Page 16 of Stealing a Scoundrel's Heart
The scoundrel he was, Alister couldn’t keep his hands off the woman. Marjorie’s soft body molded to his as he carried her to the door of the crumbling cottage Maxwell had bequeathed her. Windows cloudy with dust and dirt, it was obvious no one had occupied the structure in quite some time.
He pushed open the door with his muddy boot. A whoosh of musty, damp air escaped. “Bloody hell.” He set Marjorie down and covered his nose and mouth with his arm and coughed. “It will take days of no rain to be rid of the moldy smell.”
Marjorie moved to take a step forward, and he caught her hand and tugged her behind him. With the ball of his foot he tapped the floor in front of him. “Careful, the floorboards might be rotten.” He’d learned from his own past experiences that abandoned buildings were full of surprises and dangers. “It’ll take weeks if not months to set this place to rights.”
Mirroring his earlier movements, Marjorie tested out the wooden boards and took a step forward and then spun around in a circle. “It’s perfect for me.”
From his assessment of the structure out front, Alister guessed the cottage housed no more than two bedrooms, a receiving room, servant quarters, a kitchen and a small library if Marjorie was fortunate. It was ideal for a dowager, not a young widow such as Marjorie.
He followed close behind Marjorie who had an extra bounce in her step. Alister scanned the walls, seam and door frames looking for structural issues. “There is work to be done in every room.”
“I’m not worried. I shall simply tackle refurbishing one room at time.” Marjorie whirled around to face him. Pure delight shone in her eyes.
To avoid reaching for Marjorie, Alister stepped into the larger of the two bedrooms, which was barren. No furniture, not even a bed for her to sleep upon. A flicker of disappointment was dashed by the onslaught of joy at the prospect of Marjorie returning with him instead of remaining in the cottage alone. The thought of being miles apart from Marjorie made his chest ache. “Mayhap this trip you should take inventory of what you shall need ordered and then return once…”
Marjorie placed her hand over his mouth. “This is my home now, and I don’t plan to return to London until the Wicked—” She removed her hand from him only to clasp it over her own mouth.
He pried her fingers away from the lips he oh so wanted to kiss. “Thewhat?”
“If I recall correctly, you are indebted to me for four boons, correct?”
“You are correct.” He cupped her face and ran his thumb over her worried brow. “Did you wish to claim them now?”
“Not exactly. I’ve been meaning to ask… I mean…”
“Marjorie, whatever it is, the answer is yes.”
She puffed out her cheeks and then blurted, “I need an escort to the Wicked Widows’ ball in London three months hence, and I wish for it to be you.”
Alister blinked. In all his years, he’d never heard of or been invited to such a ball, and he was well acquainted with more than a few widows that could be referred to as wicked. “I’m honored that you chose me.” He couldn’t resist her any longer. Alister bent and sealed their bargain with a kiss.
The chit was a fast learner. She ran her hands up over his chest, his shoulders, and then wrapped her arms around his neck, setting his body on fire. He was in a dire situation. If he didn’t stop now he might never leave and then Marjorie would discover the truth—he wasn’t who he claimed to be.
Seated atop a thick blanket on the pebbled beach, Marjorie lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sun. The early morning sunlight glinted off the blue waves as they rolled into shore. The rhythmic sound of the ocean meeting land eased the last remaining strands of tension in Marjorie’s sore and tired shoulders. She eased back, caring not if her coiffure was ruined, and closed her eyes. A fortnight in Brighton and she already didn’t feel like herself. Her constant and ever-present companions had taken it upon themselves in true gentlemanly fashion to right matters that did not concern them. Although, she had to admit that having four men able and willing to move furniture about, and not having to dine alone, were benefits she would soon miss. They were peers, titled gentlemen, with duties and responsibilities back in London. Even if she wished it, they couldn’t stay in Brighton with her forever. Not that any of them appeared to be in a hurry to return to the social circuit or attend lengthy sessions at the House of Lords.
The sound of pebbles crunching beneath the hard soles of boots not far from her was not unexpected.
“Marjorie. There is no where you can run where I won’t find you.” Alister’s tone was light and teasing.
“Who said I was running away?” Not that the thought hadn’t crossed her mind a time or two over the last two weeks. Unable to meet the scoundrel’s all too inquisitive and knowing blue eyes, she kept hers closed and asked, “It’s not even close to the nooning hour, why are you here?”
“I missed you.”
She popped up to a sitting position and nearly collided heads with the man she was falling in love with. The man who had surprised her daily with kind and thoughtful acts that were often disguised as beleaguered acts of duty. “Already?”
The scoundrel leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss upon her forehead and then on the tip of her nose. “Yes. In fact, I missed you the moment we left for the inn last night.”
Every day since their arrival, the gentleman would arrive midday and assist her with whatever task she set out to complete for the day, which most often entailed locating and replacing broken floorboards. Unlike the majority of gentlemen of her acquaintance, Alister and Foxton were rather handy with hammers and such. They often stripped down to their rather thin and clinging lawn shirts. Alister had the terrible habit of rolling up his sleeves, subjecting Marjorie to the glorious sight of his muscled forearms that featured nightly in her dreams.
“It would appear that our task master has decided to laze about today.”
Marjorie scrambled to her feet, brushing out her skirts before turning to face the voice from behind. Foxton preceded Whistlestop and Hurlington. Who was his teasing remark directed at—her or Alister?
Alister stood beside her and crossed his arms over his chest and grumbled for her ears only, “Damn them all to hell.”
She shared Alister’s feelings of frustration, for the trio rarely left them alone. “You apparently aren’t as stealthy as you once were.”
Alister’s frown turned into a grin. He chuckled and said, “Apparently.”
