Page 8 of Stealing a Scoundrel's Heart
Lord Foxton tugged on his coat sleeves before crossing his arms over his chest. “Pray tell me you have sent a messenger ahead to arrange rooms for tonight.”
Legs stretched out in front, Lord Dartman single handedly unbuttoned his waist coat. “Of course. The roads are far too treacherous at night. Maxwell’s instructions in his farewell note tomewere clear. I am to escort Lady Marjorie to her new residence and attend to her. I fully intend to see to the lady’s safety, needs, and wants. After all, I wouldn't want Maxwell to come back to haunt me for not fulfilling his last wishes.”
The man opposite her scoffed. “I don’t recall reading any specific reference to Lady Whalen’s safety, needs, or wants.”
“They were all implied.” Lord Dartman flashed a smile in her direction before returning his attention to Lord Foxton. “We haven’t ventured far from Mayfair. I can stop the coach now, if you do not wish to continue on.”
“Don’t be daft. I’m not leaving Lady Whalen alone with a scoundrel like you.”
Marjorie released a breath of relief. It was reassuring to hear Lord Foxton refer to Lord Dartman as a scoundrel. It meant she more than likely wasn’t imagining all the sly glances, or misinterpreting the man’s comments that were laced with the kind of innuendo Maxwell had only begun to instruct Marjorie on how to detect in the last two months of their marriage. Though she remained naive in the ways of scoundrels, rogues, and rakes, with the Wicked Widows’ guide in hand and members at the ready to lend assistance, Marjorie was determined to shed her innocence and brazenly embrace her position as a widow.
“You need not worry on my account, Lord Foxton. According to Maxwell, scoundrels never pay any interest to women who are not well endowed with beauty or who don’t have deep pockets.” To prove she herself wasn’t concerned, Marjorie shifted to face Lord Foxton, placing her within inches of Lord Dartman, who immediately scooted closer to her, eliminating the socially acceptable space between them. The skin along her bare arms prickled. Lord Dartman had the peculiar effect of making every bare inch of her skin tingle when he was close.
Lord Foxton stared directly at Marjorie and said, “There are always exceptions to every rule.”
He then slid his gaze over to Lord Dartman. “I’m correct, am I not?”
Marjorie turned to face Lord Dartman, whose gaze lingered on her over heated cheeks.
Lord Foxton’s tone and comments suggested he might be conducting one of his experiments to test his theorems on body language. With her heart all flutter, Marjorie attempted to mask her racing pulse by covering the tell-tale vein at the side of her neck with her hand. Thanks to Lord Foxton’s lengthy and highly enlightening lesson on body language last night, Marjorie noted the tensing of Lord Dartman’s jaw muscles and the heightened color of the man’s ears. Oh… Lord Dartman was not nearly as calm nor as relaxed as he appeared. She ignored her initial response to retreat away from the man. He wasn’t her papa, who at the age of six-and-fifty had still not mastered his temper. She forced herself to peer up at Lord Dartman’s profile once more. The striking resemblance to Maxwell had her nerves jingling. Lord Dartman and Maxwell might share a similar profile, but their temperaments were entirely different. Maxwell’s presence had set her at ease, while Lord Dartman caused a slew of bodily reactions within her that she’d never experienced before. She inhaled deeply to rein in her overactive imagination. Lord Dartman’s constant presence and closeness wasn’t due to a desire to be close to her. No, the man’s actions were the result of Lord Dartman’s need to fulfill her late husband’s wishes.
Hands clasped tightly in her lap, Marjorie forced her lips to curve into a smile and turned to address Lord Foxton. “Take a good look at me, Lord Foxton. Do I resemble any of the ladies Lord Dartman has previously taken an interest in?” She held her gaze steady as Lord Foxton’s features slowly transformed from a dark scowl into a friendly grin, and then added, “See. There is naught for you to worry about. I possess none of the qualities a scoundrel seeks out.”
Lord Foxton leaned forward and motioned for her to do the same. When she complied, he whispered close to her ear, “Ah… but you do possess the qualities a rake desires.”
Marjorie snapped back as heat flooded her cheeks. Lord Foxton had yet again proved she was not quite prepared to handle men of his ilk. She should have made some quick-witted reply and then calmly resumed her seat… but she hadn’t. She would probably never develop the poise and restraint a Wicked Widow required.
Lord Foxton chuckled, breaking through her wayward thoughts. His gaze was trained on Lord Dartman as he shared, “You are quite right, Lady Whalen, a scoundrel without a heart wouldn’t dare to dream of dallying with such a lovely lady as yourself.”
“Scoundrels never back down from a dare.” Despite Lord Dartman’s even tone, a flash of anger flared in Lord Dartman’s eyes as he spoke. She might have missed seeing it if her gaze hadn’t automatically sought him out.
Wanting to break the tension in the confined space, Marjorie retrieved a stack of playing cards from her reticule. “We have a long day ahead of us. Shall we play cards until we reach the coaching inn?”
Lord Foxton raised his gloved hand to cover his mouth as he yawned. Of course rakes didn’t while the day away reading books or playing silly card games.
She patted Lord Foxton’s knee. “Tired, my lord? Why don’t you take a respite?”
“Yes, Foxton, why don’t you take a nap while I entertain Lady Marjorie.”
Gazes locked on one another, the men were holding an entirely different conversation that Marjorie wasn’t a participant in. Lord Foxton was the first to look away and, without another word, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
Alister let out a slow breath. It had been years since he and Foxton were at odds on any matter. He stared at the man who was his closest friend. There was no possibility that Foxton slumbered; the fool could never deceive him. But what was Foxton’s complaint?
Avoiding wallflowers and bluestockings was the man’s specialty, yet Foxton had gone out of his way to spend time with Marjorie. It had been years since Foxton had awakened before him, yet the man had awoken this morn at the first rays of light to assist with arranging matters for the journey that Foxton had happily deferred to him in the past.
How long could Foxton feign his disinterest?
Alister reached out and took the deck of cards from Marjorie’s petite hands and began to shuffle. “Ready to lose?”
Marjorie blinked twice at his arrogant question.
Why she spurred him to abandon his normally indifferent attitude and act out every brutish thought was beyond him. Those big innocent eyes and fresh-cream-colored cheeks that flushed pink when he was near had him behaving in ways he wished to avoid.
“Areyou?” Marjorie’s not so missish reply took him by surprise. He’d expected her to give him some polite response and avoid his gaze. Instead, Marjorie snatched the cards back from him and separated them into two piles upon her lap.
Before the last card left her hand, he picked up the stack closest to him, purposefully brushing his fingers against her leg. “I assume you wish to play a game of Battle.”
The chit didn’t even flinch. Marjorie grinned and slid over to make space to play the game. “I thought it rather apropos.”
