Cordelia awoke with a gasp of terror.

The bed below her creaked as she rose into a seated position, her breathing heavy and heart racing. Her throat was dry and her cheeks were wet with tears as she glanced around frantically, still feeling that she was trapped.

But then she noticed the early dawn attempting to pry its brilliance through the heavily ornamented drapes of her room, and she began to calm down when she realized that she was in the safety of her bedroom. She drew a shaky breath into her squeezed lungs, allowing the soft morning light to enrobe her with a sense of security.

She relaxed briefly before she remembered what had startled her awake.

Gently, she raked her fingers through her hair, taking note of the perspiration that lined her forehead. She sighed and cast the covers aside to stand on shaky legs. When she made her way to her wash basin, she glanced in the mirror, noting how the skin beneath her eyes had darkened and her rich golden strands were in disarray as they framed her nymph-like face.

She closed her eyes tightly, bent to wash her face a few times then dabbed the towel gently to remove the excess water. When she straightened, she looked around her bedroom. It was richly decorated with periwinkle blue and white. The gold trimming that lined the ceiling and doors enhanced the beauty of the ostentatious room, and the ornaments that decorated the space matched the theme superbly.

But despite the size, Cordelia began to feel suffocated. She needed a walk, to be out in nature where she felt calmest, away from buildings, confinements, and especially the expectations they brought with them.

Pulling a wrap over her shoulders, she started to make her way towards the door when she paused and glanced at her appearance in the mirror.

As much as she wished to leave the house at that moment, she knew that she could not do so in such a state. Propriety demanded that much. She did not want to bother Martha so early in the morning, but it was impossible to dress in her gowns without assistance. Besides, she needed some form of protection for her walk in the Park. Although the presence of a servant was not ideal, it certainly was better than walking alone.

So, with a heavy sigh, she rang the bell and waited a few gruelling moments for Martha to come to her bedroom. A soft knock announced her arrival, and Cordelia glanced at her briefly as she bowed gently in greeting. "Good morning, Miss Cordelia."

"Good morning, Martha. Kindly help me to get dressed. I wish to go for a walk in the Park."

"Her Ladyship has not yet risen."

"I know. I require your presence for my walk this morning," she said softly.

Martha blinked at the request, finding it peculiar how she wished to go for a walk before the sun had shown itself, especially since she had returned home not more than two hours prior. But one look at her withdrawn features made her realize the reason, and she bowed once again before moving towards the dresser.

Cordelia remained silent as she was assisted from her sleeping gown made of muslin and into a fine morning gown fit for a walk in the park. The colour reminded her of the creamy sand shores that separated the land from the sea and its design fitted her figure perfectly, allowing the eye the pleasure of looking upon her feminine frame without appearing raucous.

She then took a seat to allow the old woman's nimble fingers to style her hair in a design that was elegant but practical and completed her appearance by placing a bonnet with matching ribbon upon her head.

"There we are, Miss Cordelia. You look beautiful as always," Martha complimented her with a soft smile as she handed her a pair of white satin gloves.

"Thank you, Martha," she said and rose to her feet, wishing to leave as soon as possible.

Martha opened the door for her and followed quietly as they moved down the hall at a brisk pace, the need for escape growing at an alarming rate. At once the butler was at the front door, and he bowed gently to her in greeting as she swept past him into the open air.

Almost instantly, Cordelia felt the relief on her shoulders as she breathed in the crisp morning air before making her way down the steps and towards the sidewalk. She kept her hands clasped together as she turned to walk towards the Park, her lips thinning slightly at the sight of the Marquis' home.

Moving quicker than deemed ladylike, she almost rushed in her aim of passing the house as quickly as possible. Martha watched the young lady's unusual mannerisms, frowning slightly as she glanced back at the house where the ball had taken place. She had known the young lady long enough to know that such reactions were not overly common with her, which made her wonder what had happened at that ball.

