How to Marry a Marble Marquis(53)

She was livid with him and even more furious with herself for the hot tears that spilled down her cheeks, crowding her throat and nearly making speech impossible. “You could have asked me to stay forever that night, and I would have said yes, Silas. I would’ve said yes a hundred times over. But you didn’t. You didn’t tell me you loved me then. You didn’t ask me to stay. You let me leave. And then you went to a brothel.” He looked ill at her words, and her breath was hitching with the force of holding in her sob, but she was undaunted.

“You had the opportunity to show me exactly what kind of man you are, Silas Stride, and you did so. Love me. I don’t think you even know the meaning of the word. You’re a spoiled child. You only want me now because someone else may have me. And if I were to say yes right now and leave with you tonight, you would be bored by the time we even returned to Basingstone, and you would throw me away like a tatty little plaything. I would accept all that and worse from any single one of the lords in that room because I don’t know them, and I don’t care about them. But you . . . I did care for you. But you didn’t care for anything but your own debauchery. You don’t even know what love is. I don’t ever want to see you again, Silas Stride.”





“Eleanor? Dear, are you joining us for breakfast?”

The voice made her sit up with a startle. Her head was swimming, a dull ache forming behind her eye, the result of the previous evening’s tears. She had nearly cried herself sick before pulling herself together and returning to the ballroom. You’re not doing this for you.

She’d made plans with the orc lord to go riding after breakfast, Master Bow swooping in with the excellent news that he would hunt down a riding habit for her to borrow. After tea, she was meant to row on the lake with the rabbit-eared lordling whom she’d mentally dubbed Lord Hops-a-lot, a moniker she was certain he’d not appreciate. First though, was breakfast on the verandah with the countess and the other guests, to which she’d enthusiastically agreed . . . not remembering that normal people had breakfast at an ungodly early hour.

“Eleanor?” It was Penelope, her sweet, bookish neighbor.

“Yes,” she croaked. I-I’m just finishing dressing. I’ll be along in a moment.”

Trilby came bustling in then, pulling back the covers. “I didn’t think you were getting up today, miss. Sleeping like a stone, you were.”

By the time she made it out on the verandah, the sun was high and blinding. Her head ached. She had no idea how people did this each day. It certainly couldn’t have been healthy. She’d feel her retinas searing in the morning light, wondering why they couldn’t simply move breakfast to a more respectable time, say, half two.

“I’m looking forward to riding with you this morning, my lady.” The orc lord was upright and formal. A stiff upper lip, her grandmother would have said. “I have a rather impressive stable back home, so if riding is one of your passions, you’ll be well-provisioned.”

She was positive she had mentioned to this lord the previous evening that she had not been on a horse in some time, so it was hardly appropriate to assume that riding was one of her passions. “Are you a fan of music, my lord?”

“I can’t say that I am, no. After a long day overseeing my land and men, I prefer a quiet house in the evenings before retiring.”

He would be a perfect match. After all, according to Silas, you dress like an 80-year-old woman, and he behaves like an 80-year-old man.

The sun was worse once they set out on the horses. Her head was throbbing, the pain behind her eye all-encompassing, and with each bounce against the saddle, it seemed to lance into her brain. The pain became so severe at one point she was certain she was going to fall and required the orc lord’s assistance in keeping her seat on the return trip. Eleanor could tell she had not impressed him, but at the moment, she didn’t care. A silent home and a bridegroom that smells like his horse groom. You’ll do better with Lord Hops-a-lot.

She was meeting him at the lake, and once she had changed into one of the lovely day dresses Maris Stride had provided, Eleanor set off, shaded beneath her parasol. She was early and decided to take advantage of the shade beneath the tree not far from the lake. Sitting in the grass, she decided her headache might go away if she rested for a bit. Now it was dusk. The sun was puddling into a smear of crimson at the horizon over the water, above a wash of indigo, and a stripe of apricot above the bleeding sun. She had missed rowing. She had missed rowing and whatever other activities were planned for the early evening.

The only consolation, small as it was, was that her headache was gone. The grounds seemed deserted, and she realized everyone was likely already in their rooms, dressing for dinner. And here you are, just waking for the night.

She knew exactly which building he would’ve chosen to make his perch. She’d taken note of it while they were riding. It was set back, well behind the lake, nearing the cliffs. She thought it must’ve been a lookout at one point, but it would’ve served his purpose admirably. The nearby forest was far enough to prevent any shade from touching the rooftop of the structure, and it was far enough away from the main house for him to sleep peacefully.

She couldn’t explain why her feet carried her down the hill, past the lake where she was meant to row with the other lord, down the pathway that took her through the sculpture garden and around the hedge maze, skirting on the side of the forest, until she approached the stone edifice. If you’re wrong, she thought, eyeing the circular staircase warily, once she had forced the door open, you are going to get stuck, and no one will find you. Fortunately, for the first time that day, luck was on her side. The inner doorway pushed open easier, and then she was on the roof, standing before him.