by Jane Goodger
“You do know that’s impossible,” he said, and she could feel the deep vibration of his words against her face. Withdrawing from his embrace, she looked up at him.
“It is?” she asked on a small hiccup.
“Yes. Drat that woman for putting such fear into you,” he muttered. “Members of the peerage can have their title stripped only by an act of Parliament. There have been members of the peerage who were madder than any inmate in Bedlam who retained their titles. Peers have murdered and stolen and kept their titles. It simply cannot be done. It was, my darling girl, an empty threat.”
Relief swept over Marjorie. She’d known Mr. Norris could help. “She had a document. It looked quite official.”
“I’ve no doubt she went to great pains to frighten you, blasted woman. But think, my lady. Is your mother the sort of woman who would bring such scandal and embarrassment to her family? Such a proceeding would not only reflect badly on the title, but on you as well. You claim she wants nothing more than to have you marry advantageously. Such a filing would immediately ruin your chances of a good marriage.” He smiled down at her, and Marjorie was suddenly aware of how alone they were, how close he stood. How handsome he looked in the soft gaslight. How kind he was. Her eyes dipped briefly to his firm lips.
“Then again, if she were to file that document,” he said, leaning a bit closer with each word, “you could marry whomever you liked.”
His lips were nearly touching hers and she found it suddenly difficult to breathe. “What are you about, Mr. Norris?”
“I believe,” he said, pressing the softest of kisses against her mouth, “I’m kissing you.”
“Oh.”
And then his mouth was not soft, but demanding and hot. She clutched his lapels, trying desperately not to dissolve to the floor in a heap. Something was happening to her, something she’d never felt in her life, certainly not to this astounding degree. Marjorie had experienced a few chaste kisses from her beaus, but this was not a chaste kiss. This was hunger and passion and nearly out of control. This was all the desire that had been pent up—exploding in one painfully sweet moment.
He growled low, his chest vibrating, and deepened the kiss, his tongue touching her sensitive lips. “Open for me,” he whispered, and she did, letting in his tongue, greedy and insistent. And more wonderful than anything she’d felt in her life. It shouldn’t be wonderful. It should be frightening and shocking and wrong. But when Marjorie pushed her tongue against his and he let out another feral growl, she felt such a rush of heat, she nearly swooned. His hand moved behind her neck and he pulled her to him, slanting his head to deepen the kiss. It was instinct that moved her now, a strange insistence that she do more, feel more. She let out a small sound, of joy or frustration, she wasn’t certain. All she knew was that for the first time in her life she felt desired.
He stepped back suddenly, moving to the center of the room, his burning gaze never leaving her, his chest heaving. “Your brother is coming,” he said, his voice raspy. “Should I apologize for that?”
Marjorie shook her head, her breathing ridiculously shallow. It had only been a brief kiss. She could have gone on for hours. And yet, she had a feeling she would never be the same. That had not been a normal kiss. It had been heaven.
“I should apologize,” he argued, “because I regret it, with every fiber of my being. Now I only want—damn it, my lady, I do not want this.” He looked at her angrily, and Marjorie didn’t know why. Had she done something wrong?
“There you are,” George said, smiling as he came into the room. “You missed the last two displays, you know.”
Charles continued to stare at Marjorie as if he were very, very angry. “Your sister and I were discussing tonight’s opera. She is going to introduce me to my future bride. Did you know that? And I will do my very best not to fall in love until Lady Caroline falls madly in love with me. And then we shall marry. That is the plan.”
The plan, Marjorie thought dismally. She had forgotten all about it.
George was oblivious to the tension in the room, and immediately went to the first case and its display of bone knives and harpoon heads. “I’d like to marry someday. Wouldn’t it be grand if you got married, too, Charles? And you, too, Marjorie.”
Marjorie stared at Mr. Norris, not bothering to hide the hurt she felt, that he should kiss her and then in the next breath talk about marrying someone else. “Yes, I would like that very much, George. Mother has a baron picked out already.”
