Page 111 of The Dravenhearst Brides
A few seconds later, he did it again.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He flashed an earsplitting smile. A very odd one. “You’re pretty,” he said, looping his arms around her neck. Margot staggered under his sudden deadweight.
“Merrick, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he slurred, his hands coiling in her hair. His voice was off…his grip too. Fumbling, drunken.
She’d never seen him drunk, and he certainly hadn’t been drinking tonight, save the single shot of bourbon at the manor. This was a dry event. It couldn’t be that…could it?
She untangled his groping hands. Already, people were staring. Her gaze shifted through the faces in the crowd, halting at Alastair and Ruth. They were still huddled together at the bar, whispering fiercely. An empty glass rested on the counter beside them.
Merrick’s glass.
Alastair!
The bitter old cad had given that drink to Merrick not fifteen minutes ago. Could he have laced it with something?
She turned back to her husband. His amber eyes were glassy. Frighteningly so. He leaned in to plant a wet kiss on her lips.
Margot knew she had to do something. He looked drunk. If people noticed, started whispering, it would hugely discredit his speech against temperance.
His speech. Oh, heavens!
An insidious flush crept up the back of her neck as panic set in. She panted, distressed.
No. Not now.Not when Merrick needed her.
She grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come with me.”
He was hardly in a state to protest. Margot dragged him from the crowded ballroom into the foyer of city hall. There, she spotted salvation—a private bathroom, guarded by an attendant.
The beginnings of a shaky plan formed, only slightly compromising. She’d far rather compromise herself than Merrick. She stepped up on tiptoes to whisper, “Grab my backside.”
“What?” Merrick’s gaze was heavy-lidded, confused.
She gripped his hand and guided it to her rear. “Right there. Now kiss me.”
She was pleased to find, if nothing else, he was a very obedient drunk. His lips pressed softly into her cheek.
“Merrick,” she murmured, looking shyly at the uniformed attendant. “Hold on a moment, darling.”
She flashed the bathroom attendant her most charming southern belle smile, then reached into Merrick’s pocket for his billfold. Miserly as he was, it held but a small wad of scratch. She pulled out the lot and thrust it at the man.
“Take a smoke break,” she commanded, channeling Ruth’s haughtiness. “Fifteen minutes.”
He snatched the money, watching them with amusement. “Yes, ma’am.”
Margot pushed Merrick inside the bathroom, then slammed and locked the door. Before she turned, his arms were reaching for her, his lips pressing her neck.
“Merrick, no.” She smacked him away.
“What?” He stumbled sideways, off balance. “But you just told that fella—”
“Merrick, there’s something wrong with you. You’re not well.”
“I’m not?” He looked down at himself, puzzled.
