Page 27 of The Wallflower and the Duke
She shook her head, pushing up to her hands to sit on the bed. “No, that is the strangest of all. Not too much. I saw you this morning, and I thought it was how it always should have been. You are… perfect.”
He scratched his jaw, wriggling his eyebrows. “Let’s take the boat out on the pond.”
From the moment she climbed through his window, Alfie had admonished any negative thoughts she had about herself, yet he couldn’t accept her compliment.
Marjorie grabbed the cushions and blankets and followed him outside to the small rowboat stored beneath a large oak. He readied the boat, then helped her climb in as he pushed off from shore.
She reclined and gazed up at the clouds, smiling to herself as she spotted one that looked like a dragon. It had been their favorite game when they were younger.
“Should I recite some poetry or…”
“Oh, heavens, no,” she laughed. “I was beginning to like you.”
He knocked his hand against the bottom of her slipper before pulling her feet into his lap. A deep, warm chuckle radiated from his chest. Marjorie rolled her head to meet his unwavering stare.
“Only beginning to like me?”
She didn’t miss the roughness in his voice, echoing the stubble shadowing his jaw.
Her heart went up like dry kindling at his smile, and in between the rush of excitement and giddy pleasure of knowing she had his attention, she withdrew her foot from his hands and sat up. “You have your merits.”
“You go away to London and return a flirt.”
“Is that an accusation, Your Grace?”
“Call me that one more time…”
She leaned forward in her seat, her fingers gripping so hard her knuckles were white, waiting. “What?”
A slow, wicked grin tipped the corner of his mouth, and he reached for her, snatching her up and into his arms. Marjorie squeaked and squirmed, playfully wriggling away as he bent down and whispered into her ear, “I’ll find something else for that mouth of yours to do.”
Her pulse thrummed against her chest as she drew back, attempting to mask the anticipation coursing through her body. But instead of pulling away, she reached out with two fingers and placed them under his chin, tipping his face up to hers.
“You accuse me of flirting, Alfie. But that sounded like a promise.”
He growled.
Alfred Renwick, the Duke of Abinger, growled at her. Goodness.
Pleased with herself, she attempted to slip away only for his hand to reach for her waist, but her foot caught on the hem of her dress, and she fell toward the side of the rowboat.
It happened in a blink. He reached for her as the boat tipped to the side, but it was too late. Alfie and Marjorie splashed into the pond as cushions and blankets rained down around them, and a cool wind shifted through the trees.
“Alfie!” she cried, slapping her hand against the water.
He popped up a moment later through the surface, his curls now plastered flat over his head, giving him a rather rakish appearance. “Good day for a swim.”
“We wouldn’t be in the pond if it weren’t for you.” She couldn’t even pretend to be mad. Laughter slowly unfurled itself from her chest.
He hauled her against him, the two of them kicking to stay afloat. She leaned her head against his shoulder, unable to stop laughing.
“I wouldn’t be out here in the pond if it weren’t for you,” he whispered, cupping her cheek gently.
“In time, yes. I believe that. It has nothing to do with?—”
Alfie kissed her cheek, swimming them a little closer to shore. “It has everything to do with you, Jo. It always has. And my life has been all the better for it.”
“You can’t say something like that…”
