Page 98 of Heiress Gone Wild

But it wasn’t eggs. And it wasn’t jewels. It wasn’t even a predictable and appropriate gift, like books or pens. No, it was something else entirely, something that obliterated Marjorie’s shored-up resolutions, crumbled her defenses of pride, anger, and hurt, and turned to dust and ashes all the illusions she’d been carrying about how her life was going to be.

Inside the box was a field camera.

“Are you certain you want to do this?”

Jonathan looked up from the plans spread across the desk, giving the Marquess of Kayne a surprised glance. “I thought we’d agreed. The engineers must add more lifeboats to the design.”

“That’s not what I mean. Just after you decide to cancel your departure for South Africa, I’m the one responsible for sending you off again. The duchess can’t be pleased with me.”

The duchess wasn’t the only one. Jonathan looked down again, pain squeezing his chest as he thought of how he’d left Marjorie on the terrace at Ainsley Park a few hours ago. “The duchess isn’t the problem,” he muttered as he pretended to resume his study of the ship’s design plans Kayne had presented for his perusal. “Believe me.”

“Still, I was supposed to go, and though I’m grateful you’re taking my place, I feel I’ve dumped an enormous task on you with no warning. I was surprised you agreed.”

“Were you?” Jonathan stared down at the plans, an ironic smile curving his lips. Yesterday, when he and Kayne had discussed this venture, he’d known almost at once that it was what he’d been searching for, not only because it suited him and excited him, but also because he’d seen how it could bridge the gap between what he wanted and what Marjorie wanted. And after last night, when she had come to his room, when she’d given herself to him and admitted she loved him, he’d been sure she would at least be willing to listen to his plans. But now, thinking of her appalled face and the hurt in her eyes, he realized he’d been a bit too optimistic there. Still, he was only in the first stage of what he’d known would be a long campaign.

“One of us has to go,” he said as he straightened and began rolling up the plans. “And it ought to be me, since arranging the moorings is now my responsibility.” He held up the plans. “I may take these to show the men in Gibraltar, I assume?”

When Kayne nodded, he secured the roll of plans with an elastic band and bent to retrieve his dispatch case from the floor. “Then, since my ship sails in less than an hour, I’d best be on my way. If I delay much longer, my valet will begin to wonder if he’s bound for Gibraltar without me.”

“I’ll walk down with you.”

The two men departed the marquess’s dockside offices together. Ten minutes later, they had said their farewells, and a ferry was carrying Jonathan across the port from Hythe to the opposite marina where a Cunard ship waited to take him to Gibraltar.

As he passed through the crowd of people who were gathered on the dock to say good-bye to their loved ones, he searched for Marjorie’s face, though he knew it was futile. After this morning, he doubted she was in any frame of mind to come to the wharf and say good-bye. And even if she did, what would be the result? Leaving her at Ainsley Park had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. If he saw her now, would he be able to tear himself away a second time?

On the other hand, could he toss all his newly made plans aside and give up what he knew he wanted to do, and try to settle down to the insular, self-contained world of a British country gentleman?

Even as he asked himself that question, he knew it wasn’t possible, not for him. Even if that was what Marjorie wanted, even as much as he loved her, he could not do it. He needed a wider world than one tiny corner of England.

No, he decided as he paused at the gangplank for one last look around, if he saw her now standing here on the dock, the thing he’d be most inclined to do was heave her over one shoulder, scandalizing anyone who might be watching, and haul her aboard. He almost smiled at the notion, appreciating just how far he’d come from the overprotective guardian who’d thought he could make her stay in her room for propriety’s sake.

It made him laugh at himself now to think of that, for he knew Marjorie would never be controlled by his expectations, or anyone else’s. He knew she had an adventurous streak; it had been his greatest frustration two months ago. He could only hope that with time, it would prove to be his ally. If not—

The ship’s horn blew, a welcome distraction from the gloomy direction his thoughts had almost taken, but also a warning that he could not delay any longer. He turned and crossed the gangplank, where Warrick was waiting for him.

“I’ve seen to the luggage, sir,” the valet said, handing him his passkey. “Your stateroom is A-18. Shall I show you?”

Jonathan hesitated, glancing again over his shoulder. “No,” he said, holding out the plans and his dispatch case. “Here, take these, and order me some tea. I’ll be along.”

“Very good, sir.” Warrick departed, and Jonathan moved to stand with the other passengers at the rail as the ship pulled away and started out to sea. He kept his gaze fixed on the dock until the ship made the turn at Calshot and merged into the Solent, then he turned away and went to his stateroom, but to his surprise, he found it empty. Warrick had placed his dispatch case on the floor beside the writing desk and unrolled the plans on the desk’s surface, but the valet himself wasn’t anywhere in sight.

“Warrick?” he called, but there was no answer. Jonathan tossed his hat and passkey on the table by the door, then crossed to the bedroom, but it was empty as well, and he could only conclude that his valet had gone on some necessary errand.

Deciding the best way to take his mind off Marjorie was by doing some work, Jonathan proceeded to get comfortable for the task, removing his jacket, necktie, and collar. He was just starting on his cuff links when the outer door to his suite opened.

“Warrick?” he called.

“Yes, sir,” the valet called back. “I’ve brought your tea.”

Jonathan frowned, a bit puzzled. “Why didn’t you have a waiter do it?” he asked as he tossed his cuff links and tiepin onto the dressing table and began rolling back his shirt cuffs.

There was a pause. “It would have taken too long,” the valet said at last. Another pause, and then, Warrick resumed, “They didn’t put any milk on the tray. I’ll fetch it.”

“I don’t need milk,” he called back, but the door closed before he’d finished speaking. With a shrug, he finished rolling back his shirt cuffs, then walked into the bath and splashed a bit of cold water on his face. Grabbing a towel, he dried off as he returned to the sitting room, but he’d barely stepped through the doorway before he came to an abrupt, astonished halt.

Standing by the tea tray, disheveled, hat askew, breathtakingly lovely, was Marjorie.

“What the devil?” he muttered, staring, too stunned to move.

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