Page 76 of Heiress Gone Wild

In addition, though Marjorie’s career as a teacher had given her access to certain books on human biology, the information provided by the volumes of the academy’s library had been vague, euphemistic, and profoundly unsatisfactory.

But then, could any book really explain the reality? The rising tension, the exquisite sensations, the shattering conclusion?

“Your coffee, Miss McGann.”

Boothby’s voice, so matter-of-fact, tore her out of these carnal speculations, and as the butler entered the room with a laden tray, she returned her attention to the papers spread out on the table before her. As he poured her coffee and brought it to her, she bent her head as if fully occupied with the current financial status of her investments.

“Set it on the table, Boothby,” she said, picking up a pencil to scribble a nonsensical note in the margin of one sheet.

The cup and saucer rattled as he did as she had instructed. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you, Boothby. You may go.”

He bowed and departed, and Marjorie leaned forward, pressing her hot cheek against the cool sheets of paper on the table with a groan. If she was going to dissolve into blushes every time she contemplated last night’s events, how was she ever going to face Jonathan and ask him to explain what it all meant?

That question had barely crossed her mind, however, before more footsteps sounded in the corridor. She sat up and grabbed her pencil, pretending vast interest in the papers before her, but the moment the object of all her tortured contemplations walked into the room, she felt her face heating all over again.

He stopped just inside the doorway, and though she longed to take refuge in the legal documents before her, she reminded herself of her purpose, told herself not to be a ninny, and looked up.

“Hello,” she said, ignoring her hot face and working to keep her voice cool. “I thought you’d be at the ball.” As she spoke, she noted in puzzlement that he was not in white tie, but an ordinary morning suit of charcoal gray. “Aren’t you going?”

“No.” He came in, shutting the library door behind him, and this exact repetition of his first action last night jerked Marjorie to her feet. Surely he wasn’t intending to repeat the rest of those events, was he?

Her blush deepened with her thoughts, heat spreading through her body. He perceived her reaction, his lips tightening, and her determination to confront him began to falter. When he started toward her, she looked past him, feeling a sudden, craven desire to run for the door.

She shoved aside such cowardice, seized her courage, and shored up her pride, and as he circled the table, she turned to face him, gripping her pencil tight in her fingers as she readied herself to demand what he was doing, batting her about as if she were a tennis ball.

He paused in front of her. “I wanted to speak with you, and this seemed the best opportunity.”

“Indeed?” she asked, absurdly proud of the incisive tone of her voice. “That’s a change from the usual.”

His gaze moved to the empty space of carpet on the floor, then back to her face. “I meant I wanted to speak with you alone.”

Despite everything, she felt a stirring of excitement, but she quashed it. “Again, a change from the usual,” she muttered.

He reached out, his fingers closing over her pencil as if to take it from her, and she felt a strange, almost irresistible temptation to grip it harder, but she forced herself to relax and let him pull it from her fingers.

He tossed it onto the table beside them, then he faced her again, and to her complete amazement, he took her hands in his and said the last thing in the world she’d ever have expected.

“I think we should get married.”

Chapter 19

He was proposing? Marjorie blinked, utterly stupefied. “You want to marry me?”

“Yes.” Despite this confirmation, she still couldn’t quite believe it. It was just too incredible. “Yes. After what happened last night, I think it would be best.”

Watching him, comprehension struck her like lightning.

“Oh, my God.” She snatched her hands from his, horrified as gossiping voices of her colleagues at Forsyte Academy came back to her, whispered words about a fellow teacher that she’d paid little heed to at the time.

It was that man she walks out with. She laid with him, the little strumpet, and he wouldn’t marry her... that’s why she had to leave, you know, to have the baby.

“I laid with you,” she whispered in horror, and she cursed her aversion to gossip. If she’d paid more attention to such talk back then, she might have known enough to prevent disaster now. “There, on the floor, in this very room. I’m ruined.”

“No, you’re not.” His voice was low and hard, and not the least bit reassuring. “Not yet, anyway.”

She shook her head, trying to think, but she was too overwhelmed for that, any happiness she might have taken in her first marriage proposal obliterated by raw panic.

---