vanished. “I don’t know why I acted so strangely when you asked about my brother,” she said next. “I suppose it’s because I’ve never really spoken about it with anyone before.”
He nodded too and slowly moved to sit next to her on the mattress. He tentatively reached out to lay his hand atop hers on her lap. “I understand, Marianne.”
“Have you ever lost anyone close to you?” she asked.
A vision of a night many years ago flashed through his memory, but he steadfastly shook it away. “No one close to me has ever been murdered,” he answered. “Last night you said you can’t talk about it.”
“That’s right.” She nodded.
“Can’t or won’t?” he prompted.
She lowered her chin to her chest. “Won’t…or at least I didn’t want to then.”
