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Chapter 15 - CHAPTER XV. THE SECRET OUT

VOLUME 1, CHAPTER XV.

THE SECRET OUT

The business of the Empire concluded, Marcus rejoined Edris. To the world, he was the storyteller; to the girl by the fire, he was the "dear" friend with the old-world courtliness that hinted at his French diplomatic lineage. The D'Arville blood was ancient and noble, reaching back to the First Empire and the shadow of the guillotine, yet Marcus carried it with a modern, easy grace.

"I never showed you the snaps from my April run through the Kander Valley," he said, pulling a large envelope from a drawer.

They sat at the polished table, their heads close as they flipped through photos of Kandersteg, Abelboden, and the sun-glinting Swiss lakes. Most featured a Mr. Norman Gale, a friend from Thomas Cook & Son, but one shot caught Edris's eye. It was a well-focused portrait of a handsome man in his thirties, looking remarkably like a fit, English-speaking German officer.

"Who's this?" she asked. "He's rather striking."

"That's Karl Weiss. A Swiss friend, and a magnificent climber. He's done the Eiger and the Mönch recently."

"I adore climbing," Edris said, her eyes fixed on the photo. "I'm dying to learn glacier craft—cutting steps and the like."

"It's too dangerous for a woman," Marcus countered, the protective instinct of a man in love flaring up.

"I climbed the Dents du Midi when I was a student in Zürich, Seton! Don't you start with the 'too dangerous' talk; I get enough of that from Mother." She laughed and tucked the photo of Weiss into her pocket. "I'll keep this. He looks like my ideal of a climber."

Marcus laughed with her, though a small, cold needle of jealousy pricked his heart. He looks like her ideal. Of course he did. Weiss was young, athletic, and shared her passions. Marcus felt the weight of his gray hair more than ever.

The evening stretched into a few more days. A telegram to her mother secured a longer stay, and they spent the early week motoring to Eastbourne and Lewes. Every hour was a exquisite torture for Marcus. He watched her exercise his Pomeranian, Bundle, on the promenade; he watched the salt wind catch her dark hair; and he listened to her speak of Lionel's betrayal with tears in her eyes.

He was the "Architect," a man who could dismantle a spy ring in a weekend, yet he was a "moral coward" in the face of this girl. He feared the look of scorn in her eyes if he, a man old enough to be her father, confessed his heart. He told himself he was a fool, spitting against the wind.

But the magnetism between two lonely people is a powerful force. Edris saw his gallantry and his sadness, attributing it to the loss of the mysterious Elaine. She felt they were two broken souls finding a brief harbor in each other's company.

On Wednesday night, after returning from a theater in Brighton, the silence of the flat became charged. Edris sat by the fire in a black evening gown, the light dancing off her white shoulders. Marcus stood behind her, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch her dark, shingled hair.

"Edris," he whispered, his voice thick with a year of suppressed longing. "I want to tell you a secret."

She started, looking up at him. "A secret? What is it, Seton?"

The dam broke. The Architect, the novelist, the cynic—all vanished, leaving only the man.

"Edris! My darling!" he blurted out, dropping to one knee and seizing her hand. "I love you! I have loved you madly, in total silence, since the first day in Wengen. I can't hide it anymore. Forgive me, but I love you!"

Edris gasped, her cigarette forgotten, her eyes wide with an astonishment that bordered on shock. "You love me? Seton, I—I don't understand..."

Marcus didn't let go. He kissed her hand passionately, his eyes pleading for a mercy he wasn't sure he deserved. 

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