Soon they arrived at the Park, and the sun was beginning to peer over the tops of the trees, casting the green landscape with vibrant brightness. The dew sparkled like freshly fallen snow on the grass, and Cordelia breathed in deeply as she finally felt herself relax.

Martha remained silent as she followed a few paces behind, her thoughts churning at the various possibilities of what may have happened. She wanted to ask but knew that it was not her place. If Miss Cordelia wanted her to know, she would tell her.

There was not a soul in sight as they walked along the many winding paths, the sun rising a little more as time passed. Then, far in the distance, Martha noticed a gentleman moving in their direction. She stepped closer to Cordelia, to let the man know that the young lady was being accompanied, when Cordelia stopped abruptly.

She turned, her eyes holding a sudden franticness about them. "Let us go home, Martha," she said quickly and began to walk in the direction they came.

Martha, baffled by the sudden change, glanced back at the gentleman briefly before following Cordelia. She did not understand why she suddenly wished to go home, but then they heard a strong voice call to her over the gentle breeze, a voice she recognised instantly.

"Miss Sutton!"

Cordelia's chest squeezed, her head felt light, and she closed her eyes tightly. She pretended that she had not heard the call of her name and continued at her brisk pace. But when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching her quickly from behind, she knew that she would not escape him without running like a madwoman and making a complete spectacle of herself in the process.

Though she was very much tempted to do just that.

"Cordelia, please wait."

Her steps halted against her will, and Martha very nearly bumped into her and offered a quick apology as she moved to the side. She waited anxiously as she forced herself to turn to face the persistent gentleman. He looked incredibly handsome that morning, dressed so smartly, enhancing the overwhelming sense of power he radiated. The very air of his countenance signalled his status that was a blood right, whereas hers was by default.

She lowered her gaze a moment later. "You should not address me so casually, Lord Midrake. It is not right," she admonished softly, momentarily forgetting that she had not greeted him.

"Do forgive me, but I called you several times already. You must not have heard me." The knowing glint in his stormy gaze let her know that her attempts at ignoring him were not lost on him.

Silence encompassed them. An awkward silence that had her tightening her trembling fingers anxiously. Her gaze darted around her, taking note of the pensive expression on her nurse's face.

"May I ask why you are walking at this time of the morning?"

She glanced up at him, knowing that she could not tell him her exact reasons. Instead, she replied, "My reasons are my own, though I am surprised to see you walking at such an hour. You must be tired after your duties as host."

His lips twitched a little at her response before his expression deepened with a knowing look. "And you must be tired from all your hours of dancing."

Cordelia felt her face flush at his words, aware of the fact that he had taken note of her location throughout the night. Knowing that he would not give in until she told him the truth made her sigh in defeat. "I wished for some fresh air," she responded feebly.

"Then may I suggest that I accompany you for your walk this morning?"

His words shocked her so, that her gaze snapped up to meet his, her eyes wide and a little fearful. She quickly looked away, feeling that suffocating feeling lodge in her throat. Why was he so intent on being in her presence? Had their discussion last night fallen on deaf ears? Or did he purposely fail to acknowledge her guilt whenever she saw him?

"There really is no need," she began slowly, her voice sounding weak to her ears.

The Marquis shook his head. "Indeed there is. It is unfitting for a gentleman to let a lady walk alone."

"I am not alone," she corrected, glancing at Martha who kept her gaze politely averted.

The Marquis looked at her old nurse and then back at her. "Yes, but the presence of a gentleman is advantageous. We live in a dangerous world after all, and I do not wish for anything unfortunate to happen to you."

Although his words made her flush at the offer of protection, she lowered her gaze. "I do not wish to impose . . ." she whispered, her tone pleading for him to leave her alone.

"Nonsense. I quite enjoy the morning air myself. It gives a certain degree of clearness to one's mind that is difficult to come by these days." He stepped towards her, and she fought the urge to take a step back to maintain the distance between them.

