Page 14 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“It’s rather like that time you were forced to dance with me,” Fenella said.

“Eh?”

“I’ve been remembering our neighborhood dances for some reason. This was at the Haskins’ ball. Mrs. Haskins pulled you over and made you ask me. You were so angry. You’d wanted to dance with her daughter.”

Roger didn’t remember the incident, though he did recall Sara Haskins. She’d been a lovely girl, the belle of the neighborhood when he was younger. Fenella, on the other hand, was only a vague presence in his youthful memory. A shadowy figure, slipping into view at the edge of a gathering and then forgotten again, utterly different from the way she was now. Had her lips been so full back then? So enticing? Surely he would have noticed if they had been. And yet a woman’s lips didn’t change after she was grown. Did they?

“That was right before our fathers hatched their stupid scheme.”

A tremor went through him at this forthright remark. They’d never discussed the past. When Arabella was alive, the topic was obviously out of bounds. And after her death he and Fenella hadn’t talked at all.

“And I ran for my life,” she added.

“I admired that,” Roger said, words slipping out as they sometimes did, without any advance notice to his brain.

Fenella looked surprised. “My craven flight?”

“More like rebellion.” He’d thought of her more after that dramatic departure than he ever had before. Once she’d shown some defiance, a flare of spirit, he’d even wondered what it would have been like to marry her. Not seriously, of course. He wouldn’t be ordered about like a vassal.

Roger experienced an odd dislocation. In this moment, he resented her long-ago rejection of his charms. Even though he’d done the same, more emphatically. It was confusing. He had to let her go. He did so, and stepped back. Fenella gazed up at him as if he’d done something strange.

Fortunately, Colonel Patterson strode back in. He looked irritated. “All right, Chatton,” he said. “Now you throw Miss Fairclough over your shoulder and carry her through the archway.” He indicated the supposed span of stone with a wide gesture.

“Pick her up?” said Roger. He didn’t want to touch Fenella again, mainly because he very much wanted to do so. “That isn’t proper.”

“You’re a Viking,” replied the colonel dryly. “I don’t think propriety is a consideration.” He turned to Fenella. “You have no objection? I assumed Benson explained the whole to you.”

She shook her head.

“We must leave that bit out,” said Roger.

Patterson looked concerned. “I’ve given my word that the scenarios will be performed exactly as written. They were put together by a pack of historians, you know. Very stern on the subject of accuracy. As bad as headquarters regulations.”

Everyone knew that the colonel’s word was inviolate. Roger looked at Fenella. “Let’s just do it,” she said.

“You don’t mind?” asked Patterson. “It’s only a moment. Through the archway and finished.”

She nodded.

“Good girl.” Patterson gestured like a commander ordering his troops forward.

Roger bent, set his shoulder in Fenella’s midsection, and lifted. His arm went around her knees for balance. Her hip rested against his cheek.

“You’ll have to move faster than that,” said the colonel. “You’re not lifting a fragile piece of porcelain, Chatton. You keep forgetting you’re a ferocious raider. And Miss Fairclough, you should kick and beat your fists. Not too hard, of course. Give the effect, as with the broom.”

Light blows fell on Roger’s back. Feet pumped. Fenella’s frame shook against his shoulder. Was she afraid? No, she was laughing.

The boy ran in again. “The monks found the ale barrel! They’re bunging it open.” He beckoned urgently. With a muttered curse, Patterson hurried out after him.

Roger was left with a lithe, sweet-smelling young lady over his shoulder.

“I must be heavy,” she said. “You can put me down.”

She wasn’t. Roger felt as if he could hold her forever, even though the feel of her body was making his head spin. He set her down. She took a step and stumbled. He steadied her.

“Hanging head down makes one dizzy,” she observed.

“I know.”

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