Page 3 of Stealing a Scoundrel's Heart
She withdrew the clean and freshly pressed handkerchief from her reticule and presented it to its rightful owner. “My thanks, Mr….?”
“Mr. Cadby. Mr. Harold Cadby at your service.” Harold took the handkerchief as the tops of his cheeks flushed pink. “I’ll inform Weathersbee you have arrived, along with…” The young man glanced at the men surrounding her.
“You may alert Old Weathersbee that His Grace, the Duke of Whistlestop; Lord Foxton; Lord Hurlington; and Lord Dartman have accompanied Lady Whalen this morn.”
Marjorie stared at the man she’d been addressing as Mr. Knight. He was a peer? Of course, as the leader of the pack the man would be a peer, how silly of her to not have figured that important fact earlier. Dartman… Dartman… Dartman. Aha! Viscount Dartman, known among wallflowers as a libertine and among the widows as the champion of dalliances. It was no wonder he hadn’t introduced himself to her properly. He no doubt was worried she’d throw herself at him, along with all the other lonely widows who vied for his attention.
“As you wish, my lord.” Mr. Cadby rushed toward the offices in the back.
Lord Foxton stepped up next to Marjorie. “Lady Whalen, allow me to escort you to a seat while we wait.”
Marjorie frowned up at the man. Most women would declare him classically handsome, but his overbearing personality had Marjorie wanting to punch the man’s perfectly symmetrical features. “No need.”
The brute arched a brow and gave her a smile that she suspected he employed to gain whatever he wanted. But his smiles didn’t work on Marjorie; they only infuriated her more. “Not to worry, Lord Foxton, I shan’t faint from standing, and I’ve had plenty of practice waiting…”
Mr. Cadby, slightly out of breath, rushed up to them and came to an abrupt halt, interrupting her set down of Lord Foxton. “My lords, Lord Weathersbee has requested you remain here. Lady Whalen, please follow me.”
She picked up her skirts to follow Mr. Cadby and bowed her head to hide her broad smile. The shock on all four men’s features was a sight she would remember for a long time yet. The burst of happiness that warmed her heart was short lived as she remembered her purpose for today’s visit to the solicitor office. But like all the other treasured moments in her life, which were both rare and brief, she would hold on to the image and use it to brighten her long, lonely days.
Marjorie lengthened her stride to try and catch up to Mr. Cadby, who had quickly disappeared around the corner. “Mr. Cadby…” The material of her skirts caught on the back of her heel and she swayed to her left.
She released the itchy crepe material to brace herself, but a warm secure arm wrapped about her waist, preventing her from falling to the ground. The scent of pine and sandalwood wafted through the air, leaving her no doubt who had acted as her savior. She quickly removed her hand from Lord Dartman’s solid chest and attempted to take a step back, but the man’s grip on her was firm. Firm yet reassuring.
She fought against her instinct to lean into the warm, unyielding man and leaned back to gain but an inch of space. “Why are you here? You were supposed to wait…”
“Why did you marry Maxwell?”
Of all the responses the man could have made, Lord Dartman’s curt inquiry was the most baffling to Marjorie. Why did he care what her reasons were for agreeing to marry a man nearly thrice her age? Lord Dartman wasn’t of blood relation to Maxwell, which meant her marriage to Lord Whalen should have no impact on Lord Dartman’s affairs. Yet the man’s serious gaze spoke volumes—she suspected Lord Dartman’s next move hinged upon her response.
Marjorie sighed. She didn’t possess a flair for storytelling and found that sharing the brutal truth, no matter how embarrassing, was the best course of action. “I married Maxwell because my papa ordered me to.”
Lord Dartman released her only to place both hands on her shoulders and bend at the waist to look directly into her eyes. “Didn’t Maxwell propose the idea to you directly first?”
The old Marjorie would have dipped her gaze to the floor and remained silent. Except Lord Dartman’s blue eyes were too entrancing to avoid. “N…no.” After finding her voice, bolder words escaped her lips. “I met my husband at the altar.”
She was rewarded with the same shocked expression from before. Lord Dartman’s arms went slack and the man took a step back. With a deep frown marring his handsome features, he asked, “Why did you not object to marrying a man old enough to be your father?”
Something about Lord Dartman’s gaze brought the devil out in her. Marjorie squared her shoulders and boldly declared, “Some women do not have the luxury of time nor the means to decline an offer of marriage. If the age or station of the gentleman willing to take on the responsibility of feeding and housing me was no matter to my papa, then why should I object?” After uttering the last syllable, Marjorie dipped her head until her chin touched her chest. If Elise or Dorinda had made such a confession, she imagined they would be smiling from ear to ear, proud of the bold retort that made the man shuffle his feet as if uncertain as to what to say or do next. Instead, Marjorie felt shame and mortification for causing another person’s discomfort. Having been on the receiving end of a tongue lashing far too often, she wished she could retract her harsh words, regardless of the fact that she had only spoken the truth.
Lord Dartman cupped her face and stroked her brow with his thumb as if he wanted to ease the worry that he saw clearly in her eyes. “I have no doubt Maxwell fulfilled his responsibilities as husband. But now that he is gone, we need to speak with Weathersbee to see about your future.”
Guilt had her shuttering her gaze. Maxwell hadn’t consummated the marriage. If anyone discovered the truth that she was a fraud, that she wasn’t in fact a widow, her future and her freedom from her family could be taken away from her. Marjorie swallowed hard and took a step back to break contact with the man whose touch was all too alluring. The chasm of space she preferred to maintain between her and strangers was non-existent; Lord Dartman was mere inches away rather than feet.
“Shall we?” Lord Dartman tugged on his lapels and turned in the direction of Lord Weathersbee office.
How peculiar—she hadn’t detected a trace of pity in the man’s blue eyes as he spoke to her. Mouth slightly agape, Marjorie remained rooted to the spot and stared at the back of man’s broad shoulders as he walked away. The man referred to them as “we,” a first for Marjorie.
She dashed forward as Lord Dartman pushed open the door to Lord Weathersbee’s office and held it open for her. Marjorie’s arm brushed against the man whose gaze she was desperately trying to avoid, and a spark of awareness foreign to her flared low in her belly.
“Ah, Lady Whalen, please come and have a seat,” the solicitor greeted.
Her head popped up and she caught sight of Lord Weathersbee’s furious gaze trained on Lord Dartman. The solicitor emerged from behind his large desk and approached Marjorie to escort her over to the comfortable sitting area where he had allowed her to cry until she could cry no more during her initial visit.
Marjorie took the seat facing the wall lined with well-worn volumes of legal literature and clasped her hands in her lap. Uncertain how to begin the discussion of her future, she waited for Lord Weathersbee to be seated, except the kind gentleman who had patiently listened to her concerns during her first visit stood legs shoulder width apart, with his arms crossed over his chest, and glared at Lord Dartman standing directly behind her.
In a clear, authoritative voice Lord Dartman asked, “Have you heard from Maxwell’s heir?”
Marjorie glared at the man over her shoulder. Lord Dartman wasn’t her guardian. He wasn’t even a close friend, yet he had the gall to make such inquires on her behalf.
