Page 10 of Stealing a Scoundrel's Heart
Rather than escorting her to the private dining salon below as she expected, Lord Dartman swiveled them around and walked her right back into her room and slammed the door behind them. “Did something happen?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and bent down until their gazes met. “Are you all right?”
Dazed, Marjorie blinked and stared back at Lord Dartman. No man had ever shown such concern for her well-being. She reached out and pinched the man’s cheek, to reassure her she wasn’t going mad and that Lord Dartman was real and not one of the fictional heroes she often daydreamed of.
“Egad, woman. What in the blazes?” He released her and rubbed his face that was bright pink.
This wasn’t a dream. Lord Dartman was real. His concern was real.
He reached out and placed his palm over her forehead. “Have you a fever?” His hand dropped to his side, but his gaze raked over her features. “Hmm… you look exhausted. I shall adjust our traveling schedule for tomorrow so that it’s not so taxing.”
Was the man blind? Why had he made no remark regarding her bespeckled skin?
Of course he hadn’t. Lord Dartman was a gentleman. No—he was a scoundrel, proven by his lack of care for social etiquette during the long journey to the coaching inn.
Marjorie reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. “Oh no, my lord. Please don’t do that. I’d rather not waste any more of your time or the others. You are all busy gentlemen that have far more important matters to attend to than ferrying a widow about the countryside.” She tugged him toward the door, but the man didn’t budge. “Shouldn’t we make our way down to dine, my lord?”
“No. All the private dining rooms were reserved. I left instructions for a tray to be brought up; however, it is quite apparent you are in dire need of rest more than nourishment.” Lord Dartman turned his arm, slid his hand into hers and dragged her over to the bed. “In you get.”
He pulled back the covers and she obediently sat on the bed. To her utter surprise Lord Dartman dropped to one knee and began to unlace her boots.
“Lord Dartman!” She tried to pull her foot away, but the man had firm grip on her ankle. Heat radiated up her leg straight to her core that was mysteriously tingling. “Release me at once.”
The man ignored her and proceeded to divest her of her other boot. “Be a good girl, and stay still.”
She stopped wiggling at the sound of a scratch at the door. Lord Dartman rolled to his feet and strode to the door to open it.
A lovely chamber maid, laden with a large tray that had multiple dishes carefully stacked upon it, bobbed a quick curtsey. “Yer supper, me lord.”
Lord Dartman didn’t step back to let the maid in; instead he took the tray from her and closed the door. How incredibly rude.
Marjorie jumped off the bed and rushed to the door. Clad in stockings, her feet slid over the wooden floor. With one arm, Lord Dartman reached out and caught her arm to steady her before she hit the ground.
“What the devil?” Lord Dartman dropped the tray on the table and tugged her to him.
The minx was a walking disaster. It was no wonder Maxwell had summoned the four of them to look over the chit.
Chin in the air, Marjorie scolded, “Lord Dartman.”
“Please, call me Alister—or at the very least Dartman as all my close friends do.” He led her to the chair closest to them and waited for her to sit.
“Alister? Ali..is..ter.” She narrowed her gaze upon him and then added, “The name suits you.”
“My mother would have been happy to hear you approve.”
Marjorie’s face fell. “I’m sorry for your loss, my lord.”
“While I still miss my mother dearly, it’s been years.” He took the seat opposite her and made a production of arranging the food and plates in the hope Marjorie wouldn’t notice his hand trembling. His mother and he had been boon companions. After his legal father had passed, his mother reveled in the freedom a widow wielded, stating many times over thatA widow would be unwise to remarry. No man is worth being subjected to the legal bindings of marriage.He recalled asking specifically, what if you fell in love, and his mother’s resolute response rang clear in his head.Not even for love.
Alister glanced over the quickly cooling beef stew at Marjorie, chin ducked to her chest once more. He reached out and tipped her face up so he could see her honest warm-brown eyes that were, as he expected, misty. “No need for tears.”
Damn. He wanted to see her eyes sparkle.
Eyes that affected him more than he’d like to admit.
Eyes that he couldn’t stay away from.
Marjorie’s lips quivered as they formed a weak smile. “We should dine before the meal gets too cold to eat.” A bead of moisture pooled at the corner of her eyes.
He could handle the feigned tears women used to gain favor but was clueless as to how to comfort a woman shedding real tears. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. If she weren’t so damn innocent, he’d suggest they skip dinner and then coax her into letting him comfort her in bed. His gaze shifted across the room.
