Page 20 of The Wallflower and the Duke
Marjorie nodded, pressing her knuckles against her mouth for a moment before she blew out a deep breath. “I need to confront him, and then I think I need to reach out to his publishers. But the problem is,” she said, hesitating, “I’m afraid by doing that, I will lose everything I have worked so hard for when I speak up.”
“Because speaking up for yourself will out you as the author?” Emily readjusted her spectacles. “M.E. Gastrell is very well respected. People will surely be pleased and thrilled to learn the truth.”
“It’ll be a scandal, and our parents will hate it.”
“Let them.” Emily reached for her sister’s hand and squeezed. “Let them throw a fit. I will be here with you. Bring me to London if you must, but I can’t promise you I will be well-behaved. I never liked Percy.”
Marjorie hugged her sister and sighed because, the truth was, she realized she had never liked Percy either.
Alfie had bathed, read the newspaper, and attempted to finish reading the novel he began the day before.
Attempted because he couldn’t stop moving. Suddenly, his room was too small. The space that had been his sole comfort since his return. And his only prison. And now he paced his suite like a caged animal, waiting.
Would Marjorie return or had he scared her off last evening?
He reached for his cold cup of tea from the stack of books beside him and groaned, resting his head back against the chair.
But to feel her against him once more? To feel her lips against his, just as equally demanding. If she never returned, it would be a kiss that would forever haunt him, the very kiss to lead off all his private fantasies.
He shot to his feet and marched to the small balcony overlooking the gardens and the fishpond. His hand hovered about the doorknob. If he couldn’t leave from the hall, maybe he could bring himself to stand on the balcony for a few moments.
He glanced over his shoulder, blowing out a steadying breath before glancing back toward the doorknob. His stomach soured, and the all too familiar cold metal tang filled his mouth. He braced his shoulders as panic exploded in his chest.
“No,” he said out loud. “No!”
If he were to have any chance with Marjorie, it would need to be outside of this room. Whether Hollyvale or London, he needed to show up in the world and stop hiding.
Then why was it so bloody hard to leave?
His hand hovered, shaking when the door to his room swung open, and he froze.
Marjorie stood in the doorway, her cheeks pink from the walk over, her dark hair wild from the breeze, and her eyes silently challenging him.
But he could barely breathe. She stood on the other side of the door. It might as well have been another country. He wished to haul her inside and slam the door shut and keep her to himself, safe from the rest of London.
From the rest of the madness tearing apart the world.
“I didn’t feel much like climbing today,” she said with a small shrug.
Alfie meant to nod, but his heart was hammering in his throat. He could hardly blink, never mind move a limb.
And there she stood, the gentle morning light falling behind her in the hallway in a beautiful violet dress.
“You came back,” he finally choked out.
She clasped her hands in front of her, still remaining in the threshold. For a moment, she glanced down at her feet and swished her skirts before glancing back up. Marjorie nodded, her large brown eyes studying him.
“Were you…”
“In the middle of losing my mind? Yes?”
She smirked. “Only in the middle? Now really, Alfie.”
He didn’t understand the warring pressure in his chest. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and kiss her senseless, and at the same time, he feared stepping closer would mean leaving what he had known behind.
“Come away from the door,” he said, his voice cracking.
Marjorie remained still. She didn’t shake her head or speak. She just filled the doorway, tempting him by standing there with steady reassurance while he remained by the French doors. He couldn’t open that doorknob if he wanted to right now. He couldn’t take his eyes off Marjorie.
