Page 70 of Heiress Gone Wild

When some of the other ladies set up shuffleboard on the port side, she joined in, glad there was no Lady Stansbury to frown in disapproval. When Henry explained navigation to her, she listened eagerly, and when he offered to let her take the helm, she happily steered the ship all the way from Chiswick to Battersea Park before Henry made her give it back.

“You are proving an excellent sailor, Marjorie,” Clara said as Marjorie joined her and several other ladies who were sitting in deck chairs under the shade of a tarp. “You might have been born to it. The first time I tried to steer the ship, I almost ran us aground, and it was the next summer before Henry let me take the helm again. I—”

She broke off, frowning, leaning forward to study Marjorie’s face. “Your lips are chapped and a little red.”

“Are they?” She pressed her finger to her mouth, wincing as she felt the sting of windburn.

“You ought to put some zinc oxide paste on it. I’ve got some below, if you want it. It’s in the little desk at the bottom of the stairs.”

Marjorie touched her mouth again and decided the zinc oxide was a good idea. “Pour me some tea, would you, Clara?” she asked over her shoulder as she walked to the cabin. Shoving the door open, she went inside and went below deck, but though she found the desk Clara had mentioned at once, the lip salve proved elusive. She searched all three drawers of the desk, but she was finally forced to concede defeat.

She shut the bottom drawer, but as she straightened, she realized she wasn’t alone down here. Behind her, the door to one of the bedrooms suddenly opened, and as she turned around, the man who had been avoiding her all day came out, his hair damp and his dark blue reefer jacket in his hand.

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, and the dismayed expression on his face made her want to sink into the teak floor beneath her feet.

“I came down for zinc oxide, but I can’t seem to find it,” she said, then stopped, realizing she didn’t owe him any explanations.

“I have some.” He slid on his jacket, then reached into one of its pockets and pulled out a small glass jar. Stepping forward, he held it out to her.

“Thank you.” Taking it from his outstretched hand, she unscrewed the lid and turned toward the mirror bolted to the wall above the desk. But before she could apply some of the thick white paste to her lips, she saw his face in the mirror, and once again, she caught a glimpse of what she’d seen at Claridge’s three weeks earlier.

She froze, the jar and the lid in her fingers. “What are you thinking when you look at me like that?” she whispered.

At once, he looked away. “I’d better get on,” he said, and moved as if to leave.

“Wait,” she said, turning around, desperate for some excuse to make him stay. She wanted to ask him what was different, what had changed between them, what was wrong, but as she looked into his face again, the fire in his tawny eyes was gone, and his countenance was so wooden, so stiff, that her question stuck in her throat, and she lost her nerve. “You forgot this.”

She moved to dip her finger in the jar to take a little of the salve before giving it back, but his voice stopped her.

“Keep it,” he said and once again started to step around her.

The curtness of his voice proved one snub too many for Marjorie.

“I don’t want it!” she cried, too stung for even pride to come to her rescue. She screwed the lid back on, then grabbed his hand and slapped the tiny jar into his palm. “What I want to know is why you are treating me like a stranger. What have I done to deserve it?”

He stiffened, his fingers tightening into a fist around the jar. Slowly, with deliberate care, he pulled his hand from her grasp. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, confirmed in that opinion when he shifted his weight, looking uneasy. “That afternoon when we walked to Claridge’s for tea, it was so lovely. We were talking and laughing—like friends, you know, but then...”

Something flickered in the stiff lines of his face, a trace of emotion. “That’s when everything changed,” she went on, pushing. “Ever since tea that day, it’s as if there’s this wall between us, and I don’t know how it got there. And today, you’re avoiding me altogether, ducking away every time I come within ten feet of you. Did I offend you by asking about the paper?”

“Not at all.”

“Then maybe you just find the conversation of every single other person on board more appealing than mine? Whatever the reason,” she said before he could answer, “it’s clear something’s gone wrong between us, and it—”

She stopped, for her pride just couldn’t allow her to make the humiliating admission that she was hurt. “I thought we were friends,” she said instead.

“So we are. Now, I must—”

“You make that assurance with such conviction,” she interrupted as he turned his back, “and yet, somehow...” She paused again, then whispered, “I don’t believe you.”

He stopped, one foot on the stairs, his back stiff, his shoulders rigid. “God have mercy,” he muttered, and then, suddenly, he turned, his arm catching her around the waist.

He pulled her hard against him, and the jar of lip salve dropped from his fingers as his other arm wrapped around her shoulders. He tilted his head, ducking beneath her hat brim, and then, his mouth was on hers, hot and fierce, but so tender that her lips parted at once in willing accord.

He groaned, and his tongue entered her mouth, tasting deeply of her. Overwhelmed, Marjorie closed her eyes, but at once, everything began to spin. Thinking to steady herself in the maelstrom, she moved to slide her arms up around his neck, but then, his hands came up between them, closing over her wrists. With another groan, he pulled her hands down and broke the kiss. He pulled back, his breathing hot and quick against her cheek, and when she opened her eyes, she found his blazing with all their color and light.

“Being friends with you is killing me,” he muttered. “For God’s sake, don’t you understand? It’s killing me by inches.”

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