She was so tired of somedays and the men who promised them.
The count spoke again, and Marjorie shoved her damned guardian out of her mind, forcing her attention back to the man in front of her.
“Once you have spent time on the Côte d’Azur,” he was saying as he dropped a packet of embroidery flosses into the basket, “you will never want to live in England.”
Making an expression of his distaste for that country, he tossed a tin box of buttons into the basket and presented the basket to her with a little bow, then stood up and held out his hand to her.
“You don’t seem fond of England,” she said as she hooked the basket over her arm, took his hand, and allowed him to assist her to her feet. “Yet you are going there now.”
“Everyone goes to London for the season, do they not? But I confess, England does not impress me. So cold, so rainy. But,” he added, retaining her hand as she moved to withdraw it, “now that you will be there, I shall have to change my opinion. You would make the sun shine anywhere, I think.”
Somehow, his lavish compliment did not impress her quite as much this time, perhaps because the tight way he held her hand was beginning to make her a bit uncomfortable.
“You flatter me,” she murmured and pulled her hand from his.
This time, he let it go, and once again, he glanced past her. “They are most luxurious, these parlor suites, are they not?”
He seemed terribly curious about her rooms, she noted in some amusement. This was the second time he had brought up the topic, and she couldn’t imagine what he found so fascinating.
She had no chance to ask.
Suddenly, like an explosion out of the clear blue sky, the count was flying back from the doorway into the corridor, his collar and the back of his jacket in Jonathan’s grip.
“What are you doing?” Marjorie cried, stepping out of her room and watching in stunned dismay as Jonathan hurled de la Rosa down the corridor.
“Get out,” Jonathan told him, his voice like the snap of a whip through the air. “Get out of my sight before I beat you to a bloody pulp.”
The count didn’t need to be told twice. “Farewell, cherie,” he called over his shoulder as he fled down the corridor. “I fear we will not meet in London after all.” With a last glance of regret, he ducked around the corner and vanished.
Marjorie turned to face Jonathan as the count’s hurried, descending footsteps sounded from the stairwell. “What on earth is wrong with you?”
“With me?” He stared at her, actually seeming surprised by the question. “Nothing. Too bad we can’t say the same about him.”
She shook her head, baffled by the fury in his face. “I think you’ve gone crazy.”
“That’s quite possible,” he acknowledged, glaring at her with a resentment she in no way deserved.
“I suppose,” she said, glaring right back at him, “your sudden arrival means you’ve decided to stop ignoring me?”
“My behavior isn’t the issue. Damn it, Marjorie, I warned you to stay away from that man—”
“Oh, please,” she cut him off. “For five straight days, I’ve hardly seen you, much less had a civil word. I’ve tried to talk with you and been snubbed for my trouble, and I’ve been tearing my hair out, wondering what I might have done to earn your animosity. But now, after that boorish display, I’m wondering why in blazes I even care.”
“I’m not the one who deserves censure here.”
She stiffened. “Are you referring to me? Not that it would be surprising, since I always seem to be doing the wrong thing in your eyes.”
Something flickered in his face, something that softened the anger in his countenance, but he looked away before she could define it. “I wasn’t talking about you,” he muttered, taking a deep breath. “I am fully aware that de la Rosa is the only one at fault here.”
“On the other hand,” she went on, in no frame of mind to let him shift the blame for his own conduct onto the count, “it’s not much of an improvement when you finally do decide to make an appearance. What did you think you were doing just now?”
“I was defending you.”
She lifted her hands in total exasperation, then lowered them again, rattling the contents of the basket over her arm. “From what?”
“That cur was in your room.” He jabbed a finger toward the open door behind them. “Your room, for God’s sake.”
“He was not in my room. He was in the doorway.”
“He was blocking the doorway.”
“He was helping me! Lady Stansbury had sent me to fetch this.” She paused, holding up the basket. “As I was coming back out of our suite, the count happened to be passing. We collided accidently, everything spilled out, and he was kind enough to help me put it all back—”
“Forgive me if I’m doubtful it was an accident.”
“Would you listen to yourself?” she said in disbelief. “You took an instant dislike to him, and now, you insist on attributing any number of horrible vices to his character.”
“Given his actions thus far, I’d say my initial assessment of him was quite valid.”
She made a scoffing sound. “Why? Because he had the baroness change a few place settings the other night and helped me pick up my things after an accidental collision?”
Jonathan’s jaw tightened to that stubborn line she was coming to know so well. “It was no accident. I warned you he’d try to get you alone.”
“He didn’t ‘get me alone,’ as you put it. I was alone. But nothing happened. He made no advances upon me, if that’s what you fear. He was a perfect gentleman, which is more than I can say for you. Tell me, is this sort of behavior what I can expect from you regarding all my suitors?”
“Suitors?” he scoffed, ignoring the accusation she’d just leveled at him. “De la Rosa’s no suitor. Courtship is the last thing on his mind.”
“He wants to win my hand. At least, that’s what you told me you overheard him saying to the baroness the other night.”
“I also said that he has no intention of winning it in honorable fashion, a fact made clear by his actions today.”
