Chapter 4

She awoke in the middle of the night. In reality she knew that 'middle' probably wasn't the correct term as they had arrived back at the inn in the early hours of the morning. She must have been asleep only a mere couple of hours at most.

Marian lay still on the bed, eyes staring up at the blackened ceiling, letting the fuzz of darkness press on her eyes and she wondered what had wakened her.

Ears pricked, straining for the slightest noise, she lay still, keeping her breathing shallow. Sleep nearly claimed her again before she heard a dull thump and startled awake, her eyes trained suddenly on the adjoining door. It was Fosco, she knew it. Without thinking she slipped out of bed and fumbled her way through the darkness until her fingers brushed the smooth wood. She stood there for what could have been seconds or tens of minutes; time meant nothing in the dark. She registered that she was foolish to remain standing yet the thought was not accompanied by action. The effort to make her feet go back towards the bed required more thought than her sleep fogged mind could manage. No more noise came from beyond the door and with the silence came worries, irrational and unfounded. Marian acknowledged that though her mind felt wide awake it was still half asleep and it was silly for her to fear that something had happened to Fosco when there was no reason to. She knew that she should go back to bed, yet she could not drag herself from the door. Marian watched as she responded to impulse, sure that she could not sleep until she had checked on Fosco.

Her hand moved to the latch, unlocked the adjoining door and eased it open. The light in the room startled her as she blinked in it, though as they adjusted she could see that it came from only one lamp, sat on a small table.

"Miss Halcombe?"

She turned to the voice. Fosco sat in a chair next to the lamp, a book resting on his lap, fingers caught in the pages.

"Are you unwell?" The concern in his voice was not lost on her, nor that to him he must be taking to a shadow in the shadows beyond the lamp light. When she did not respond a smile twitched the corners of his mouth. "Do not say you sleep walk like your sister?"

Marian was frozen in place. The count was dressed down in merely a half open shirt and trousers. She had never seen him so casual, had almost not considered it of him. It looked good.

"Miss Halcombe?" he had raised his eyebrows at the prolonged silence, worry now evident in his voice as he half got to his feet. Her brain jumped to life with a start.

"Oh! I'm sorry, no, I didn't mean...to disturb...I just woke up...thought...something was wrong. I just...just wanted to...check." Her voice trailed off and she felt incredibly stupid. She let her breath out in a hiss and touched her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm half asleep. You are, of course, fine. I will return to my room."

"Just a moment Miss Halcombe," he halted her as she turned away. "I must satisfy myself that you are not unwell."

Marian turned back without protest; sleep teasing the edge of her mind, numbing her to propriety and sense. Without hesitation she stepped further into the lamplight.

Fosco inhaled sharply.

"Miss Halcombe," there was a steely edge to his words, "do you try to make the fool of me again?"

Marian didn't understand. She blinked in the lamplight and gazed at the Count.

"What do you mean?"

His eyes glinted in anger.

"You, of course, come here in your night things." Marian glanced down at her nightdress and plucked it with her fingers, understanding suddenly coming in a rush of colour in her cheeks. "It's a more subtle seduction than before. I congratulate you." He spoke bitterly and Marian felt a nasty tug inside her and a steady rip as the stitches slowly woven over the evening were pulled away, leaving the wound as gaping as before.

"You think that's why I'm here?" she hissed angrily.

He raked his eyes over her deliberately and met her angry gaze. He didn't try to hide the desire burning on his countenance.

Marian was indignant and furious, pressing the reaction her body had at that look firmly into a box.

"You think I'm some sort of whore?" Her voice cracked.

Fosco glared at her. "What else am I to think Miss Halcombe?"

"That I came here precisely for the reason that I said. The truth, Fosco."

"You English have a phrase. Make the fool of me once…"

The verbal blow stung like he had physically struck her. She had been stupid to believe he had forgiven her. Stupid to believe he could forget. This evening had been about payback. As much as previous events had seemed to point otherwise the fundamental root of why she was here remained the same. She had forgotten and that was her error.

"What am I after this time then?" she snapped. "Unless you have my sister locked up again. You were not blameless for what occurred before, Fosco."

Suddenly she found her back pressed to the wall and his face inches from her own.

"I did not trifle with your affections Marian. Mine, they were always clear."

Her eyes clashed with his in battle since she was unable to match him physically.

Her voice dropped, undisguised hurt rippling throughout. "You manipulated me then, just like you manipulated me tonight."

Fosco inhaled with a hiss.

"Miss Halcombe. For all your intelligence you can not, will not see the truth. You will not acknowledge the evidence of your own eyes." His voice dropped to a bare whisper. "Don't be a fool."

The truth sat in front of her and looked at her, looked so deep it burned into her and she couldn't ignore it any longer.