“A mere baron?” Mr. Norris drawled. “My condolences.”
Charles spun away from her, from her hurt and sad eyes. “We missed two cases?” My God, he was still reeling from that kiss, from the sounds she’d made. His reaction to her innocent kiss was nothing less than astounding. He felt like a sixteen-year-old boy experiencing his first mad rush of lust. It could not happen again.
“Oh, yes,” George said. “The artifacts from Russia and Portugal. And of course Asia. Those are the most fascinating to me, you see. Stone axes from Sumatra, you know.”
Charles smiled at George’s enthusiasm, wondering at how articulate the man could be when talking about something he loved. “You stay here. Your sister and I will go back and view those displays.”
“I’d really rather not.” Her voice had an edge to it that he’d never before heard.
“Please, my lady, I’d appreciate your insight.”
She gave him a steady look before nodding. “Very well.”
As soon as they were again alone, he took her hand and pressed it against his heart, regretting the resistance he felt, a small tug letting him know he had hurt her. She relented, finally, spreading her fingers slowly, her eyes fixed on her hand. “I fear if I kiss you again,” he said, “I shall be lost.”
She looked so stunned by his words, Charles nearly laughed. “This is my fault, I know. I kissed you. You did nothing wrong. I didn’t realize how—” He gave her a pained look. He hadn’t realized how a simple kiss could make everything so complicated. He fell in love too easily, and here he was, falling again. It must not happen.
“What didn’t you realize?” she asked softly.
“How much I would enjoy it, I suppose.”
She let out a light laugh. “Kissing is enjoyable. How could you not know that? Surely you’ve kissed other women.”
“Yes, of course.” He chuckled when she frowned. “But all those kisses weren’t quite as . . .”
“Enjoyable?” she asked, an adorable note of hopefulness in her voice.
“Yes. Enjoyable,” he said, annoyed that he found her so charming. “Though that word seems rather tame to me.” This last was muttered beneath his breath.
Marjorie withdrew her hand and he let her. It would do no good to draw her into his arms as he wanted. It would do no good to let his mind imagine her in his bed, smiling sleepily at him in the morning. He must turn his mind toward other things, other women. It was ridiculous of him to fall in love—again—with a woman he couldn’t have.
The worst of it was that he liked her quite a lot. They were friends, and he was teetering on the brink of love. He’d never been friends with a woman; it was a bit disorienting. He had the awful feeling that he hadn’t been in love with all those women in the past, but in love with the idea of being married, of having the type of family that he’d grown up with. He wanted it so desperately, perhaps he’d been simply convincing himself he was in love. Wasn’t that what Marjorie had hinted when he’d first proposed the idea of her finding him a bride? Or perhaps he only loved what he knew, deep down inside, he couldn’t have. His friend John had suggested that flaw more than once. What an idiot he was.
“We’ll get you good and married, sir, if it’s the last thing I do,” she said with an authoritative nod. “You’ve been such a help to me, it is the least I can do. You’ve forgiven George’s debt . . .”
“Not yet.”
She ignored him. “. . . you’ve helped me understand my mother cannot strip George of his
title. You’ve danced with me when you oughtn’t.”
“How is your hand?”
She gave him a sheepish look. “It was a bit sore, but it’s better now. You know, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about those pains you get. Is it because your muscle seizes up or is it something else?”
“Most often it’s a contraction, a seizing of muscle, as you said.”
She gave a little clap. “Good. Well, not good,” she amended, obviously seeing his frown. “I wake up in the middle of the night with awful leg cramps, especially after a night of dancing. I’ve found that if I flex my toes back, I can stop a cramp and the pain is quite brief. I’ve gotten so I can stop nearly all those cramps using that simple method. I wondered if you could do the same, somehow.”
