Rebel Marquess by Amy Sandas

moments of thoughtful solitude.”
    She straightened again and was surprised to see he had crossed the threshold and was striding toward her. She’d expected him to turn about and head in the opposite direction the moment he realized she was here.
    She tipped her head back to look into his face. With a shiver of awareness, she wondered anew at his height and breadth. He could very easily be quite intimidating if not for the fact that his overbearing arrogance had a tendency to amuse her.
    She sensed rather than saw his scowl in the darkness. “You have an ungodly knack for being everywhere I want to go,” he accused.
    She tried to suppress the smirk teasing her lips. “And you seem to have a knack for interrupting the rare occasions I manage to get some time alone. You can imagine that growing up in a household with so many siblings, time to oneself is a precious blessing and not easily come by.”
    “No, I cannot,” he replied as he seated himself at the other end of the bench. Eliza barely had time to draw her feet in to keep him from sitting on them. A blast of warmth overtook her at his unexpected proximity. She struggled to gain back a foothold in their conversation.
    “You cannot what?” she asked.
    “Imagine what it is like to grow up as you did. I was an only child raised in my grandmother’s household. There was no lack of solitary days.”
    “Hmm. Sounds lovely.”
    He turned to look at her, and though he remained shadowed, she was able to make out the strong contours of his face. The angles and edges appeared overly harsh under the glimmer of moonlight, and she felt a swift urge to smooth them with her hands.
    She stiffened at the intimate turn of her thoughts and said the first thing that came to mind. “What brings you to my little haven from the masses?” A terrible idea flared and she leaned toward him to touch his arm in sudden concern. “You are not on an errand for my mother, I hope.”
    He scoffed expertly. “Any direction from your mother would lead me straight to the altar. No, I would never accept a task given by Lady Terribury.”
    Eliza relaxed with a sigh, reluctantly drawing her hand back. “An excellent precaution. I wish I had thought of it myself.” Then she wouldn’t have the image of his gloriously naked body forever branded in her mind.
    “Your mother could have no idea I am here,” he continued, “since I have not yet entered the house.”
    “Do you always take a detour to the garden gazebo before joining a party?” she inquired with affected naiveté.
    “Impertinent minx,” he muttered, though there was no animosity in his tone. There was actually an uncharacteristic warmth in his words that created a softening of Eliza’s bones from head to toe. “Not that I have to explain anything to you, but I am here only as a favor to my grandmother.”
    Eliza raised a brow. “Lady Rutherford could not visit the gazebo herself?”
    He snorted in a very manly, dignified way. “Grandmother has reached an age when she is able to choose when and how she socializes, which is hardly ever. Why should she when has me to send off on her little missions of great importance?”
    Eliza did not need to ask why he didn’t simply refuse. The answer was obvious enough despite the thread of animosity in his tone whenever he spoke of the great lady. The man loved his grandmother.
    “And what task has she given you tonight, then?” Eliza asked, curious what would lure the marquess into the dark garden.
    He looked at the flower in her hand. “Magnolias.”
    “Magnolias?”
    “Grandmother wishes to plant some trees in her garden and heard of the purple-colored magnolias here. She bade me investigate the exact hue and report back to her on the morrow.”
    “Is she here in London, then?”
    “She spends most of her time here.”
    “And you came straight to the gardens without greeting your hosts?”
    “No point in going through the house when my purpose is out here.”
    “Aside from good