Chapter 2

Marian was having a crisis of morality, and that was not a common occurrence. She had always done what she thought was right, regardless of whether she had later been found wrong. If indeed she was found wrong she always endeavoured to make amends. This philosophy had suited her very well in the past. Yes it was not right to enter a gentleman's home and use said gentleman's affections for her and his vanity to seduce and manipulate him for information. When said gentleman, however, was the accomplice in the alleged murder of her sister and the information was such that could bring about justice then she found her conscience clear; if, that is, she chose to ignore those odd pangs of regret for using him and not taking him up on his rather wonderful sounding offer. Equally making a bargain with the gentleman and meeting with him in secret to repay her end of the bargain was not a problem – it was, after all, to protect her dearly beloved sister whom she would never let suffer again.

The crisis of morality Marian was facing was whether it was right or wrong to be attracted to the unscrupulous and diabolical gentleman in question who was, at that moment, sat across from her, looking very well in his chosen ensemble for the evening. Was it also right or wrong to enjoy the rather indiscreet looks that he was casting in her direction – making her feel…desirable. Marian pushed these thoughts as far back as she could. She was not beautiful, she was not desirable, and as soon as the count had more fodder for his eyes to feast on he would certainly no longer be looking at her.

"The dress looks good on you Miss Halcombe."

Marian jumped and blushed, glancing down at the beautiful material of deep purple that modestly clung to her body.

"Thank you Count," she mumbled, her eyes cast down. "It was a good choice."

She missed the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Much more suitable than scarlet."

Her head jerked up in shock and met his smile, searching for any bitter undertones. There were none. A mirroring smile twitched the corner of her mouth.

"Definitely more suitable than scarlet," she agreed, secretly thinking she would never wear scarlet again for as long as she lived.

"Now Miss Halcombe, don't make such enormous decisions as that on a mere whim." Marian looked at him. She surely hadn't said that out loud? The Count was eyeing her unabashedly, a seductive undercurrent to his voice.

"It would be a pity. You look so ravishing in scarlet."

Marian blanched. So she had said it out loud.

"I don't think this is an entirely appropriate conversation Count," she managed to force out, falling back onto propriety.

"I think we are a little beyond that, don't you agree Miss Halcombe?"

The memories of that night were in the carriage, dancing in the air between them.

"That dress you're falling out of is exquisite."

"We're meant for one another…we are so well matched."

"I've been waiting all my life for an adventure."

His response, "What in truth you have been waiting for is me."

The kiss. The dizzying kiss.

She was burning inside and Fosco was looking at her intently. Flustered Marian turned to look out of the carriage window, her thoughts more confused than before, and in that state she remained until the carriage arrived at its destination.

They entered the dazzling ballroom, so spacious it made Marian's head swim, and thronging with the privileged elite. At the sight of the countless people Marian felt herself shrink and crawl back into her shell. Beauties dressed in reams of silken fabric eyed up the Count with hungry expression before proceeding to give Marian scornful looks.

Fosco felt her grip on his arm tighten and smiled to himself. It was so intriguing that the bold Marian Halcombe was terrified by large crowds of people. It would ensure that she would remain by his side all evening.

"Would you care to dance Miss Halcombe?" he asked her cordially and scared eyes flew up to his.

"No…thank you Count…"

"A drink then?" he announced and glided her across the room against any possible protest.

"Fosco!"

Marian was forced to stop as the Count to turned to greet a willowy blonde creature encased in pale blue material that made her look almost ethereal.

"My dear," Fosco bent his head over her fine hand and Marian felt a nasty jolt in her gut, which felt suspiciously like jealousy.

"How is my favourite duchess?" he purred with a twinkle and the duchess gave a sparkling laugh.

"All the better for you being here my darling Count. Things will get decidedly more entertaining." She lightly touched his shoulder and gave a flirtatious smile that made Marian inwardly scowl.

"My manners," the Count said suddenly, and shifted so Marian was forced into the conversation.

"Allow me to introduce my guest, Miss Halcombe."

The pale blue eyes swept from Fosco's face to eye up Marian with a malicious gleam.

