Page 13 of Stealing a Scoundrel's Heart
He tapped a forefinger over his square jaw. “Hmm. Let me see… what other activities could we partake in during our travels today?” His eyes held a gleam of mischief.
She should have had a flirtatious quip at the ready, but she knew nothing of how to tempt a man. Bluestockings like her were unskilled at such things. She removed her hands from beneath her and clasped them tightly in her lap. Marjorie smiled up at Alister, whose stare was intently trained upon her.
She dropped her gaze to her lap and focused on the simple act of breathing in time with her pounding heart.
“Might you have any suggestions, Marjorie?”
The simple act of dropping the honorific had her blood racing and her mind blank. Oh, how she wished she could formulate one of Dorinda’s witty responses to request lessons on kissing. It was embarrassing to have to admit she’d never really been kissed before and barely by her husband.
What would Elise do? Her best friend would no doubt simply demand that the man teach her the art of kissing. Marjorie’s shoulders slumped. Making demands of others was not in her nature.
Alister found himself in a blasted pickle. Marjorie didn’t respond to his query, and she didn’t have to. Her expressive features said it all—she wanted the kiss he had been tempted to give her last night. He’d never hesitated to kiss a delectable widow before, but Marjorie’s quiet, reserved nature had rekindled emotions within him that he thought were dead and buried. Any dalliance with Marjorie would be dangerous. And yet, here he was deliberating over a damned kiss.
He needed a drink to calm his nerves. Alister bent at the waist and pulled open the drawer built in under the rear-facing seat. He reached in and grabbed the flask of whiskey tucked between the blankets.
“Care to try a beverage normally reserved for men?”
Marjorie shook her head. “I know all too well that nothing good comes of drinking spirits like whiskey or brandy.”
Alister recalled rumors of Marjorie’s papa being a degenerate drunk, but he was unfamiliar with the man since he rarely visited the more frequented clubs like Brooks’s or White’s. He preferred his own club, Masters’, whose exclusive membership was restricted to twenty and only available to those not known to have deep pockets. Masters’ membership was not restricted to titled gentlemen; it was, however, restricted to those men who held privacy as their primary code of honor. While Foxton was also a member, neither Whistlestop nor Hurlington were, for dukes were often blessed with large coffers. Whistlestop was no exception, and the Hurlington earldom was one of the oldest in England, blessed with money-savvy heirs. That estate had never suffered huge financial setbacks like so many others had. Over the years, both Alister and Foxton had tirelessly worked to rebuild their coffers to the point it would take generations to deplete the reserves they’d accumulated.
Horrid recollections resurfaced of his mama crying meal after meal as she sat before an empty plate, while he filled his belly with cold porridge and stale bread. He’d been too young to cut firewood, too poor to hire help, and while his mama excelled at managing a household, they simply did not have the funds to have more than one meal a day. They rarely did until Maxwell unexpectedly appeared at the Dartman country estate the summer Alister turned eight and helped set matters to rights. With Maxwell’s guidance and assistance, Alister attended Eton then Cambridge, which allowed him to gain both the necessary knowledge and friendships to rebuild the Dartman estate and coffers. Shaken by his memories, Alister twisted off the cap and took a swig of the amber liquid that he had acquired in the wilds of Scotland. He held the flask out to her once more. “Are you certain?”
Marjorie eyed the silver container with such disdain he tossed it back in its hideaway and slammed the drawer closed. But as he sat back, Marjorie scooted forward and pulled the drawer back open. She lifted a quilt up and asked, “May I?”
“Of course. You should have mentioned you were cold…”
“I’m not. However I am intrigued by”—she pointed to the worn blanket—“these blocks. They vary, not in size or shape, but in material, which is unusual.”
Her finger traced the seam, and Alister’s cock swelled instantly. He grabbed the blanket and shook it out over their laps. “There. Now you can see the craftsmanship better.”
She frowned at him, but her attention returned to the blanket.
“Do you like to embroider?”
“Not particularly. I prefer to sketch, but I enjoy the feel of a warm blanket over me at night.” Eyes closed, she ran her palm over the material. “The intermittent thicker velvety blocks not only feel delightful, I imagine it would also be warmer.”
Her innocent movements had a spellbinding effect upon him, drawing his head closer to hers. Mayhap a quick peck on the cheek or the forehead might appease his need to kiss the woman next to him. Before sanity could return, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her warm cheek. His heart thumped against his ribs, hard, reminding him he did possess a heart.
Instead of shying away or slapping him for taking liberties, Marjorie cupped his face with both hands and stared into his eyes.Don’t look too long my dear, or you will realize I’m not worthy of your time.He might end up in hell upon his death for taking advantage of Marjorie, but it would be worth it to appease the deep ache that had settled in his chest. Alister leaned forward and she met him halfway for a kiss. Time slowed down to milliseconds as each square inch of his lips slowly covered hers. It was supposed to be a goddamn innocent kiss. It had all the qualities of an innocent kiss: she hadn’t opened up for him; their tongues had yet to intertwine. But the pressure of her skin on his was… ecstasy. Damn. Double damn, he hadn’t even discovered the taste of her, and this was a kiss like no other. His cock was engorged and his fingers made quick work of the row of buttons at the back of her gown. He tugged her sleeve lower and placed a light kiss upon her bare shoulder. He needed to stop. He wanted her. Where the hell was his renowned self-control?
Gone. Absent.
He was going to go to hell for sure, but he wasn’t satisfied. He craved more.
Marjorie’s head fell to the side and he placed a kiss on her neck, then on the edge of her jaw before reclaiming her lips once more. He urged her to part her lips for him with his tongue, and she granted his wish. A burst of heat exploded in his chest and radiated throughout him. He was tumbling into uncharted territory with a woman. Alternating the pressure of his lips on hers from feathery light to demanding elicited a sensual moan that was unpracticed and raw. He immediately pressed Marjorie closer to him. There was no mistaking the feel of her bare bosoms up against his chest. His fully covered chest. He wanted to divest both of them of their clothing.
Marjorie pulled back and tugged her gown back into place. “The coach is slowing.”
What in the hell—how had he not noticed the shift in pace? He shifted to the window and peeked out the glass. A flock of sheep. Damn rural roads. At least the delay wasn’t due to anything nefarious or dangerous.
Marjorie had righted both her clothes and her hair by the time he returned to her side. But he wasn’t done kissing her. He’d be careful not to muss her hair or undress her in case they were forced to disembark. He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and guided her flushed face closer to him until he could place a kiss upon her forehead. Blast it all. The innocuous kiss had his cock throbbing. His goal had to been to teach her a lesson or two about kissing, but instead it felt as ifhehad been schooled by her innocent kisses.
The coach halted and the door flung wide open. Lord Foxton’s disheveled head appeared. “Dartman, come quick.” His friend’s gaze flickered to Marjorie and then back to him. “Alone.”
If Lord Foxton thought she would listen to him and remain inside the coach, the gentleman was sadly mistaken. Marjorie was no longer willing to sit idle and wait for life to happen. Daring to seek out what she wanted hadn’t been a strength for her in the past, but mere moments ago achieved a feat she believed impossible: to be thoroughly kissed by a handsome gentleman. Her heart rate remained elevated and her blood still ran hot through her veins.
She picked up her skirts with one hand and raised her fisted hand to the window but stopped. Would there even be a footman present to open the door for her? Only one way to find out. She pulled back the drapes covering the coach door window, and to her relief saw the back of a man’s head. She rapped on the glass.
