“It’s not my birthday yet. Not until midnight.”
“Bah.” The Russian woman waved a hand dismissively in the air. “A few hours, that is all. The celebrations have already begun downstairs. What is the cause of all this unhappiness? Come,” she urged when Marjorie didn’t answer, guiding her into the chair before her dressing table and shooing the maid toward the door. “You shall tell me your trouble, and I will see what can be done.”
She pulled another chair forward, sat down, and patted Marjorie’s hand. “Now,” she said as the door closed behind the maid, “tell me all about it.”
“Talking about it isn’t going to help, I’m afraid.”
“Then I shall have to guess.” She tilted her head, studying Marjorie’s face. “I think perhaps,” she said after a moment, “you are in love?”
Marjorie’s heart gave a violent lurch of alarm. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, it is not money that worries you, that I know. And it cannot be your living arrangements. Or your friends. Or the life you live. These are things you have wanted, and they seem to suit you.”
With those words, Marjorie had an unaccountable desire to burst into tears.
“You are young and beautiful,” the baroness continued, “and all of life is before you. So, it must be love, for what else could trouble you? And . . .” she paused, slanting Marjorie a mischievous look. “I do not forget our conversation at Vivienne a fortnight ago, and your curiosity about a certain subject. So, who is the man?”
“I don’t see why I should tell you,” Marjorie countered at once. “Since you are so good at guessing.”
The baroness did not seem the least put out by this rebuke. “If you ask for a guess, then I say it is that long-legged English guardian of yours.”
Something in her face must have given her away, for the baroness gave an exclamation of triumph. “Ah, I am right, then! But what is the trouble? Is it that he does not love you? If so, then—”
“That’s not it!” she burst out. “He says he is in love with me. He wants to marry me.”
“Then what is the problem? No one can say he is not suitable. He is rich, he is handsome—it would be an excellent match.”
“Even if I am not in love with him?”
“Is that it, kiska? You do not love him?”
“I don’t know!” Marjorie cried, heartsick as she made the wretched confession. “How can that be? How can it be true love, real love, if I am so uncertain?”
“And you think sitting here, hiding in your room, brooding and crying about it, will enable you to answer that question?”
“You said you wanted to help. This is not helping!”
“But what is it you want me to say? You are not a child any longer, sheltered away at school. You are a woman, living in the world. You know, or ought to know by now, that life is not always how we think it should be. Love is not some clear-cut path that leads straight to blissful happiness forever. Does not Shakespeare say the course is not so smooth as that? Love is troublesome and terrifying, and yet, so wonderful that life would be a wasteland without it. Life is full of pain and loss, danger and heartbreak, as well as happiness and joy. You will experience every one of these things in the years ahead, my young friend. That is,” she added, smiling, “if you are lucky.”
“Loss and fear and pain are lucky?” Marjorie stared at the other woman in disbelief. “Heartbreak is lucky?”
“Yes! For without the bitter, how could we have the sweet? Without risk, how could life ever be anything but a bore?”
“But marriage is forever. What if I make the wrong choice?” she cried. “What if I marry him and he leaves me? What then?”
“If you want certainty, I can tell you that there is one clear choice before you.” The baroness stood up, lifted the necklace from the box, and moved to stand behind Marjorie’s chair. “You can live behind safe walls and wait to be sure and take no risks and feel no pain. Or . . .”
She paused, slipping the necklace around Marjorie’s throat. “Or you can live, my dear. You can experience each moment of your life as it comes. The pain and the joy, the bitter and the sweet.”
She paused again to meet Marjorie’s eyes in the mirror. “If you want the former, then why did you ever leave your school? And if the latter, then what are you doing up here?”
Marjorie stared at her reflection as the baroness fastened the clasp at the back of her neck, and suddenly the shadow of uncertainty and fear that had been haunting her dissipated and floated away, and she felt the girl aboard the Neptune coming back, the one who did not want to live behind walls, who wanted romance and love and a life worth living.
The baroness was right. She didn’t know what her destiny would be, but whatever it was, she was not going to find it by sitting here and playing safe.
When the baroness straightened and stepped back, Marjorie rose from her chair and took a deep breath. “Let’s go down. I’ve got some dancing to do.”
Insisting on his waltz being the final one of the night, on being the last man to hold Marjorie and speak with her and dance with her, had seemed a brilliant strategy to Jonathan yesterday. By coming last, he would be the final memory of her first ball, and hopefully, he would be the man she dreamed about tonight when the ball was over. Coming last also enabled him to slip out to the cardroom or the terrace once the ball was underway, sparing himself the torment of watching her dance with a dozen other men before his turn came.
That had been his plan anyway. But then, she came downstairs.
On Torquil’s arm, in a frothy, deep pink confection of a gown, she seemed to float down from above like some goddess at sunrise descending to earth. Her hair, shining like incandescent fire beneath the chandeliers, was piled in a mass of curls behind her head that looked ready to tumble down at any moment. Her father’s jewels sparkled at her throat, but he knew it was her smile, wide and full of joy, that made everyone gasp. She was as radiant and beautiful as the sun, and it hurt his eyes to look at her. But he could not look away.