"Charmed," came the poisonous response and though Marian's anger flared at the poor treatment, her esteem whispered that it was nothing she shouldn't have expected. She was nothing in comparison with these beauties, glamorous and rich, who poured sweetness and flattery into Fosco's ear. She was plain and nothing, worse than nothing, the schemer and manipulator. She had spoken flattery but once to him, in order to trick. This was her punishment. She would endure.

"Dance with me Count?" the blonde pleaded coyly, placing her hands on his free arm. He smiled at her flirtatiously and Marian felt herself fade into invisibility.

"Miss Halcombe?" he raised his eyebrows at her in a question and without a word she released his arm, taking it as a request to let go.

Inwardly Fosco frowned. He would have preferred to dance with Miss Halcombe, but he could not refuse the Duchess.

Marian stepped back to the edge of the room and watched the graceful couple, feeling miserable. Taking a deep breath she drew herself up straight and pretended she were a stone, unmoving and uncaring.

"Fosco really has his eye on the Duchess tonight," came the whispers. "Can you blame him?" "Not really. He came with someone else though…her, over there." "Plain girl. Not sure why he brought her…" "No wonder he dances with the Duchess."

As she heard the whispers and watched the dancing Fosco bent his head to speak something in his partner's ear and she giggled, murmuring something back. The tightening in her stomach became painful and Marian felt her resolve crumble. Sometimes being stone wasn't enough. She couldn't breath, couldn't stay here…if she left he probably wouldn't care…might not even notice.

With head held high Marian strode towards the exit and straight out of the ballroom into the corridor.

Fosco watched her go, swiftly excused himself from his partner and followed Marian into the corridor.

"Miss Halcombe, where are you going?"

The lilt halted her in her tracks. The practicality of the situation struck her. She couldn't leave on the grounds that she didn't actually know where she was. A deep shuddering breath racked her body. She would not cry, firstly because it was senseless and secondly because she could not have a large group of strangers knowing that she had been crying.

"Miss Halcombe?" He had halted some feet behind her in the empty corridor.

"Let me go back to the inn please, Count Fosco," she requested quietly, not looking at him.

"But the night, she is still young," he bantered back in his jovial manner, but his voice was as quiet as her own. She felt his hand on her arm and spun to face him, blinking back tears.

"Ah, Miss Halcombe!"

"Let me go home," she demanded, aware that his hand still lingered on her bare skin, and the feeling in her stomach was suffocating.

"But you have not yet fulfilled your payment, as was out agreement," his eyes glittered. "I desire that you stay." There was a hard undertone to his voice and she once again felt trapped by him. Any other circumstance she would have been more than a match for him but he had upset her balance. The knowledge made her anger flare.

"Payment I agreed to give you, and I even allowed this form of payment, knowing it was a punishment, because I deserve it." The briefly tightened grip on her arm could almost have been her imagination. "I know Fosco that I am undesirable and you flirt with me to mock me. I know I don't belong here with all these beautiful, glamorous people. You parade me in front of them so they can whisper and gossip and I take it all. I'm used to it. Do you really have to make your point so strongly? Do you really have to hold me up to the most beautiful in order to compare me? So that you and everyone else can find me wanting? I understand already. You don't have to press the point..." Marian trailed off as her voice disappeared behind a closed sob. She would have moved away but his hand still held her arm and his eyes held hers. Now he raised an eyebrow, face serious.

"Compare?"

She bit her bottom lip and looked away.

"Does it bother you, Miss Halcombe, that I flirt with other beautiful women?" She took a deep breath and couldn't look at him.

"Marian," he said softly. Her head came up in surprise. "The evening, she is not a punishment." She wanted to scowl but his face was serious. "Now, Miss Halcombe," he let her go and took a step back, his face beaming and jovial again, "if you would care to accompany me back inside."

She took his offered arm because there was nothing else to do. Rebellion struggled inside her, telling her to just leave anyway. She had survived in London alone before, but he was right. Her payment had not yet been completed.

As they entered together back into the glittering light and flow of voices she felt that shrinking inside again, like a snail vanishing into its shell. Every muscle automatically tensed and her mouth lost the ability to form words, but just as she paused insecurely she felt a soft grip on her arm and a whispered voice in her ear.

"You, mi cara," Fosco breathed, "are the equal of everyone in this room, in beauty and in character."

Startled she turned to him and his eyes flashed strangely in a serious face.

"Now we dance," he told her and offered his hand.