The Marriage Lesson Read Free

toward the door. Oh, she fully intended to enjoy all that the season and London had to offer, but her plans went well beyond that. After all, if she wasn’t going to pursue marriage, she should pursue something. Something that would lead her to the independence she needed in order to pursue adventure. Something that paid.
    Marianne already had a definite notion of exactly what that something could be. She had no idea if she could manage it, but the more she thought about it, the more intriguing it became.
    The door swung open and she froze.
    Lord Helmsley strode into the room with a swagger in his step that spoke as much of an evening of carousing as any confidence of character. He headed to the desk and settled into the chair behind it, never so much as glancing in her direction, then placed a sheet of paper before him, dipped a pen into ink and scribbled as if possessed.
Marianne took the opportunity to study him. He was not an unattractive sort if one liked tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered men with regular features. She’d had barely more than a passing introduction to him in spite of having lived under his roof for the last two weeks and had wondered if he was actively avoiding his guests. Tonight was the first time she’d heard him say more than a polite greeting, even if his words were not intended for her ears.
    He paused and glanced up, his brow furrowed in thought. He stared directly at her yet didn’t appear to see her. Was he that involved in whatever he was writing? Or was he simply too inebriated to focus? Of course, the long library was well lit only at either end and she stood in the shadowed midsection of the room. Whatever the reason, she didn’t dare to so much as breathe.
    An endless moment later his gaze returned to his work. Well, she had no intention of standing here like a statue all night. She drew a deep breath and started for the door.
    “By God, you’re real!” Helmsley rose to his feet. Marianne halted in midstep. It was far too much to hope that she could escape undetected. She braced herself and turned toward him. “Of course I’m real. What did you think?”
    “I thought I’d made you up.” He shook his head as if to clear it.
    “Made me up?” The man created his own people? Like . . .  God? Good Lord, was he insane? She’d heard some members of the Effington family were considered a bit eccentric. A touch of madness would not be completely far-fetched. She inched toward the door. “Do you often see people you make up?”
“No, not often.” He circled the desk and moved closer. “Never before, in fact. Who are you, anyway?”
    “Who am I?” she said slowly. She’d be insulted that he didn’t remember their meeting, brief as it was, if she weren’t more concerned about his state of mind. Somewhere she’d read one should make allowances for those afflicted with insanity and treat them as carefully as one would a small child. “Who do you think I am?”
    “I thought perhaps you were a vision conjured out of my imagination. Or an angel to escort me to heaven. Or perhaps a muse to help my feeble efforts.” He grinned and she realized his features were more than regular. He was really rather handsome. For a madman.
    “I can assure you, I am neither angel nor muse.” She resisted the impulse to lunge for the door. It might be best not to startle him. Still, she wondered if anyone in the huge house was awake at this hour, if the need arose to scream for assistance.
    “But you are indeed a vision.” His gaze flickered over her in an assessing and intimate manner and she wished she had on something more substantial than her nightgown and wrapper. “Even if now I can see you are most definitely flesh and blood.”
    His madness may well be in question, but his rude ness was not. Nor was the gleam in his eye. She’d never seen desire before, but surely that was the look of it. Abruptly she realized madness was not his affliction at all. “And you, my lord, are most