Her voice trembled in denial. "You only flirt and flatter…"

He did not respond. He did not need to. His gaze held hers steady.

"Boredom…"

"That is not all and you are aware of it," he interrupted, cutting across a further excuse. "Your character Miss Halcombe is what draws me. Your fire. Your joi de viva. Acknowledge the truth Miss Halcombe and stop hiding in your shell."

She did. Every word ever uttered, this time and the last, took on its true meaning. Every promise that he would take her away with him, that if she would only let him he would show her pleasures she had not dreamed of. The exhale of breath and the expression on her face were enough to show him that she believed what he said. A new light had come on in her eyes and he smiled at it.

"As I said before Miss Halcombe, we are each other's moon and sun."

The shadow dropped almost as quickly back over her face.

"We may be a match Fosco, but we would never work. You cannot forgive me or trust me after what happened."

"You speak of trust, Miss Halcombe but you will not return it," came his cold response.

Marian refused to drop her gaze. "I did tonight," she whispered.

The air stilled in the room. The only sound was their heavy breathing as they stood pressed together against the wall. Hurt and pain swirled in the air around them like a toxic gas.

"Tell me, miss Halcombe," Fosco finally broke the silence, his breath stirring over her skin as his eyes dropped to her lips and back, "if I followed through tonight as I did before, would you act like you did then?" She didn't quite understand but the look in his eyes made her shiver in anticipation. "You begged me to let you go," he whispered, his mouth lingering over her own, "would you do that tonight?"

Marian's wide, hurt filled eyes registered the intensity and seriousness in Fosco's own and her stomach lurched as she realised with absolute certainty that she would not.

"Fosco…" the tone told him all he needed to know. With slow confidence he slipped his arms around her, turning the aggressive stance into a lover's embrace.

Marian felt her head swim as he pressed a light kiss to her forehead, warm hands through the fabric of her night gown pressing her closer. This was it. This was what she had been missing, what she had wanted and hoped and dreamed of. With a sigh she melted into him, wrapping her own arms around him, resting her head against his chest.

"I can open up a world you've only heard of," he whispered.

A flashback. A memory of a feeling. A sickening jolt to the stomach. A revelation that made her want to cry and in an instant her happiness was snatched from her.

Marian placed her hands on Fosco's chest and pushed him gently away.

"I can't. I can't do this. I can't go with you."

The words dripped from her lips like molten wax, solidifying as they hit the air.

There was a beat, a breath, and then the cold look seeped over Fosco's face. His hands dropped from her to his sides.

"I do not believe I offered Miss Halcombe." There was an edge of steel to his voice. He knew. He knew why she said it. The reason was the same now as it had been those years ago. "After all, your sister…"

He let the sentence hang, the meaning perfectly clear. He spoke as though he was disinterested in the matter but Marian could feel his withdrawal from her and the tension in his body. His words stung and she deserved them. Marian dropped her eyes to the carpet. Standing in this room with the lights low, a bare inch of carpet separating her from this great man, and she desperately wanted to be held in his arms yet she was overwhelmed by guilt. She had promised. It was her fault that Laura was so fragile and her fault that so much wrong had occurred. It was her duty to protect her sister and yet here she was, standing in some remote inn room with the man who had incarcerated her sister, contemplating fleeing with him to the continent. She was contemplating being happy with him.

What an ultimate betrayal that would be.

"Fosco – I…" she looked up at him, and the look in his eyes shattered her. It felt like she had plunged a knife into herself and were slowly dragging it through. The look of pure disdain in his eyes finished her.

"Thank you for yesterday. I will never forget it," she managed to utter, before she thrust herself from him and left the room with her head held high, locking the door behind her.

Only then did she let the tears come.

Fosco stared at the shut door and damned the past. The door was shut and locked and bolted, in every literal and metaphorical sense, so he should move on. Never in all his life had Count Fosco wanted to rattle a metaphorical handle, or even go as far as to break down a door, so much. He had always walked away. Now he found himself helplessly frozen. If he was admitting the truth to himself he wanted her with him on his sojourn about the continent. There was a distinctly lacking element at points and he had finally come to the conclusion that it was her. It was her conversation and her company. Yes he could do without it but he wanted it. He noticed the absence of it. So now he was left once again without her, and once again it was the fault of the sister. Fosco was never one for regretting a morally grey deed, but he could hardly help the regret now when it had not only struck him once, but twice. Twice it had deprived him of something he wanted…he hazarded to say needed. It was apt that Fosco, when speaking to Glyde once, had referred to Laura as a thorn. She was the thorn on the rose that was Marian Halcombe. If he wanted to hold the rose close to him the thorn came between them. It cut and drew blood.

It was a few moments more before he stirred himself and promptly set to mentally pushing Miss Marian Halcombe back into the box he never should have opened.