Page 49 of Destined to be a Duchess
“It is not.”
“It is my fault that—”
“Marianne, it isnot.” Anthony shot his head up, glowering at her. The anger in his eyes dissipated as they searched her face. “You have done nothing to encourage these feelings in me but exist and be exactly as you are. I am to blame. If I had kept my distance, or perhaps told you of these,” he balled his fist over his heart, “passionsthe moment they first occurred ...”
“Things would have been no different.” Marianne took his hand gently, unfurling his fingers. She could barely breathe until she released him, dizzy from the knowledge of what needed to be confessed. “Do you really believe that I have not had similar thoughts about you? This friendship between us has been one of the only things keeping me sane.
And there have absolutely been times when I have allowed my own imagination to run rampant with childish dreams of you. Of course, my existence has incited you to feel this way. Because even if I have not said it aloud, my every second thought has belonged to you—beenof you. You have only sensed what I have been too cowardly to admit outright.”
He remained quiet, and Marianne didn’t have the wherewithal to tell whether he was terrified of what she was going to say next or relieved.
“I am not offended by what happened. I was startled, certainly. But the attention was far from unwelcome.” She swallowed hard, too scared to look at him. “I am only afraid of what it means now. As far as I see it, that moment in front of your painting was the effect, not the cause, of another problem entirely. From the moment we met, I have trusted you. One moment of madness does not change that.”
Her confession hung in the air. She half-expected Anthony to scoff in disgust and turn for the door. Instead, she felt him take a step closer. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up at him. His thumb grazed the edge of her lip, and she froze beneath the gentle ministration, pliable and weak.
But this was not the start of something new. It was the conclusion of an unfinished moment.
“But what if it does? What if it must change things?” Anthony asked in a whisper. His lip quivered, and he released her, turning his back to her. “When I found Eliana, she had been determined to tell the other guests what she had seen. I used something as leverage ...”
He raked his hands over his face. “And we have weeks, perhaps, before she retaliates. In that time, I must come up with a solution to protect you.” He turned around, eyes wide. “And I will protect you, Marianne. Even if it kills me.”
Marianne wondered what he had done. Anthony had always been honest with her. If he refused to tell her about his deal with Eliana, there must have been a good reason. But she had abused his trust enough for one night, keeping her questions to herself.
“You must allow me to help you,” she said. “Regardless of who is to blame, I will not leave my fate in your hands alone ... What do you think can be done?”
“There is one obvious solution, but I would like to avoid giving Eliana what she wants so long as we have other options.” He hesitated.
“Even if I were to force you into a marriage with me, you would not be protected. Thetonwill show you no mercy, not even as a duchess, not if this comes to light. I can only imagine the things they will say about you. That you were a temptress, and I was a guileless fool for falling for your tricks, even though we both know that could not be further from the truth. They won’t care about the truth. They never do.”
The mention of marriage gave Marianne pause. She couldn’t believe Anthony would even contemplate marrying her—in a forced arrangement or otherwise. She thought back to their discussion on the lake about the lengthy list of requirements Anthony’s future wife needed to meet. If they did marry to protect her honour, his name would be tarnished not only by his selection of a bride but by the cause of their betrothal.
She couldn’t do that to Anthony, and she couldn’t do that to herself. She would not become someone’s wife by coercion, never knowing whether Anthony only tolerated her because hehadto. An arrangement of that nature would erase any semblance of affection she and Anthony might have held for each other. It was a fate worse than ruin.
“There is something else,” Anthony continued. “When we were in the gallery, I pulled away not because I regretted my actions but because I saw something on the wall.” He pointed to the space behind Marianne, reliving the moment.
“Warren is in the possession of a painting my father once loved. And I know for a fact that he did not want me to discover it.” His hand fell to his side.
“A less hubristic lord would have kept it hidden until I was gone. Or perhaps he did not think I would remember it. Either way, I did recognize it. If Warren has lied about something as inconsequential as a painting, then I have to imagine that he has lied about a great deal of other things as well ... Things concerning my father.”
Marianne hummed, worried that Anthony was clutching at straws. The mention of his father unsettled her. He was still deep in his grief, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. Anything that could help to explain the late duke’s passing was an avenue Anthony was going to explore.
“Is it not possible that the marquess simply didn’t want to admit to having the painting out of fear that you would take it back?” she asked. “You said he was an avid art collector ...”
“It is possible but not likely. He will not havestolenthe painting. My father must have sold it to him or gifted it to him. It is not the transaction that he sought to hide. The painting was hanging in plain sight.” Anthony paused. “It is thereasonfor the transaction—a debt that was covered, some sort of wager that could point to something more. I don’t know ...”
“And if you discover these lies,” Marianne asked, contemplating his plan, “you believe you can use them to secure his daughter’s absolute silence?”
“Perhaps. I know only that my gut tells me something here has run afoul. If there is even a minute chance that this mystery will guarantee your protection while helping to clarify my father’s death ...” His brow furrowed in pain. “I have to do this, Marianne.”
She nodded. “Then I will help you in any way I can.”
“I hoped you would say that,” Anthony said through a sigh. “And I am infinitely relieved for your pledged support in this—again.” He cast a glance at the clock. “I should not push my luck. You were kind to allow me to discuss things with you, and I am glad ...”
He bit his lower lip, and Marianne’s skin tingled with longing and fear. “I am glad you do not despise me for my abhorrent behaviour. And I am glad my care for you was not wholly one-sided, despite how dangerous such affections may be.”
With a timid bow, Anthony proceeded towards the door. Marianne remained where she was in the centre of the room, not trusting herself enough to escort him out. One accidental touch could undo all of Catherine and Miss Barclay’s lessons on propriety.
“Good night,” she thus said over her shoulder.
