Page 34 of Heiress Gone Wild

“For your debut, I can arrange the most lavish ball London has ever seen,” he said, “with the best food and the finest champagne. You can order a gown from the most famous dressmaker in Paris, and my sister can send invitations to the finest families in Britain, but if you have done anything to earn society’s disapproval, all those arrangements for your debut will be for naught, because no one will come.”

She stirred, the hardness in her face softening to uncertainty. She looked away, biting her lip.

Hoping she was beginning to understand and accept the realities of the life she’d chosen, he continued, “I know it’s hard, having to wait when you’ve already been waiting for so long, but there is no way around it, Marjorie. You must observe a mourning period, be scrupulous in your conduct and judicious in your choice of companions. It’s vital that you trust the judgement of those who know more about British society and its pitfalls than you do.”

He’d feared showing her the necklace might have been a mistake, but when she gave a sigh, her shoulders sagging a little, her face taking on a resigned expression, he knew his gambit had succeeded.

“It’s only until we reach London,” he said. “Once there, I am hopeful my sisters can be prevailed upon, and I’m sure you’ll find them much more agreeable chaperones than Lady Stansbury.”

“If your sisters are unwilling to chaperone me, I have several married friends who would.”

“Either way, the point is that there will be many wonderful experiences for you to enjoy, if you exercise a little patience now and trust me...”

He paused, grimacing a little, appreciating that when they were standing in his bedroom and raw masculine need was still thrumming through his body, asking for her trust was the height of hypocrisy. But the stakes for her were high, and if a bit of hypocrisy on his part was required, so be it.

“On the other hand,” he said as he opened the box and laid the necklace inside, “if you prefer to taint the future you want for a little momentary excitement, that’s your choice.”

There was a long silence, and as was often the case with Marjorie, he had no idea what she was going to do, but at last, she nodded.

“All right,” she said. “We’ll do this your way. I don’t want...” She paused, then whispered, “I don’t want to be tainted.”

Jonathan was relieved by her answer, but he also felt a curious sense of disappointment. Somehow, a compliant, obedient Marjorie seemed terribly dull.

Frustrated by his own inexplicable ambivalence where she was concerned and by the desire still seething within him, he put the lid on the box and shoved the box into his jacket pocket. “Good. Now, I shall go put this back in the ship’s vault, and I ask you to return to your room and take off that dress...” His voice failed, and he had to pause a moment before going on.

“If you can find something more suitable for a woman in mourning to wear,” he managed at last, “I will tell Lady Stansbury you are free to dine with everyone else. In all other respects, however, I ask that for the next six days, you do what she advises and try to remember all that you have to look forward to.”

Desperately needing to escape, he walked past her, but by the time he reached the door, he was impelled to say one more thing.

“Marjorie?” His body in chaos, he paused and forced himself to look at her, with her splendid body and her stunning face and a bed just a few feet away from them both. “I know you’re not a child. I am fully alive to the fact, believe me.”

He left his stateroom, working to regain his control and put his priorities back in order, and by the time he reached the ship’s vault, he felt he had succeeded. Nonetheless, once he’d seen the Rose of Shoshone safely locked away, Jonathan headed straight to the bar. He badly needed a drink.

Chapter 10

Marjorie had never had ice water thrown in her face in the literal sense, but metaphorically, thanks to Jonathan, she knew just how it felt.

One moment, she’d had glittering jewels around her neck and Jonathan’s heated gaze on her, and she was no longer a schoolteacher from White Plains, New York, or an heiress on her way to a new life. No, she’d transformed into something else entirely—a seductress, a temptress, a siren of lore like those who lured sailors from the sea. With her heart racing and fire raging in her blood and Jonathan looking at her in the mirror, she’d felt beautiful and wild and powerful, and all she’d wanted was to pull him down with her into some dark, sensuous underworld. It had been the most extraordinary moment of her life.

But then, he’d broken the spell and hauled her back into reality with just a few simple words.

That won’t be possible if you become an object of shame or ridicule.

Had he tossed ice water in her face, he couldn’t have spoiled the moment more effectively. In only a few seconds, she’d gone from beautiful siren to naughty child, and she’d felt like an utter fool.

Making things worse, during the five days that followed, she was virtually ignored, giving her cause to wonder if those magic moments in his cabin had even happened. Though he stopped by the countess’s little sewing circle every afternoon, he only lingered long enough for a polite inquiry about her health before moving on, and her invitations to join them for tea had been met with polite refusal. He hadn’t appeared in the main dining room even once for lunch or dinner, and her only other sight of him had been an occasional glimpse into the billiard room or smoking room as she walked the promenade with Lady Stansbury.

How could a man do that? How could he make her feel as if she was queen of the earth, turn her upside down and inside out, and then act as if she was of no consequence whatsoever? It was the most aggravating, baffling thing she’d ever experienced.

Marjorie looked up from the tea cloth in her hands, desperate for something to distract her from the tedious task of embroidering forget-me-nots, but every sight that met her eyes only served to increase her aggravation.

To her left, a group of young ladies were playing shuffleboard, and to her right, several groups of four were gathered at tables, playing bridge. Either activity, so she had been told, was unseemly for a woman in mourning.

Men and women strolled past her, enjoying the crisp, cool air through the open windows of the promenade, the ocean beyond them stretching into the distance. Staring out over the endless blue expanse, she couldn’t help thinking again of sirens and sailors and those extraordinary moments in Jonathan’s cabin, even though she no longer felt anything like a seductive figure of Greek mythology. More like a cursed princess in a fairy tale, she decided with a snort.

“Really, dear,” Lady Stansbury’s well-bred drawl broke into her thoughts and forced her attention back to the tea cloth in her hands. “If one must make an indelicate noise, it is always best to muffle it with a handkerchief.”

Marjorie paused again, pasted on a smile—the same smile she’d always employed when talking to the mothers of difficult pupils—and turned toward the older woman.

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