Page 26 of Stealing a Scoundrel's Heart
Candlelight glinted off Dorinda’s fork. “Why don’t you return to London with us and stay with me for a fortnight or for the Season?”
“This is my home now,” Marjorie replied, her voice dull and lifeless even to her own ears.
She still couldn’t believe Alister had left. While admittedly Dorinda and Elise were intimidating, if the man truly cared for her, he wouldn’t have been so easily swayed.
The dishes and plates rattled as Elise’s fisted hand landed on the table. “Why are you not filled with ire?” She pushed her chair back and stood. “I don’t even know the man and I want to wring his neck for sharing a bed with you and then up and leaving at the hint of opposition.” Elise glanced over at Dorinda, who continued to calmly chew her food, and then met Marjorie’s wide-eyed gaze. “You deserve better.”
“I know the two of you mean well, but you don’t know Alister. Everyone has a wound that if left alone can fester and become more painful than it should.” Marjorie slowly stood. “Dorinda, I shall accept your offer and return to London and reside with you for a spell.”
Dorinda placed her fork next to her plate and rose to face Marjorie. “Why the change of heart?”
“Elise is correct, I do deserve better. An explanation at the very least. I’m going to demand—not ask, demand—that Alister provide me one.”
“Is he that important to you?” Dorinda asked.
“Of course he is,” Elise blurted before Marjorie could even open her mouth to reply. “Marrie would never have shared her bed with anyone she didn’t care for deeply.”
Marjorie shook her head, realizing she should have exerted her own voice earlier rather than letting her two best friends speak on her behalf. “Wicked Widows do as they please. They may take on one lover or many. But regardless, the cardinal rule isnever fall in love.”
In unison Dorinda and Elise repeated, “Wicked Widows?”
“I fear it shall be some time before the two of you can join the league; however, in the meantime I fully intend to enjoy the latitude I’m afforded as a widow.”
“Wait, you are not in love with Lord Dartman?” Dorinda asked.
Deny. Deny. Deny. Wasn’t that one of the Wicked Widows’ mottoes?
“In love? I don’t believe so, nor do I believe Alister is in love with me, but we do enjoy each other’s company and I…” She pressed her lips together before another word slipped out.
She glanced at Elise, who looked at her expectantly and said, “You…what?”
Why hadn’t Elise answered on her behalf this time?
Marjorie turned to face Dorinda. Who, if Marjorie had to guess, was tapping her foot under the table.
Dorinda arched a brow at her and repeated, “And you… what? Miss him. Long for his touch. Wish you could see the scoundrel’s smile. Or mayhap you would love to rail at him for leaving you.”
Blast it all. Dorinda had of course listed every last thought that had whirled through her mind.
Marjorie squared her shoulders. “Shall we leave at first light?”
Elise and Dorinda shared a glance before Dorinda answered, “As you wish. I’ll have the ducal coach ready.”
Alister quit rubbing his thumb over the lacy garter in his jacket pocket. He had stolen the trinket from Marjorie’s chambers the day he fled. He slowly raised his throbbing head and opened his eyes at the splash of liquid and clink of glass.
Who in the blazes had dared to enter his private room at his club? He had expressly told the staff he wished to be alone.
His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. It wasn’t Foxton’s large form standing at the sideboard. The gentleman’s broad shoulders filled out his finely tailored coat. Alister rolled to his feet to greet the stranger and froze as the Duke of Fairmont turned to face him.
Arghh. Damn interfering Fairmonts.
How had the man gained entry? He wasn’t even a member of Masters’.
Alister walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. “Is there something I can assist you with, Your Grace?”
The duke looked about the room, raised his glass to his mouth, and took a long drawn-out sip of Alister’s smuggled whiskey. “You are a hard man to track down.”
“You shouldn’t have been granted entrance.”
