Page 62 of Heiress Gone Wild

“I won’t,” he said quietly. “I’ve come to accept the fact that my friend wasn’t much of a father. Though I do think his illness played a part in his decisions, Marjorie. I honestly do.”

She tried to look at it that way, and after a moment, she gave a reluctant nod. “Perhaps. But he should have told me he was sick. I had the right to know.”

“I won’t argue that point. What’s remarkable is that you both had the same future in mind for you. He wanted you to have all this—the sort of life your mother had in South Africa. He felt he’d taken that away from her, and he wanted you to have it.”

“That must be why he chose you to be my guardian.”

“I think so, yes. Did he get the idea from you? Did you tell him what you had in mind—to come here, join your friends?”

“No, never. I didn’t want to give him the chance to refuse.”

He grinned at that. “Better to ask for forgiveness afterward than permission before?”

“Something like that.”

“I shall keep this tactic of yours in mind for future reference. I think I’ll warn Irene, too.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, laughing. “I’ve given myself away now, haven’t I? Either way,” she added as they turned toward the entrance to Claridge’s Hotel, “I hope you see now why I wasn’t about to let you go off and leave me behind.”

She started up the wide front steps, where a liveried doorman was holding the door open for them, but Jonathan’s voice stopped her. “Marjorie?”

“Hmm?” She turned to look at him and was startled by the sudden, strange intensity in his face. “What is it?”

His lips parted as if he intended to reply, but then he pressed them tight. Slowly, he shook his head. “Nothing.”

I would have come back for you.

The words hung in the air, unsaid, as Jonathan watched Marjorie walk away, her shapely hips swaying in her close-fitting dress of white silk, jet buttons, and black lace as she walked up the wide steps of the hotel entrance. He still wanted to say them; even now, they hovered on his tongue. But what would be the point?

Everything he’d told her in the carriage two weeks ago was true. He’d used truth to push her away, to protect her, and he’d succeeded. They were friends now, a nice, safe middle ground, if he could keep his head. He ought to be relieved. So why the hell would he want to tip the scales and undo that delicate balance by trying to pull her close again?

Even as he asked himself that question, he was beginning to fear he already knew the answer. Hadn’t he always known, from the moment he’d first set eyes on her?

Marjorie stopped at the top of the steps and turned, the flaring trumpet hem of her dress swirling in a froth of black and white to settle around her ankles. Beneath her white straw hat, an outrageous affair of stuffed gray doves, white ostrich plumes, and black silk ribbons, her brows drew together in a puzzled frown. “Aren’t you coming?”

Left with no choice, he mounted the steps and followed as she turned and went through the doors. Once inside the hotel, they walked together across the foyer and through the lobby to the entrance of the tearoom, where his sisters and Carlotta were waiting with a dark-haired man—Rex’s cousin Paul, no doubt. Beside him was a girl so similar to him in looks that she had to be a sister, and though Jonathan was reasonably sure he’d never met the woman before, the man seemed oddly familiar.

“You two took your time,” Irene chided good-naturedly as he and Marjorie came abreast.

“Are we late?” Marjorie asked.

“No, no,” Irene assured her at once. “Your friends have not yet arrived, so the maître d’hôtel informs me, and Rex isn’t here yet, either. But his cousins are,” she added, gesturing to the couple beside her, “so I’d best go ahead and make the introductions—”

“Some introductions won’t be necessary, Irene,” the man called Paul put in as he grinned at Jonathan. “Hullo, Jack.”

Startled, Jonathan blinked, then he began to laugh, realizing his initial impression of familiarity had been right. “Good lord, Paul Chapman? I’ll be damned. You’re Galbraith’s cousin? I had no idea.”

The two men shook hands, and as they drew back, Jonathan realized everyone was looking at them in surprise. “Schooldays,” he explained. “Winchester.”

“And Oxford,” Paul added.

“That hardly counts,” Jonathan demurred. “I was only there half a term.”

“Half a term, but still a legend,” Paul said. “Or have you forgotten carving naughty limericks into the ancient oak trees?”

The girl beside Paul spoke up before Jonathan could answer. “Since Paul’s ruined any hope of formal introductions,” she said, giving her brother a jab in the ribs, “we shall have to make informal ones. I’m his sister, Henrietta, but if anyone calls me that, I tend to ignore them—”

“It works like a charm,” Paul interrupted, earning himself another jab.

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