Her shy gaze slowly looked up at him to notice that he was offering her his arm. When he noticed the hesitance in her eyes, he added with a soft sternness that demanded adherence, "I insist."

Knowing that he would not be persuaded otherwise, Cordelia cautiously threaded her arm through his own. But she seemed unable to rest her hand on his arm, indeed she found it nearly impossible to break the unfathomable barrier separating them. He glanced down at her hand, watching how it trembled like a brittle leaf in the wind as she refused to hold on to him.

Slowly, so as not to startle her further, he covered her hand with his own, pushing it down gently to rest on his arm. He heard her slight intake of breath and wondered briefly if she felt the same feeling as he did whenever their bodies touched.

It was something he had never experienced before her, a feeling that felt both uncomfortable and yet intriguingly delicious. He had first felt it the previous evening when they were standing alone in the hall. She had given a similar reaction then, but he assumed that it was because he had taken her by surprise. He was not too certain now.

As they began to walk, he could feel her fingers shaking violently beneath his palm. He squeezed her hand in an attempt to comfort her, allowing his hand to rest over hers. But he acknowledged to himself that while he did it to assure her that there was nothing to be afraid of, he knew that there was another more selfish reason at play as well.

The silence between them was deafening, forcing the pair to take note of each other's characteristics without the distraction of words, and it alarmed Cordelia how greatly she was aware of him as they moved along the pathway. He was considerably broader in stature than she remembered him to be, and the strength she could feel in his arm left her feeling a mixture of trepidation and comfort. He had changed so much in such a short amount of time that she was hesitant to discover what else may have changed.

She knew her old friend, but this man was unknown to her.

And so she could not help but take careful note of the man beside her. He was a steady companion, his strides shortening on the declines and his arm supporting her on the inclines.

She had not realized until she arrived in London how a man's walk affected his attractiveness. She had never needed to be accompanied on a walk at the Manor, but since being in London, she found herself studying the way gentlemen walked as though she was a scientist. She concluded fairly quickly that the more attentive men gained higher standing with the ladies.

Her thoughts reverted to that one morning when she was caught walking with Lord and Lady Topham by Lord Tilbur. It was the first time that a gentleman had accompanied her on a walk, and she was largely disappointed by him. He did not walk fast enough for it to be deemed valuable exercise, and she felt that she was looking after him more than he was accompanying her. So much so that she eventually released her hold on his arm and walked separately, allowing him to stroll along behind her.

The Marquis, however, was vastly different in his manner of walking. He walked perfectly straight along the path, gravitating neither to the right nor left, allowing her the opportunity to look around as much as she wished without straying off the path. His pace, she had noted early on, was considerably subdued to allow for her shorter steps, but the briskness of the walk left her cheeks slightly flushed but not anywhere close to feeling laboured.

His effortless attentiveness to her needs was refreshing, but she realized that his perfect carriage was likely due to his many years in the militia. Her heart saddened at the thought and she lowered her face, her shoulders growing tense once more at being in his presence.

After several minutes of walking in silence, the Marquis was the first to speak. "Did you enjoy your time yesterday?"

His voice rolled over her, and her fingers instinctively tightened their hold on his arm at the sudden break in silence. She nodded, her bonnet preventing him from seeing her face, as she kept it lowered.

"Yes, thank you."

He glanced down at her, his lips twisting in frustration at not being able to see her face. He raised his head once more and looked ahead of them, thinking back to the previous night when they had spoken alone in the hall. She had looked exquisite in her gown made of fine silk and lace, the colour very becoming of her. When he noticed her leave the ballroom, he had hoped it would have been the opportune time to request a dance.

But he knew that he needed to find out why she was avoiding him before he could do so, knowing that she would never agree to dance with him until they had resolved whatever the mysterious issue was that kept her defences high around him. Besides, he was not so heartless as to wish her to go the whole evening without dancing just because she denied him.

He wanted her to enjoy an evening in his home.

