Her parents’ heads snapped toward her, curious expressions across both faces.
Maggie took a step toward them. “That’s correct, yes?”
“Excellent point, love,” the marchioness said. “Very true.”
The marquess stood and looked around the room impatiently. “It’s settled, then? No marriage? I’d like to return downstairs. I never got a close look at Lockham’s portrait. But it looked like he’d used a new brush technique.” On his way to the door, he stopped and kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “Behave, my magnificent girl. Yes?”
“Yes, Papa.”
When he’d left, the marchioness stared at them, hands clasped, eyes glistening with joy. “Are you two still here? Go! Let fate take its course.” She waved them toward the door.
Tobias took Lady Maggie’s arm. “We should go before they change their minds.”
Maggie nodded as they entered the long, silent hall. “That was more difficult than I thought it would be.”
“Your parents are so odd they ended up in the same place a completely ordinary set of parents would end up—marriage after compromise. They just took a different route to get there.”
She set her chin firmly. “It won’t happen, you’ll see.”
Its defiant angle irked Tobias. “Ruined or not, I have compromised you in the eyes of society, and we should marry.”
“Technically, I compromised you.”
“Excellent point, that.” Yet still, irritation lodged in Tobias’s chest. He defended women. He didn’t put them in precarious social positions.
“But I’ll not force you to wed me,” she said.
“Darling—may I call you darling, seeing as I’ve been on top of you and all?—the parson’s noose is tightening about us. It’s to be a double hanging.”
“I thought we were to be guillotined.”
“I mix metaphors when I’m distraught.”
Her laugh was a breathy little huff. Quite adorable. “There will be neither a hanging nor a beheading. I’ll not marry you. I’ve no desire to wed an artist.”
“I should be pained at such a decided loss, but to be called an artist”—he gripped his chest over his heart—“oh, happy day!”
“Are you ever serious?”
“Sometimes. I confess I prefer to be silly.” He let his usually easy grin fall and told her the truth. “Except when the stakes are at their highest.”
She must have heard the shift in his voice. She cut him a curious glance, pinning him, trying to figure him out the way some tried to figure out a painting or book. “You won’t lose your freedom.” She patted his arm then strode down the hall toward a door at the end. Tobias realized they were not outside the private drawing room they’d recently exited anymore. Where were they? He’d followed her blindly from that place to this, enjoying their conversation.
She smoothed her skirts and speared him with a cool gaze. “And I won’t marry, especially not an artist.” Her gaze slid away from him. “There are other ways forward,” she mumbled before opening a door, sliding into the room, and slamming it shut.
Rude. And intriguing. Other ways forward? What did that mean?
He leaned his forehead against the door and drummed his fingers against the smooth wood. She was a funny, excellent little thing.Quitelittle. No wonder he’d never noticed her before, short as she was, he’d likely never seen her. And with her aversion to artists, she likely hid herself away during the house party weeks.
He turned from her room and set out to find his own. He’d always liked absurd little things. And she exactly fit that description. Now that he knew she existed, he doubted he’d be able to ignore her. Neither his interest nor his sense of honor would allow him to leave her alone.
Chapter 3
Maggie squeezed her eyes tight and pressed her back against her bedroom door. She pulled in one breath and then another, trying to banish Mr. Blake’s delightfully ridiculous banter from her ears and his ridiculously beautiful face from her mind. She caressed, for just a moment, the idea of becoming his wife. The prospect was nearer than she would like to admit.
Her mother had almost insisted they wed! The shock of it still rocked through Maggie. She’d never have expected her mother to have such a reaction. When Maggie had been sixteen and her parents had caught her kissing a house guest behind the stables, her mother had only lightly scolded, reminding her father what they had felt like at sixteen. She’d gone on to talk about the joy of physical discovery, and her father had gone red, pulled at his cravat, and tugged his wife away. Somewhere private, Maggie presumed.
It was simply bad luck the wardrobe had fallen today, and she’d been caught in Mr. Blake’s room. She could not let the man be punished for something beyond his control. She’d not let him pay for her curiosity. But she didn’t want to pay the price of indiscretion, either. Marriage to a frivolous fop—an artist!—did not align with her plans. Not that she particularly liked her plans. Or had even been able to act on them yet. Every time she started, guilt pooled in her belly and silenced her tongue.