Well, damn, just when he was trying desperately not to love her, she had to say something so sweet, his heart melted. “I shall try that,” he said gruffly, though he felt it wouldn’t do much good. “Thank you. We should get back to your brother. He’ll no doubt be vexed with us if we don’t view all the cases.”
Charles was not a fan of opera. He preferred Alexander Dumas’s version of the tragic affair between Violetta and Alfredo. And really, could a woman dying of consumption really sing as well as Thérèse Tietjens? Three interminably long acts lay in front of him, he thought as he entered Covent Garden.
“You loathe opera. There must be a woman involved.”
Charles turned, delighted to see Lord Avonleigh and, by his side, Katherine. “I thought you’d be back in the wilderness by now,” Charles said, referring to Avonleigh’s estate in Northumberland.
“We’ve another week here before heading back,” Katherine said. “I miss the place and we have so much to do.”
Charles gave his old friend a searching look. “You’re all right on that front then?” he asked. Avonleigh had been in desperate financial straits not long ago.
Graham smiled down at his new bride. “It turns out I married well after all.”
Katherine looked at her husband with mock anger and batted him on the arm. “He married me thinking we’d be poor.”
“And loved you madly. Don’t forget that.” Graham turned to him. “What of you? Is it a woman who has brought you to the opera?”
Charles caught sight of Lady Marjorie and he didn’t think to school his expression. Even had he tried, he doubted he’d have been successful, for she was stunning this evening. Her dark hair was swept up, allowing a few curling tendrils to delicately caress her pale neck and shoulders. The gown she wore was magnificent, a shimmering gold creation that hugged her figure before cascading down in a series of intricate lace layers. “Perhaps.”
Katherine followed his eyes and smiled. “Lady Marjorie is lovely tonight.”
Charles started, as if unaware he’d been staring at her. “Is she? I hadn’t noticed,” he said deflectively. “I’m actually hoping to see another—Lady Caroline, Warwick’s daughter.”
“Oh?” Graham drawled. “I thought she was still in the schoolroom.”
“They all seem that way, don’t they? But no, she’s an ancient nineteen.” Charles let out a gusting sigh. “It’s either the schoolroom or widows. Lady Marjorie is helping me, you see. I’ve been away for so long, I hardly know a soul anymore. She’s my guide, so to speak.”
Katherine looked delighted with the news. “She’s matchmaking?”
“Something like that,” Charles grumbled, and seeing the mischief in Graham’s eyes, said, “and not a word from you, you besotted fool.”
Katherine took Graham’s arm. “He is besotted, isn’t he?”
“Completely,” Graham said, looking for all the world as if he were going to kiss his bride right in the middle of the theater lobby.
Charles scowled at the pair of them. Neither had wanted to get married and yet there they were, staring into each other’s eyes as if they were the only two people in the world. Charles had worked so hard over the years to find just that sort of love, and here he was, the last of their circle to marry.
“Perhaps if you stop looking so ardently, you will find love,” Katherine said, looking over to where Lady Marjorie stood next to her termagant mother. He wished he were the sort of man who would strike a woman, for if ever a woman needed striking, it was Lady Summerfield. Just thinking of that bullish woman slapping Marjorie with her beefy hand was enough to make him forget his upbringing.
“You can stop your matchmaking right there, Lady Avonleigh,” Charles said grimly. “Lady Summerfield is a force to be reckoned with and I do believe she would murder any untitled man who dared to court her daughter. Or even dance with her. For some reason, she’s taken a particular dislike of me.”
Katherine laughed, but they both knew he was not exaggerating overmuch. “I do wish you would go up to them, just so I could see Lady Summerfield’s expression.”
“I don’t wish to witness murder this evening,” Graham said.
“But I? I am feeling adventurous,” Charles said, a glint in his eye. “Besides, Lady Caroline just joined their group and I’ve been promised an introduction.”
Charles was feeling a bit reckless, though he didn’t know why. Joining their little group was perhaps the worst thing he could do, but at the moment he didn’t give a damn. As he approached, Lady Marjorie widened her eyes and shook her head just a bit, but Charles ignored her.