“Oh, for the love of heaven, we were just talk—”
She stopped as a door opened farther down the corridor, and she realized it was unwise to have a full-throated argument about this in a place where anyone could hear them. Leaning forward, she grabbed Jonathan by his necktie with her free hand and stepped back through the doorway, hauling him with her before he could even think to stop her.
“What the hell?” he muttered as she let him go, ducked around him, and shut the door, flattening her back against it and trapping them both inside. “What are you doing?”
“That was my question, one you still haven’t answered. Is eavesdropping, skulking in corridors, spying on me, assaulting my friends—is all this going to be a habit with you? If so, I will be ecstatic when you sail off for Africa.”
“That man is not your friend. And I was not skulking, nor spying. I was having tea at the other end of the promenade, reading my paper and minding my own business, when I saw you go by. A moment later, the count passed me, following you, and I knew something was in the wind.”
“You can’t possibly be certain he was following me.”
“Yes, I can. He has no business being in this corridor. His cabin’s all the way at the other end of A-deck, on the port side.”
“How do you know that?”
“I made inquiries.”
She rolled her eyes, not the least bit surprised. “He was exploring the ship and got lost. He told me that himself.”
“Lost, my eye. He was looking for a chance to get you alone. If I hadn’t come along, what could have happened? What would you have done if he’d decided to push in?”
“Push in?” She was shocked. “Into my rooms?”
“Yes, into your rooms, my sweet innocent.”
Such a notion had never even occurred to her, and it seemed hardly credible to her that a man like the Coun
t de la Rosa, a handsome man of position and prestige who could clearly have any woman he wanted, would attempt something so despicable. He wasn’t a common masher or thug, and except for perhaps holding her hand a little too long, his behavior toward her had been impeccable.
“Think about it, Marjorie,” he said in the wake of her silence. “How simple for him to persuade or even force his way into your room, having arranged for the baroness to come in after him at just the right moment—”
“The baroness would never cooperate in such a despicable scheme. And anyway, isn’t she on your side now?”
“That woman is on whatever side will pay her the most money, and the count may have upped the stakes enough to regain her loyalty. But if you don’t believe her capable of colluding with him, there’s his own mother to consider. She wouldn’t be the first matchmaking mama to swoop in and demand honor be satisfied.”
“The only one who’s done any swooping is you.”
“Or if he delayed you long enough,” Jonathan went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “it’s quite possible Lady Stansbury could have come in search of you and found him with you in her suite. Whichever scenario was in his devious mind, the result would be an enormous scandal, and you’d have to marry the blackguard.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“As your guardian, it is my duty to ensure that you are safeguarded at all times. I swore to your father—”
“The way you’re acting,” she cut in, completely exasperated, “anyone would think you were my father!”
“What?” He stared at her for a moment, then he gave a laugh, and though she had no idea what he found amusing, she wasn’t about to stop and ponder the question, for she had a lot more to say.
“When I was a little girl, I used to imagine how wonderful it would be to be reunited with my father.” She stared at Jonathan, shaking her head, baffled at herself. “Now, I’m wondering what I could have been thinking to ever have wanted a father at all. If you’re anything to go by, having a father is like being wrapped in cotton wool and smothered to death.”
“I’m like a father to you?” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. As he let them fall and lifted his head, he laughed again. “My God.”
“I’ve managed to make you laugh, I see,” she said, that fact making her even more cross. “I suppose being laughed at is better than being ignored, or being given lectures on propriety and dire warnings about my virtue, or being told all the ways people are out to take advantage of me. And it’s certainly better than watching you assault my suitors in corridors. I’m glad I’m so amusing to you.”
“I’m not the least bit amused, believe me.”
He took a step closer, and she felt a sudden quiver along her spine—apprehension and something more, the same tingling awareness she’d felt when he’d put those jewels around her throat and looked at her in the mirror.
He was standing quite close to her, so close that she could see things about him she’d never noticed before. His hazel eyes seemed to hold a multitude of colors—not only brown and gold, but also green, and blue, and even violet. His lashes were longer than they looked, for though dark at the base, they were blond at the tips. There was a small, Z-shaped scar at his right temple, and on his lean cheeks was the faint shadow of beard stubble.
She wanted to hold on to her anger, but even as she tried, she felt it slipping away under his open, unwavering scrutiny and the inexplicable change in the air. He seemed to sense it, too, for he stirred, easing even closer, close enough that his starched shirtfront, puffed out where she’d pulled it along with his tie, brushed against her breast.
She jumped like a skittish horse, flattening her back against the door, and she forced herself to say something. “I don’t understand you at all,” she said, trying to sound vexed, mortified when her words came out in a breathless rush instead. “If you’re not amused, then why were you laughing?”
“I’m not laughing at you, Marjorie, if that’s what you think.” His gaze lowered to her mouth, and her heart gave an instinctive leap of excitement in her chest. “I’m laughing at myself.”
“For what?” Her throat was dry, her question a whisper.
“For my conceit. For assuming things that were far off the mark.”
