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“Neither is Eleanor.” Marion lowered her hands from her face, resting them gently in her lap.
“Well, their opinions are valued,” Simon sighed heavily, and before he could stop himself, said, “But I do not know why everyone is so eager for me to marry.”
“Perhaps they wish for your happiness,” Marion spoke softly, her eyes tender.
“Then they should ask me what makes me happy,” Simon said, allowing his frustration to show.
“And what might make you happy?” Marion asked. It was a surprisingly intimate question again, and this time she seemed to realise it as soon as she spoke. She looked away. “Forgive me, My Lord. I…I do not know what’s wrong with me.”
Simon did, but he understood why she didn’t want admit she had misjudged her wine consumption. He saw her shake her head lightly as she said, “I - I feel so dizzy.”
Simon became concerned that she might fall and instinctively put his hand on her arm.
“Come, Miss Laurie, we should get you a glass of water—”
“No - no!” Marion shook him off, her eyes closed and her body swaying. “No, I - I shall just retire to my bedchamber, I think.”
She tried to move forward off the wall but Simon saw what she had not noticed: her foot was trapped in a stone, and as she tried to settle it on the ground she was propelled forward violently. Simon moved quickly, his own stomach lurching as he caught her in his arms.
“Oh!”
Simon felt her gasp of shock reverberate through him as her arms clamped around his shoulders and her body pressed against him. She struggled for a moment to dislodge her foot.
“Careful,” Simon’s voice was hoarse as he held her tightly whilst she wiggled her foot free and then stood with both feet on the ground, looking up into his face in breathless surprise. Neither of them moved for a moment, but simply stared into each other’s eyes. Dark, endless brown into stormy grey. Simon felt as if time had stopped for a moment as they both held their breath.
“Are - are you alright?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his gaze completely levelled on her face. Her body was pressed up against him, and the hard, structured neckline of her gown was forcing her breasts upwards, her cleavage indecently but erotically prominent.
Keep a hold of yourself, man! She’s had too much wine, she’s vulnerable.
“Yes,” Marion licked her lips, her eyes flickering up from his mouth to his eyes. He wished she wouldn’t—the sight of her pink, wet tongue against her glistening cherry lips was thoroughly distracting. “Yes, I - I am. Thank you, My Lord.”
“Can you walk?” he asked, still not moving his arms from around her body. Without thinking, he felt his thumb gently tracing the boning at the back of her gown.
“I - I think I shall be alright,” she whispered. He could see the fluttering of her long, dark eyelashes, noticed the racing beat of her heart against her throat, the skin trembling and taut like a beating drum.
“I could escort you back inside,” Simon murmured, not completely sure of what he was saying but knowing he wasn’t quite ready for her to leave his arms.
“I would appreciate it.”
At that moment, their eyes met again and Simon was shocked to his core. Her eyes were filled with such intensity, such unguarded soulfulness that he couldn’t deny the way the air changed completely between them. A piece of her dark hair had fallen over her face and was fluttering rapidly with her uneven breath.
Without volition, his right hand left her back and scooped around to her neck, doing what he had longed to do earlier, which was tuck the rogue strand behind her ear. He could feel her breath, warm and sweet against his hand and saw the perfect flush of her cheek. He couldn’t help it—he let his thumb linger and gently caress the perfect velvet softness of her cheek.
“My Lord.” Her voice was barely a whisper and she did not move, her hands still gripping his arms, wrapped around him. She looked at him, waiting for him to move or speak, but he felt like he was rooted to the spot. His voice had gone completely.
Finally, he was able to croak out only one word. “Marion,” he whispered, but before he could think of anything else to say, a loud, ringing voice sounded from the doorway to the ballroom.
“What is all this?”
Simon turned with his heart lurching to see his mother, Lady Henrietta, and Eleanor standing in the doorway. His mother looked furious, Lady Henrietta merely scandalised, and Eleanor looked strangely satisfied to be catching her best friend in his arms in a most inappropriate position.
“I - I can’t believe this!” Lady Henrietta cried in false offence, though Simon could already see the eagerness in her eyes to be witness to such a juicy piece of gossip. She ran from the patio, and Simon knew that within minutes half of the guests would know that the Earl of Reading had been caught on the patio in a scandalous embrace with the household governess.
“What - what have you done, Simon?” His mother spoke in such a pleading tone, as if begging him to find an excuse for his behaviour even though they both knew there could not be one. All of her usual bravado and presence had vanished, and in that moment, Simon felt the full force of the impact of the situation. He saw it on his mother’s shocked face; now, his previously good name would be attached to scandal, and he would be known as a womaniser.
“Oh God,” Marion whispered, pulling away from him with a slight stumble. Eleanor was immediately by her side, propping her up and holding her hand tightly. Marion stared up at him with tears in her eyes.
“I - I’m ruined,” she whispered.
