Page 21 of Stealing a Scoundrel's Heart
She blinked up at Foxton who was hugging her again. Alister’s pounding footsteps from behind quickened. Foxton quickly steadied her and then stepped back, placing an arm’s length between them, which was just enough space that she wasn’t barreled over by Alister whose fist connected solidly with Foxton’s jaw.
Foxton stumbled backward but did not fall to the ground. She watched the man who she had grown to love like a brother over the past couple of weeks. Marjorie rose to on to her tip toes and cupped his face. “Foxton! Foxton, are you all right?”
She searched his dazed eyes. Shock rolled through her at the flash of interest in Foxton’s eyes. It was the same intense look she’d witnessed in Alister’s gaze often. The glimmer was quickly replaced with remorse, causing her own eyes to fill with moisture. Foxton’s feelings for her were not as platonic as she’d thought. How selfish and foolish of her. The attempt to squelch her insecurities resulted in her hurting both of the men she cared for.
Foxton removed her hands from his face and stepped to the side to face Alister. “Don’t hurt her, or we shall be meeting at dawn.”
Alister nodded and stepped out of his best friend’s way, and Marjorie watched Foxton head back to the cottage. Her heart ached. Oh, she had provoked Alister all right, but the end result was a tattered friendship and her heart torn into two. She turned to face Alister except she had no words. Shoulders slumped forward, Marjorie followed Foxton’s footsteps and headed back to the cottage. She had to devise a plan to repair the damage she’d done to Alister and Foxton’s friendship.
Men and their bravado. She needn’t have stayed up all night worrying over Alister and Foxton. The pair had acted as if nothing had transpired. Although Foxton and Hurlington hadn’t dared to come within an arm’s length of her, and Whistlestop had all but carried the conversation until their departure.
Marjorie waved goodbye as Whistlestop’s traveling coach disappeared into the distance. She was going to miss Foxton, her rake; Hurlington, her rogue; and Whistlestop, who she had fondly coined as her fake duke. Dukes were supposed to be superficial, arrogant, and demanding. Whistlestop was none of those things—in fact, quite the opposite, which is probably why women were overly fond of him.
She turned to head back inside the cottage and found Alister staring down at her. The man hadn’t said a word since the incident by the shore and she hadn’t dared to force the issue. Without Foxton and the others about, Marjorie was content with the silence, so long as Alister continued to glance her way and smile, and he didn’t shy away from her. If she was unwilling to clearly state her feelings, how could she expect Alister to?
Folding her arms across her chest, she sidestepped around Alister and trudged back into the small cottage. The crunch of pebbles reassured her Alister was close behind.
She glanced up at her new home. With the windows sparking clean and hedges cut back, one couldn’t tell that there were still a multitude of projects to be completed inside. It might take her months if not a full year to restore the cottage and complete everything, but she had the freedom to do it her way and on her schedule, all thanks to her late husband.
What if she had never married Maxwell?
She wouldn’t have formed the unique bond of friendship with Foxton, Hurlington, and Whistlestop, and she most definitely would not have met and fallen in love with Alister.
But was it love she felt for the man? She was fond of spending time with him and his kisses. But after a few stolen kisses, Alister had informed her he’d not share a bed with her unless they were married. She thought he had been simply teasing her at the time, but the scoundrel had kept his word despite the fact their interludes had grown in intensity.
Marjorie entered the cottage and came to a stop at the foot of the stairs.
If she went up to her rooms, would Alister follow?
She shook her head and proceeded to the drawing room. It was already unorthodox to be all alone with a gentleman. Not that she was an innocent risking her reputation with a scoundrel. Bah. She was a widow, for goodness sake! But she was an untried widow who had no idea how to tempt the scoundrel she had somehow managed to land. She’d never learn the art of seduction if Alister continued to play the role of gentleman instead of scoundrel.
She slumped back into the wingback chair. She was exhausted after not having slept all night. Alister chose to lounge on the settee. He appeared content to continue in silence, and since she was accustomed to being ignored and only having her own thoughts to occupy her, Marjorie was content to remain silent also.
Her eyelids began to feel heavy and her chin fell to her chest.
“Marjorie…” Alister’s voice floated about her, but she couldn’t open her eyes.
Alister scooped Marjorie up in his arms and carried her up the stairs. The minx was exhausted. He was about ready to fall asleep himself after not having slept all night worrying. Gone were the days where all he had to do was get through the tasks for the day. Loving another apparently caused one to anticipate what was to come whether it was with joy or anxiety, and it was damn… damn… annoying? No. Liberating? No. Exhilarating? Mayhap it was living rather than merely existing. He glanced down at Marjorie as she snuggled her cheek against his chest. He wanted to wake up every morn simply to be with this woman who cared so much more for others than herself. He wanted to protect her and cherish her. She was his reason to continue on, to not only want to complete the day but also to complete it well. He paused at the top of the stairs.
Her chamber door but a few steps away. She’d given the staff the day off after they’d worked day and night for the past fortnight setting the abandoned cottage to rights. Alister tightened his hold on Marjorie and took a fortifying breath. She was sound asleep in his arms. He placed one foot in front of the other and pushed against the door that had been left slightly ajar.
Bent at the waist, he laid Marjorie down upon her bed and looked about the room. Marjorie’s maid wasn’t going to magically appear.
Should he undress her? The awful crepe dress had made him itch through his clothes. He couldn’t imagine it was at all comfortable to sleep in.
With hands that shook, he gently rolled Marjorie onto her side and began the task of releasing the row of tiny black buttons.
His lungs burned. Alister gave in and slowly inhaled. Marjorie’s sweet scent had blood rushing to parts of him that placed the sleeping woman in danger. He couldn’t do it. He abandoned the task of undressing her. With one knee on the bed, he reached over her to draw the blanket over her, but Marjorie shifted and blinked her eyes open.
He lost his balance and toppled on top of Marjorie. Bracing himself on his elbows, he looked down. “Sorry.”
Rather than pushing him away, she wound her arms around his neck. “For what?”
“For my behavior…”
“Yesterday’s, or for today?”
Maxwell hadn’t been wrong. Marjorie may not say much but when she did, her words could fell a fellow.