When she reached the landing, she saw him, standing in the crowd below, and her dazzling smile vanished. For a moment, his heart stopped, cold with fear. But then she smiled at him—the mysterious, tipped-up curve of lips he’d first seen that afternoon aboard the Neptune, the smile of Eve, the smile with which countless women through the ages had beguiled countless men. In her dark eyes, he saw a sensual gleam that could touch all the erotic places inside a man and drive him mad. In the proud lift of her chin and the confident poise of her head, he saw the kind of beauty that did not fade with time.
Ever since he’d first seen that smile, he’d been trying to run from it, because he’d sensed even then that a moment like this would come and that it would bring him to his knees.
He didn’t slip out for cards. He didn’t go to the terrace for fresh air. He didn’t dance with anyone else. Instead, he moved to an obscure corner of the room and waited for his turn.
Sometimes, a footman would happen by, enabling him to snatch a flute of champagne, or an acquaintance would approach him for a few minutes of conversation, but otherwise, he remained apart, in the shadows of potted ferns and palms, and as he waited, he watched her and thought of the plans for the future he’d made today.
His call on Lord Kayne this morning had been beyond anything he could have hoped for. The marquess had been eager not just for his capital, but also for his ideas, and the two men had spent much of the day hammering those ideas into a workable partnership. Then he’d gone into Southampton on a very specific shopping expedition, and to his astonishment and relief, he found what he’d been hoping for within only a few hours. By the time he’d arrived back at Ravenwood to dress for the ball, he’d known he had the right plan for his future.
What he didn’t know was if it would be enough to convince Marjorie. For one thing, she had an unnerving ability to toss his plans and intentions into a cocked hat. And for another, it would involve some compromises she might find hard to make.
But it was all he had, everything he wanted, and he could only hope she could let her fears go and trust him and help him make it work. If not, he feared he’d be wandering in the desert of the heart for a long time to come.
At last, about half past one, his moment came, and he stepped out of his darkened corner to claim it. He bowed, offered her his arm, and led her to the floor, and when the lilting strains of Strauss began, he held her in his arms and danced with her.
They didn’t talk much, for waltzing wasn’t the sort of activity that allowed for prolonged conversation. He asked if she was enjoying her first ball, though the sparkle in her eyes and the radiance of her smile told him she was even before she confirmed it. After several turns across the ballroom floor, she commented that he hadn’t danced much, a very encouraging remark to his way of thinking, for it meant that despite having champions to the left and right, she’d paid some attention to his whereabouts this evening.
“No,” he agreed. “I haven’t danced at all, until now.”
“Why not?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He met her eyes. “There’s only one woman here I want to dance with, and because she so cruelly denied me the three waltzes I asked for, I’m forced to be content with one.”
He was rewarded with a smile, though she looked away at once, and it was several more turns around the ballroom before she replied. “Three waltzes with the same man implies an engagement,” she said at last. “And, if you remember, I turned you down.”
“That’s not the sort of thing a man forgets, believe me. But—” He broke off, wondering if a ballroom floor was the right moment to take the next step, but hell, what did he have to lose?
“But,” he resumed, “I told you I wasn’t giving up, and I meant it. I’ve done a lot of thinking since you refused me,” he rushed on as she opened her mouth to speak. “About the reasons you gave and what I could do to overcome your objections, and how I might change your mind and gain another chance with you.”
“Jonathan—”
“I think I may have found a way to give us both what we want. It’s my vision of the future—mine, and hopefully, yours, too, and I want to show it to you. Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. Clara can bring you in the pony trap.”
“But where are we going?” she asked.
“To my home.”
She stumbled, and he had to wrap an arm around her to steady her. “Careful,” he cautioned, easing back, letting her go when all he wanted was to pull her closer, for many eyes were watching them.
“What do you mean, your home?” she asked as they resumed dancing. “You don’t have a home.”
“I do now. I bought a house. That’s part of what I was doing today. If you don’t like it,” he added, getting nervous as she stared at him, “I’m willing to sell it and look for something else. But to me, it felt like the perfect house, especially given what I’ll be doing with my life now.”
The waltz ended before she could reply, a good thing, since the bewilderment in her face told him he’d said enough already. “It’ll all make more sense tomorrow, believe me,” he said as he offered his arm to escort her back to her place. “I’m hoping it will cause you to reconsider your decision, but if not, I’ll wait. If you want to have a season, meet other men . . .”
He paused, the words to set her free sticking in his throat, but they were nearly across the ballroom, so he forced them out, speaking in a rush. “I won’t like it, but I’ll endure it. I’ll wait. I’ll court you in honorable fashion. I know you don’t think I’m the right man for you, but I intend to change your mind because I know you are the only woman for me. I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. All I ask is that you give me a chance. Give us a chance.”
There was no time for more, for they had reached Irene’s side. He gave his sister a nod, then reached for Marjorie’s hand.
“Ten o’clock tomorrow,” he said. “I hope you’ll come.”
With that, he bowed over her hand and turned away, departing the ballroom without a backward glance.
