Wicked Beauty (Brazen Bluestockings #3)

Chapter 7: Midnight Revelations

Sleep was impossible. Alice stared at the canopy above her bed, unable to stop thinking about her conversation with Richmond on the terrace. He'd said he didn't despise her, but then why was he sending her away? Why exile her to Sussex if not out of distaste for her company?

And more puzzling still; his admission that he was protecting her. It had caught her completely off guard. The rigid, proper marquess who had always treated her with cool indifference was willing to marry her to shield her from Montgomery's rejection and society's censure.

None of it made sense.

With a frustrated sigh, she threw back the coverlet and slipped from the bed. The wooden floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she found her slippers and reached for her dressing gown. She wouldn't find rest tonight, not with her thoughts in such turmoil. Perhaps the library would offer some solace—a book to distract her, perhaps a boring one to numb her mind until she dozed off.

The hallways of Wilborne Hall were silent, the only sound the soft whisper of her nightgown against the silk of her dressing gown. Most of the household was asleep, the revelry of her birthday ball long ended. She moved quietly past darkened doorways, a single candle lighting her way.

A thin line of light beneath the library door gave her pause. Someone else was awake at this late hour? She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. Perhaps it was just a servant, tidying after the celebration. But as she pushed the door open, her heart stuttered at the sight that greeted her.

Richmond stood at the window, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the glass. The moonlight cast sharp shadows on his face, highlighting the severe line of his jaw. An empty brandy glass dangled from his fingers.

She should leave. Turn around and retreat to her bedchamber before he noticed her. But something kept her rooted to the spot, her pulse quickening as he turned at the sound of the door.

He looked different from the rigidly proper man she was accustomed to seeing. His cravat had been discarded, the top buttons of his shirt undone to reveal a glimpse of his throat. His usually immaculate hair was slightly mussed, as if he'd raked his fingers through it repeatedly. This dishevelled version of the marquess was startlingly human—and far more dangerous to her composure.

His eyes widened slightly when he saw her. "Miss Burton." His voice was lower than usual, a rough edge to it that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. "It seems we're destined to encounter each other in the most inappropriate circumstances."

"I couldn't sleep." Why was she explaining herself? It was her cousin's house; she had every right to be here. Yet standing before him in nothing but her nightclothes and a dressing gown, she felt strangely vulnerable. More so than last night when she had invaded his room on purpose—or rather, what she had believed to be Montgomery's room. "I thought reading might help."

"By all means." He gestured towards the bookshelves with his empty glass. "Though I must warn you I'm poor company tonight."

"When are you ever good company, my lord?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.

To her surprise, a bark of laughter escaped him—a genuine sound that transformed his face, softening the hard lines. "A fair point, Miss Burton."

She moved cautiously into the room, her candle casting dancing shadows across the walls. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving them truly alone. She was acutely aware of the impropriety—alone with a man not her husband, in the middle of the night. But then, they were to be married soon. What more scandal could there be?

"You look troubled," he observed, setting his empty glass on a side table. "Still contemplating ways to escape our impending nuptials?"

"Aren't you?" She stopped by the bookshelves, keeping a safe distance between them. "You made it quite clear on the terrace that this marriage is as unwelcome to you as it is to me."