I grinned.
I told him aboutUdolpho’s heroine, Emily St. Aubert, and how she meets the heroic and handsome Valancourt and quickly falls in love. How her father dies, and she is sent to live with her terrible aunt, who marries a horrible husband, and then forces Emily to his castle Udolpho, where she is nearly forced to marry a man—who is not our beloved Valancourt!—she does not love. Mysteries abound. Hearts pound and quake, and Emily is out of her mind with worry and fear and uncertainty. Thank heavens for her servant girl Annette! She risks her life to venture where Emily cannot, answering Emily’s curiosity about Udolpho and its surroundings.
Marlow settled back in his chair while I told him the whole of Annette’s findings. His attention jolted when I told him about Emily’s aunt dying at the hands of Signor Montoni, how Emily gives him his ransom but he still keeps her locked away at Udolpho.
He sat at the edge of his seat while I explained how Ludovico led them to the dungeon to discover ...
“Who was down there?” he whisper-yelled, and I laughed.I wondered what would happen next. How it would all conclude.
And I could tell Marlow wondered too.
Between the two of us, we’d eaten everything on the tray. We slouched in our seats, both too comfortable by the fire than we ought to be.
Reluctantly, he stood. “I should leave you to your book, then. For both our sakes.”
He wanted me to tell him how it ended? As though we might continue this easy comradery tomorrow. Not likely.
“Thank you for letting me stay.”
He waved me off as though he disliked my saying that. Then he lifted a little square box from the side table and shook it. It sounded like bells.
A moment later the cat reappeared.
I grinned. “I’ve stolen your night, too, haven’t I?” I reached out my hand, but she went straight to the duke. He crouched beside her, giving her exactly the affection she wanted. Then he nudged her toward me.
She trotted over dutifully. I patted my seat, and she jumped up, looking again over my person for the creamer.
The duke ... well, he smiled. “Her name is Cleopatra, but Cleo for short.” Affection softened the usual roughness in his voice.
“Good evening, Cleo.” I rubbed her back as she lapped up the milk.
“She stalks the halls at night,” he explained. “Takes her rests in here with me. I saw her here when I found you ... I assumed—that is, I imagined perhaps you might like her company now.”
Cleo looked up at me and licked her lips. “Mercutio is not nearly as elegant and well-bred as Cleo, but I miss him all the same. Sharing her is very thoughtful. And appreciated.”
He nodded once. Watched us for a moment. Then, he said, “What are friends for, if not sharing their beloved cats?”
He was acting too kind. Too gentle. His offering prodded my hardened heart, as though looking for a weak spot to wriggle into. I couldn’t let him in. I could not afford to entangle myself with a handsome friend again. Heavens, we were hardlyfriendsat all.
“Good night, Duke Marlow.”
“Just Marlow,” he corrected me. “Good night, Georgiana.”
ChapterThirteen
Marlow
I’d slept until ten, and still felt like I’d been thrown against a tree. Every limb of my body ached, and I was slow-moving, sore from sleeping half the night in a wing-backed chair, and, still, hours later, every swallow felt full of cheap, scratchy wool.
Gabriel still wasn’t speaking to me.
Toole avoided looking me straight in the eye.
Maggie had gone out with her family.
Mother had gone out on calls with Georgiana.
And I had stayed up until two in the morning reading volume one ofThe Mysteries of Udolphothat I’d found in Mother’s personal library.