Chapter 22
The ball was over. All the guests who lived in the county had climbed into their carriages and departed for home, and all the guests staying at Ravenwood had gone to bed. Even the servants had called it a night, and now, the house was dead quiet, indicating that everyone was asleep.
Everyone, that is, but Jonathan.
After he’d left Marjorie in the ballroom, he hadn’t stayed with the family for goodnights and farewells to the guests. Instead, he’d gone to his room. He’d undressed and gotten into bed, but he didn’t sleep.
Instead, he stared at the ceiling and thought of her—of how she’d come down those stairs looking so beautiful it made him ache, of her in his arms as they danced, of her mysterious smile that could drive him to the brink.
He thought of the plans he’d set in motion today, of the future he’d begun and all the exciting possibilities that lay ahead. He knew it was the right future for him, if he could only convince Marjorie to share it with him.
Jonathan reached up and lifted his pocket watch off the hook on the wall, turned the face toward the window, and read by the shaft of moonlight between the curtains that it was just after three. Still wide-awake, he decided to go for a walk. It was a fine night, and there was plenty of moonlight for a stroll.
He shoved back the counterpane and got out of bed, then lit a lamp and walked to the armoire, but he’d barely pulled on a pair of trousers and a smoking jacket when the door of his room suddenly opened.
Startled, he whirled around, and was astonished to find Marjorie standing in the doorway, a lit candle in her hand. “What the devil?” he muttered, as she slipped inside his room.
“You’re still awake,” she whispered, closing the door behind her and blowing out the candle. “I’m so glad. I thought I’d have to wake you.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked in alarm, also keeping his voice low. “What are you doing at this end of the house? And how do you even know which room I’m in?”
“The baroness found out for me. But,” she added as he expelled an exasperated sigh, “it took me forever to find my way over here. It’s hard to navigate this house with just a candle.”
“I daresay. But . . .” He paused as the reality of the situation began to sink in, a reality that was so much like his erotic imaginings that his throat went dry. Marjorie was in his room, wearing nothing but a nightgown and wrapper, her hair loose and tumbling in long waves around her shoulders. “But why are you here?”
“I needed to see you.”
“Now? It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
“Yes, which means we don’t have much time.”
“Time for what?”
“Well, not for a conversation.” She laughed softly, an exhilarated little sound he didn’t understand. “I’m here to seduce you.”
“What?” Not, sad to say, a worthy response to such delicious news, but he supposed eloquence didn’t matter, since he was obviously dreaming. Though how that could happen when he was wide-awake and hadn’t slept a wink, he wasn’t quite sure.
“Shameless of me, I know. But life is too short to worry about proprieties, don’t you think?”
“No,” he said at once. “I don’t.”
Even as he spoke, arousal was already rising in him, an ache far too familiar to him these days. “What I think is that you’ve had a bit too much champagne this evening.” He leaned around her and reached for the doorknob, but when he tried to nudge her out of the way to open the door, she didn’t move.
“No, no, it’s not the champagne. I think it’s the necklace.” She lifted one hand, slipping pearl buttons free at her throat to reveal the Rose of Shoshone still around her neck. “I have to say,” she whispered, leaning closer as if she was imparting a secret, “whenever I have it on, it’s amazing how it makes me feel.”
“How does it make you feel?” he asked and wanted to kick himself in the head.
“Wicked,” she confessed, and
his control slipped a bit. “A bit wild.”
A wicked, wild Marjorie was just too much for a man to bear, and he knew he could not hear any more. Not another word. Force might not be noble, but in this case, it was required.
He reached out to grab her arm, thinking to haul her out of the way so he could get the door open and boot her shapely bum into the corridor, but she ducked around him, then turned, her beautiful, laughing face pushing him to the brink of his endurance.
“Marjorie, you’ve got to get out of here. Now.”
She shook her head, moving closer, close enough that he could smell the scent of her, the fresh, pristine scent of lavender soap and talcum powder. She’d bathed before bed. The knowledge made him dizzy, his resolve teetered, and he wondered if there would ever come a time when this woman did not manage to make him feel as if he was sliding off the edge of the earth.
Desperate, he tried again. “You don’t even know what seduction is, but if you stay here much longer, you’ll know its result.”
“Gosh, I hope so. Otherwise, I’ll have worked up my nerve, stumbled my way through this enormous house, and risked humiliating myself and ruining my reputation by plunging into the wrong room, all for nothing.”
Far more was at stake for her than embarrassment. He had to make her understand that. “If you don’t go, I’ll take your innocence, and then you’ll have to marry me. You won’t have a choice. I’ll have ruined you, and as tempting as it is to know that I could win your hand by such delightfully nefarious means, I’d prefer to do it the honorable way.”
“So, you are tempted? That’s encouraging.”
“Of course I’m tempted. What do you think I’m made of? Stone?”
“I’m not sure. Shall we find out?” She moved closer, lifting her arms as if to touch him, and he shied away as if he was the virgin here.
“For God’s sake, Marjorie,” he whispered, growing desperate as his desire deepened and spread. “Don’t you remember what I said earlier? I want to persuade you to marry me. I don’t want you to marry me because a baby is on the way. And please don’t make me explain why that would be a possibility if you stay. My nerves can’t take it.”
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