She frowned, bewildered, finding it hard to think straight. “About the count, you mean?”
“No.” His hand lifted to cup her face, and she gave a startled gasp as his fingers curled at her nape and his thumb slid across her lips. No man had ever touched her so intimately before, and the contact was doing strange things to her insides. Heat pooled in her belly, and her bones suddenly felt like rubber. “I’m talking about you.”
The heat evoked by his touch was spreading throughout her body. She could hardly breathe. Her heart was thudding in her chest as if she’d been running. “I don’t understand,” she managed, her words a rasp against his thumb. “What things?”
“It never occurred to me that you regard me as some kind of substitute father.”
It did seem ludicrous just now, but she gathered her scattered wits and marshaled every scrap of her pride. “No?” she countered, forcing a coolness into her voice she didn’t feel in the least. “Given the way you’ve been ignoring me and snubbing me, I think it’s a fair and accurate comparison.”
“It’s not, actually.” His thumb slid beneath her chin, lifting her face. “Because the thoughts I’ve been having about you since we met aren’t the least bit fatherly.”
“They’re not?”
“God, no.” With an abruptness that took her breath away, he wrapped his free arm around her waist and hauled her hard against him. Then, as the sewing basket dropped from her fingers and hit the floor, he bent his head and kissed her.
Chapter 11
Having never in her life been kissed before, Marjorie had only been able to imagine what it was like—vague notions of a sweet and gentle brush of lips, but Jonathan’s kiss was nothing like the product of her girlhood imagination. It was not sweet, nor was it gentle. Instead, it was hard, hot, and completely overwhelming.
She brought her hands up between them, but it wasn’t to push him away. Instead, she curled her fingers into his lapels, pulling him closer, holding on tight, for this was her first kiss, and there was nothing else in the world that could possibly matter more than this moment.
She closed her eyes, bringing all her other senses to the fore. His scent—of castile soap, bay rum, and something deeper. His taste—of tea and strawberry jam. His touch—the warmth of his palm cupping her face and his fingertips against the nape of her neck.
Beneath her knuckles, she could feel the hard muscles of his chest and his hammering heart, and the knowledge that he felt what she did went to her head like champagne. Just as when he’d put that necklace around her throat and looked at her in the mirror, she felt a glorious, exhilarating sense of power, and she suddenly knew what it meant. It was the power of being a woman.
His lips parted, seeming to want hers to part as well, but when she complied, his tongue entered her mouth, and it was too much. She jerked in shock, breaking the kiss, and at once, he stilled, his mouth a fraction from hers, his quick breaths mingling with hers.
He moved as if to withdraw, but she couldn’t bear for these exciting sensations to stop, not yet. Letting go of his lapel, she wrapped one arm around his neck, rose on her toes, and kissed him.
He groaned against her mouth and, as if in capitulation to her command, his arm pulling her even closer as his free hand tangled in her hair and he deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting hers.
Dark waves of heat flooded through Marjorie’s body as he tasted her with his tongue. When he pulled back, she followed, tasting him in return, and the pleasure rose even higher, flared even hotter.
Who could ever have thought a kiss could be like this? It was the most intimate, shocking thing that had ever happened to her. It was amazing and glorious, and she wanted more.
Guided by instinct rathe
r than conscious thought, she pressed her body even closer to his, her fingers raking through the short, crisp strands of his hair as she brought her other arm up around his neck. He made a rough sound against her mouth, and his arms held her as if he never wanted to let her go. His body, so much larger than hers, was strong and lean, and so hard, particularly where his hips were pressed to hers.
Standing on the tips of her toes, she stirred, her body moving against his. Given how tightly he held her, it was an infinitesimal move, but the pleasure it wrought was so acute, so unexpected, that she cried out in surprise against his mouth.
Without any warning, he tore his lips from hers, his embrace slackened, and his hands reached up to clasp her wrists and pull her arms down from his neck, an abrupt withdrawal that forced her eyes open.
“There,” he said, his voice a harsh rasp in the quiet room. “I hope I’ve cleared up any absurd notions that I’m like your damned father.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he put his hands on her arms and eased her to one side, then he opened the door, and walked out, leaving Marjorie in a stunned, breathless tumult as he shut the door behind him.
His body afire, his mind in chaos, Jonathan strode down the ship’s corridor, desperate to reach the deck—not the sheltered first-class promenade with its opened windows and strolling passengers, but the outer deck, where the bracing air of the open sea could cool the desire blazing inside him, put his priorities back in order, and help him regain his sanity, though he feared he might be fighting a losing battle.
His first look into Marjorie’s velvety brown eyes and his first glance over that goddess body had been enough to spark his desire, but taking her into his bedroom and putting those jewels around her neck had flared that spark into flame. In the five days since, he’d been trying desperately to snuff it out, but after that blazing kiss, it was clear he’d failed, and if he kept on this way, he’d be burned to a crisp long before he got anywhere near Africa.
Anyone would think you were my father.
An appropriate way for a ward to regard her guardian, and quite understandable from her point of view. He ought to have been glad and relieved she viewed him in that light.
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