Page 80 of Heiress Gone Wild

He’d had a much more eloquent proposal in mind—down on one knee and all that—but Marjorie, in characteristic fashion, had managed to veer him right off his intended course, and as a result, he’d blundered through the entire business like a moth blundering in the lamplight. Still, though his proposal had not been particularly eloquent, it had been honest and heartfelt.

Last night, when he’d looked into her face, so radiant and lovely, his mind had accepted what his heart and soul had known all along. Marjorie was his woman, and that to love her and make her happy and keep her from harm had become far, far more than a promise to a dying friend. They were the foundation on which he could build a new life, the very thing he’d been seeking for over a decade.

Marjorie, however, didn’t see things that way. Her objections had been valid, no doubt about it, but he was reasonably certain they stemmed from fear, not from a lack of feeling for him.

Still, she had good cause to be afraid, and he knew if he was going to change her mind, he had to find a way to overcome that fear. Despite her uncompromising answer, he knew there was a middle ground for them, and he was going to find it, even if he had to carve it out of rock with his bare hands.

Upon her refusal of his proposal, Jonathan had declared he was not giving up, but during the week that followed, he made no attempts to reopen the subject, offer counterarguments to her refusal, or persuade her to change her mind. In fact, in the days that followed, he acted as if the entire conversation had never taken place.

That was the right and proper thing to do, and she ought to have been relieved. But she wasn’t, because now she knew the true reasons why he had been keeping his distance, reasons that insisted on going through her mind and testing her resolve at every possible opportunity.

The past two months have been hell for me. Being mere friends with you is impossible, for the more I am near you, the more I want you.

That explained some things, she supposed, but it was hardly satisfactory. Didn’t the man understand that a girl wanted and deserved to be courted properly?

Despite my attempts to resist, I feel that resistance fading, making you more vulnerable to attentions of this sort from me with each day that passes.

The attentions to which he referred were the intimacies they had shared that night in the library, kisses and caresses that could only be honorably shared by husband and wife. But when memories of them came back to torment her late at night, she could not imagine ever sharing such intimacies with any other man, a fact that did nothing to reassure her that she’d done the right thing.

Making things worse, it wasn’t long before those erotic memories began to shadow her days, too. In tearooms and drawing rooms, during ladies’ luncheons and carriage rides in the park, they would come flooding back, no matter how she tried to suppress them.

That’s right, darling. You’re nearly there.

Even a fortnight later, as she sat in the wholly feminine enclave of a dressmaker, the memory of his sensuous words, hot caresses, and her own passionate responses had the power to flood her body with desire.

Certain she was the same rose-pink color as the plush velvet sofa on which she sat, Marjorie cast a frantic glance around the opulent showroom of Vivienne, but she found that no one in the modiste’s showroom was paying the least attention to her. Irene was in another room being fitted for a gown, and the ladies with Marjorie in the main showroom were far too preoccupied with observing the mannequins snaking before them in the latest fashions to pay any mind to her.

Marjorie, who had already ordered all the pieces of her post-mourning wardrobe, glanced around again, desperate for something to occupy her attention besides erotic memories of Jonathan. She could order a few more frocks, she supposed, but she already had more than she could possibly wear. A couple of months ago, being in the showroom of a fashionable dressmaker, choosing designs, fabrics, and trims, had been so much fun, but after so many weeks of shopping, she was beginning to find it rather monotonous. And the endless routine of calls, teas, and Afternoons-At-Home, though exciting at first, was becoming more of a tedium than a pleasure. In fact, her new life was becoming a bore.

Marjorie straightened on the sofa, startled and dismayed by the realization. This life was just what she’d imagined, everything she wanted. How could she possibly be bored?

But even as she asked that question, Jonathan’s words from the day they’d met came echoing back to her.

The time will pass more quickly for you here atForsyteAcademy, where you have a vocation.

Marjorie fell back against the sofa, suppressing a groan. That man really needed to get out of her head. She didnotmiss being stuck out in the middle of nowhere, teaching dance, piano, and French. She did miss her pupils, true, and the challenge of teaching, but that would surely dissipate when she was married, and had children of her own.

I think we should get married.

Desperate, Marjorie straightened on the sofa and picked up one of the ladies’ magazines that lay on the table before her and began flipping through the pages, but advertisements for wrinkle creams, bust improvers, and French letters—whatever those were—proved to be no distraction at all from the impossible man dominating her thoughts.

I want you... I have wanted you almost from the very first moment we met.

That was so unbelievable, she almost wanted to laugh. He’d done nothing but push her away from the very start, but now, she was just supposed to accept this abrupt and complete reversal? Now she was supposed to believe that he was sincere and that his affections would last? How on earth could he have thought she’d accept such a proposal?

No one could argue that it wouldn’t be a suitable match. It’s quite fitting, really.

Fitting? She sniffed. The man was delusional. He had no plans for the future, no consideration for what she wanted, and despite his declared feelings, he clearly had no intention of settling down.

Sadly, all these reminders of why she’d been right to refuse him did nothing to reassure her. In fact, the more she told herself how sensible she’d been to refuse him, the more muddled and miserable she became. How could she marry him? But how could she marry any other man, let any other man touch her and caress her in that extraordinary way? Both seemed equally unthinkable.

“Ach, Marjorie, you wicked girl,” murmured a familiar voice beside her ear, and she turned her head to find Baroness Vasiliev standing behind the sofa, leaning over her shoulder.

“Baroness!” she cried, relieved and glad of a worthy distraction at last. “How wonderful to see you.”

The other woman straightened, laughing as she came around the sofa to sit beside Marjorie. “It is good to see you, too, my young friend. And do not worry,” she added, her blue eyes dancing with mischief. “I will not tell anyone.”

Marjorie wondered wildly if her naughty thoughts had been loud enough to be audible to the woman beside her, but she tried to muster her dignity. “I don’t know what you mean.”

---