“Lady Summerfield, you’re looking lovely this evening,” he said effusively. She was wearing a dull brownish-gray gown, the color and shape of a farmer’s cart.
“Mr. Norris.” As greetings went, it was about one step shy of being a cut. She didn’t look at him and stiffened considerably.
“Lady Marjorie.” He tried to say her name without inflection, without giving a hint of their intimacy. And then he glanced at Lady Caroline, who stood looking up at him curiously, clearly not knowing who he was.
“If you would be so kind,” he said to Lady Summerfield. Her good breeding didn’t allow her to ignore him completely, so she let out a huff of air and did her duty. “Lady Caroline, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Charles Norris.”
“We’ve actually met,” Charles said. “You had a spotted dog that you tortured by making him carry your doll.”
Lady Caroline’s eyes widened. “Oh, of course. Your father is Viscount Hartley.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I did not immediately recognize you.”
“I’ve been out of the country these last ten years and you were only a child when I saw you last.”
She blushed becomingly, glancing at Marjorie before looking back to him. “My parents and I visited your home just last summer. How is Laura?”
“She is well,” Charles said noncommittally, for he suspected his sister was deeply unhappy in her marriage.
“My goodness, I haven’t seen her in years. Though I often visit with your brother and his wife. I adore their children. Christopher is a fine pianist, but I’m sure you know that.”
“He gave me a concert the last time I visited.” Charles felt something inside him click into place. Yes. This was the girl he should marry. She knew his family, was no doubt well-liked by his mother. Both their names began with the letter “C”; that had to count for something. And their children would have lovely blond hair, though lately he’d pictured his children with darker hair. He wondered that his mother had never proposed Lady Caroline as a possible wife, but perhaps she’d simply neglected mentioning her. Or maybe she had and he hadn’t been listening.
At that moment, Lady Warwick came up to their small group and Caroline made the introductions. Throughout the happy reunion, Lady Summerfield stood like a statue, her jaw set, her eyes like cold steel. Marjorie, on the other hand, had the oddest smile cemented upon her lips, as if she’d been set in some sort of plaster that didn’t allow her to stop smiling.
Marjorie supposed that wearing a constant smile didn’t allow anyone to notice that her heart was slowly breaking. It was such a silly thought, but one she couldn’t stop from having. Lady Ca
roline was perfect for Mr. Norris. They practically knew each other well already and made a striking couple with their blond hair. Caroline was clearly no shy miss and didn’t seem to flinch at Mr. Norris’s laugh. They were chatting about shared experiences, people she didn’t know, places she’d never been. Like old friends who were delighted to find one another after all these years.
With the addition of Lady Warwick to the group, the reminiscences only grew more intimate, excluding Marjorie more fully, who found herself slowly drifting away, seeking out other acquaintances to talk with. When she spotted her friend Katherine, she nearly sighed aloud with relief.
“Mother, I’m going to talk with Lord and Lady Avonleigh. Would you like to join me?”
“If you will excuse us?” Dorothea said, but the pair was hardly acknowledged as they left the animated group. Charles never looked her way. He was too intent on staring, with a silly, stupid grin, at Lady Caroline, who wore a matching, silly, stupid grin.
“That would be a good match,” Dorothea said when they were away from the group. Marjorie could only stare at her mother in disbelief. Given her prejudices, how could she think Lady Caroline, the daughter of an earl, would possibly be a good match for a title-less second son?
Dorothea gave Marjorie a sharp look, immediately understanding her unspoken words. “She is the fourth daughter. You are my only daughter.”
When they reached Lord and Lady Avonleigh, Marjorie’s mother completely changed. It was rather astonishing to watch. She could be charming and delightful when she put her mind to it.
“I see you are still smiling at your bride, Avon,” she said with a small chuckle.
“Yes, ma’am. I haven’t been able to stop for weeks now.”
