Page 46 of Destined to be a Duchess
Marianne’s chest constricted. Gazing at Anthony’s work was like seeing through his eyes. She loved the feeling of it, surprised by the moment’s intimacy. She pictured him at work, forming her own painting of him in her mind’s eye. Anthony, at eighteen years old, working at an easel on an Italian rooftop, the sun in his hair, paint marring his lovely hands, brow furrowed as he focused, recording everything he saw and felt.
“You’re so …” She pressed a hand against her chest, struggling to find the right words. “It’s magnificent.”
He looked away, bashful. “It’s amateurish.”
“You are your own worst critic.” Marianne gazed up again at his painting. “It makes me feel … I mean, it’s completely transportive. Even if itisamateurish, maybe that’s a good thing. I feel so vulnerable and alive just looking at it.” She laughed. “Now I’m doubly cross with you for not letting me see that sketch. I want to see all of your paintings. Will you not show me your studio when we go home to Moorhaven?”
Anthony’s smile fell, and Marianne froze in response. She hadn’t meant to use that word:home. It was not her home. It was Anthony’s. Marianne belonged … Well, frankly, Marianne didn’t know where she belonged.
“Or … another time …” She pressed her eyes shut, tingling with nerves. “I shouldn’t—”
“I can show you,” Anthony interrupted. “I would like to. There isn’t much to see, but when we go home … Yes, I can show you.”
“Thank you.” Marianne nodded, fighting against her smile as she returned her gaze to the painting. “We have to survive the night first,” she whispered, repeating Gideon’s words.
She felt more than saw the room empty. The last visitor slipped through the archway, leaving Marianne and Anthony alone as they looked up at his painting of Bologna. She couldn’t form a coherent thought, merely pretending to analyze his work. Her mind raced with thoughts of what the rest of the evening wouldbring. She wished she could stay in the gallery with Anthony forever. Things were so easy when it was just the two of them.
“Survive?” Anthony whispered quietly, as though Marianne hadn’t been meant to hear. “What awaits you out there that makes you fear for your life?”
“Many things,” she replied—thingsout there that were right here, standing beside her. “I thought getting to know my family would make me happy. But since Gideon arrived this morning, I have a dreadful feeling of walking into a trap. I don’t even know his middle name, yet every time he has been brought up in conversation, the topic of marriage seems to arise as well. He has already invited me to live with him. Is that normal, or have I done something wrong?”
“It’s not you. The circumstances are to blame,” Anthony said. “He is a single man, and you are now partly his charge. To say nothing of the fact that you are of marriageable age—to say nothing of your other qualities too, of which there are many.”
Marianne blushed, hiding her face from him as he continued, “It is only natural for there to be some speculation about your future. It would be a highly convenient marriage for all involved.”
She scoffed. “Convenience is largely overrated.”
“If you are decided against convenience, then you must decide what else you want.” Anthony turned to face her, his blue eyes boring into hers. “Whatdoyou want?”
“You’ve asked me that before.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Was my last answer not satisfactory, Your Grace?”
Anthony wasn’t smiling back. He had never looked so serious. What had Marianne said to worry him? She licked her lips, and his gaze fell to her mouth.
One look and she was devastated. Her breath caught in her throat, nerve ends on fire as he drew a step closer. What was he doing, andwhy? She couldn’t move, terrified and exhilarated, hoping he would do something,anything, to give her an answer and put her out of her misery.
“Highly unsatisfactory,” he whispered.
He was so close, she could smell the punch on his breath, could feel it ghost along her neck. She was on fire with feelings she couldn’t name, let alone understand. He was still staring—never stopped staring. A second felt like a lifetime. His lips were slightly parted, begging to be met by hers. This couldn’t have been proper.
But propriety be damned.
Finally, she understood, almost wishing she didn’t. She tiptoed forward an inch, and Anthony mirrored her. His hand cupped her face, thumb catching her below the jaw, angling her just how he liked her, like they were back on that boat where no one could see them. She hadn’t realized until then how much she had longed to be touched by him. Marianne gasped as he leaned closer, and then closer …
And then, he stopped.
She pressed her face into his palm, waiting for a kiss that didn’t come. Her eyes flashed open to find Anthony looking notather butoverher. She turned to search for the source of his shock. But she saw only paintings.
“The Velasquez,” Anthony murmured, voice broken, letting his hand fall from her face. “He had it the whole time …”
“What?” Marianne rasped. “Anthony, what’s wrong?”
His face contorted with rage. She grabbed the lapels of his coat, pleading with him to tell her what he had seen.
She saw something, too. Not behind them. But in front of them, in the archway. Her hands fell to her sides, and she tried to step back, but the damage was done.
She had walked into a trap, but Gideon had not set it.
It had been set by Eliana.
