Page 6 of Stealing a Scoundrel's Heart
Lord Hurlington threw down his cards and stood. “Of course. Maxwell wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s not safe for you to travel alone.”
“But I…but I intended to set out at first light.”
His Grace, the Duke of Whistlestop, emptied his glass and turned to face Marjorie. “Perfect. The quicker we leave, the earlier we shall return.”
She surveyed each man in the room. Unlike Maxwell, who would put her at ease and encourage her to share her thoughts, these men were more akin to her papa who cared naught for her opinion on matters. Reverting to old habits, Marjorie gave Lord Foxton a smile and curtsied before she turned to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” Lord Foxton asked.
Where was she headed?Marjorie couldn’t return to her chambers where she’d left Lord Dartman. Seeing as the man hadn’t followed her, he was quite possibly still above stairs awaiting her return.
Hands twisted behind her back, she smiled and replied, “To the library.” It was her second favorite room in the whole house. Her favorite had been Maxwell’s study, a safe haven for her. She’d sketch while Maxwell asked her endless questions on various topics. At first, she hadn’t been certain as to how to answer since she’d never been asked to ponder matters like crop rotations or really anything that didn’t pertain to the weather in the presence of a gentleman. Maxwell never snorted at her replies and was more than willing to supply answers to her own questions. Marjorie sighed. She missed Maxwell.
Lord Foxton winged his arm for her and said, “Grand idea. I shall join you; after all, it is a fair journey to Brighton and a good book would occupy the time nicely.”
Eyes wide at the compliment from the man who she was quite certain normally avoided shy wallflowers, Marjorie closed her slightly parted lips and slipped her arm through his. When his hand covered hers and gave it a reassuring pat, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
Lord Foxton returned her smile. “I shall have to attempt to make you smile more often Lady Whalen, for you brighten up the room when you do.”
Aha! Lord Foxtonwasa rake.
Her first intuition of the man had been correct. No woman in her right mind would remain unaffected by the man’s charm combined with his devilish smile. Gone was the gruff and demanding gentleman, replaced by a wolf in sheep's clothing. Marjorie wasn’t prepared to spar with this new version of Lord Foxton. Instead she opted to observe and learn her opponent better before attempting to counter the flagrant attempt at flattery. An approach Maxwell fully endorsed. Her late husband had advised, if employed correctly, silence can be far more unsettling to a rogue than a quick-witted reply.
There was a playful twinkle in Lord Foxton’s eyes that reminded her of Maxwell when he was about to make some outlandish comment that inevitably made her blush. “Silence can be a conversation killer… that is, if one is inexperienced and unable to read body language.” Lord Foxton gave her a wink and continued, “Yes, a book may prove to be an excellent diversion. It shall make for an interesting journey.”
Gah, the man’s confidence was simultaneously irritating and amusing. Marjorie closed the space between them marginally and the man immediately stiffened next to her, just as she suspected he would. “I may be a novice when interpreting the gestures of a rake,”—she glanced down at his hand that still covered hers—“but I’m well aware of the chilling effect I normally have upon others.”
To her utter surprise, Lord Foxton lengthened his stride and practically dragged her next to him as they continued down the hall toward the library. Out of breath, Marjorie sank into the seat next to the fire.
Lord Foxton paced in front of her chair. “Damn. Damn. Damn.”
“Language, Lord Foxton.”
“Let me set you straight, Lady Whalen—you haven’t the slightest notion of how you affect others. What you perceive to be rakish behavior may in fact be genuine affection. The extra-long pauses between you and another may be the result of you stealing a man’s thoughts leaving him floundering. What you might consider accidental encounters may in fact be desperate attempts by a man to simply be close enough to inhale the hypnotic scent of you.” Lord Foxton stopped and turned to face her. “Should I continue? Or mayhap it would be best we start at with the foundational concepts that dictate how men and women interact.” His lips curved and for a brief moment Marjorie caught a glimpse of Foxton’s devilish dimple. Marjorie could only imagine to what lengths women had gone to be the lucky recipient of such a sight.
She shifted in her seat and Lord Foxton flopped into the seat beside her. “By Jove, I think I’ve solved the mystery.”
“The mystery?” The man talked in riddles. Small wonder she avoided conversation with men that distracted her with their looks. She wasn’t following Lord Foxton’s train of thought, not even a little.
“Why Maxwell chose to marry.”
“Pray share your hypothesis.” Marjorie waited on pins and needles for his response.This should be interesting.
“Not until I’ve performed a few experiments first. Any good scientist knows, he must collect data in order to substantiate any well-formed theorems.”
Lord Foxton didn’t strike her as the scholarly type, but perhaps she’d been rather rash in her judgment of the four men that were obviously extremely loyal to her late husband.
“Experiments?” she asked.
“Hmmm… situational tests. One can gain an immense amount of insight into a matter based on interpreting a person’s body language.”
That was the second time Lord Foxton had referenced his expertise in reading body language. “Would you care to share with me some of your knowledge on the topic?” Men loved to lecture and Lord Foxton was no exception. Marjorie settled back into her chair, ready to listen to what she believed might be a long and intense monologue from Lord Foxton.
With a nod, the man began. “I’ve determined that there are seven key elements to non-verbal communication, each as telling as another. These are…” Lord Foxton took five steps to the left, five steps to the right and a pirouette in between.
Marjorie stopped tracking Lord Foxton’s movement before she became dizzy. Instead, she leaned her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes to listen.
“… Gestures. Eye Contact. Touch…”