So when he finally did speak to her, he had found her response to be bewildering.

Even now this morning, he knew that she did not want to be in his presence. It was clear by the look on her soft face, the tenseness of her delicate shoulders, and how her vibrant gaze flittered nervously like a newly caged bird.

The observation made his heart sore. How could they have gone from best of friends to this?

The arrangements of the flower beds in the park were always a spectacular sight to see. The morning glow of the sun against their tender petals laced with dew made the colours all the more vibrant. From the cheerfulness of the begonias to the elegant movements of the salvias in the gentle breeze, there was nothing like the calm tranquillity of nature. He knew that such sights drew Cordelia like a moth to a flame, that it calmed her.

He was dismayed to note that she was still tense at his side after several more minutes of walking.

"I believe I noticed the Duke of Kentwood speaking to your aunt several times throughout the night," he eventually began once more, hoping that this topic was a safer one.

A tiny smile came to her face. "That is correct. He seemed quite eager to speak with her and had even asked her to dance."

"Did she?"

"No," she replied, her tone not as guarded but more pensive as she pondered the complex character of her aunt.

"I have known the Duke for several months now. He is a fine gentleman of outstanding character. I am certain that your aunt will find him most agreeable."

They fell into another wave of silence, only this time it was not as tense as before. The Marquis noted how the lady beside him seemed more relaxed in her posture. He knew now was the best time to address the matter lingering over them, something which could not suppressed any longer.

They needed to settle this unknown problem before the end of the walk.

And so, feeling strangely nervous, the Marquis began in a low voice, "I believe that there is a matter that we need to discuss," he began at length. "That day—"

"No, pray, do not mention it," Cordelia quickly interrupted, an urgent tone giving her voice a slight highness in pitch. "There is nothing more to discuss."

He frowned. "We were always open and honest with each other. I fail to see why that should have changed. I wish to explain myself and put the matter to rest."

He could feel her unease through the tightness of her fingers on his arm. He hated to bring the painful memory to mind, but it needed to be settled. It was holding them back too severely to move forward.

"That day . . ." he began once more, concentrating on keeping his voice as soft as possible. "I do not blame you for what happened nor do I feel it fair for you to carry the blame for actions that were solely my doing."

Cordelia stopped walking and raised her head to meet his eyes. "But—"

"You insist that it was because of you that I was enlisted in the militia, but it never was. You are attempting to take accountability for my actions. It was my choice to follow you and so I had to bear the consequences," he responded firmly, watching the emotions dance across her features.

She licked her lips nervously and glanced to the side. "You are too generous with your forgiveness, Lord Midrake. Unfortunately, I cannot hold the same level of generosity as you. It may have been your choice to follow, but I should not have let my emotions cloud my judgment so severely in the first place."

"Your emotions were entirely natural given the distressing news that came to you. And I, as any devoted friend would have done so, followed you to ensure that you were safe."

A sudden fire lit her cornflower eyes, making them appear a glistening sapphire hue as she looked at him. "Do you not understand? You should never have followed me! I destroyed your life, your future. You never liked the militia. You hated wars and fighting, and I was the cause for you to be involved in exactly that!" she exclaimed vehemently, her eyes wide with disbelief and guilt.

"I hardly find my time in the militia to have been of little value," he responded calmly with the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. "It taught me a great deal more on how to protect those I care for than any schooling at Oxford or Cambridge would have done. True, I did not agree with it when I was younger, but I have learnt some valuable skills as well as advantages to serving in the regiment. And as for you being so adamant that it destroyed my life, I still became the Marquis of Midrake, did I not?"

She looked away then. That burst of fire calmed to a dying ember as her shoulders curled slightly, her little hands moving restlessly. "But . . . you could have died."

The Marquis felt his heart ache at the sound of her broken voice, his eyes deepening with realization. So, that was the true reason.

He sighed and shook his head slightly. Braving a step closer, he allowed his fingers to touch the