Heiress Gone Wild

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  With those words, he seemed to follow her over the peak. Shudders rocked him, and he cried out, a smothered cry into the pillow. He thrust against her several more times, and then collapsed, burying his face against her neck.

  She raked her fingers through his hair, she stroked the hard, strong muscles of his back and shoulders, reveling in the moment, and when he kissed her hair and murmured her name, happiness rose within her like a fierce, surging tide.

  Yes, she thought, this was why she’d come tonight. Because she wanted to enjoy this, and every other moment of her life, and she vowed that no matter what the future brought, the memory and beauty of this moment would stay with her forever.

  Chapter 23

  After the extraordinary events of the night, the last thing Marjorie wanted was to go to bed. As she slipped back through the house to her own room, she didn’t feel the least bit sleepy. The agonizing uncertainty that had been tearing her apart was gone, and she felt exhilarated and joyously happy. Feeling like that, who could sleep?

  The first hint of dawn was peeking around the curtains as she slipped back inside her room, reminding her that in less than five hours, she would see him again. He would take her through the house he’d bought, the one he wanted to be their home. They’d tour the rooms, walk the grounds, plan the future, begin building their life together. With such delights in store, sleep seemed impossible.

  Marjorie removed her robe and tossed it aside, then pulled back the counterpane, slid into bed with a dreamy sigh, and was asleep in three seconds. The next thing she knew, Miss Semphill was shaking her shoulder. “Miss Marjorie?”

  “Hmm?” She rolled over and promptly fell back to sleep.

  Her maid shook her awake again. “I’m sorry, Miss Marjorie, but Lady Galbraith is waiting downstairs. She says you two have an outing this morning.”

  Marjorie’s heart gave a joyous leap, making her fully awake in an instant. “That’s right,” she agreed, laughing as she opened her eyes and tossed back the bed linens. “We do. At ten o’clock. What time is it now?”

  “Nearly nine. Lady Galbraith waited as long as she could to wake you,” Semphill added as she walked to the armoire. “But she said that if you don’t hurry, you might be late.”

  “Then I’d better dress myself,” she said. “You go down and tell Lady Galbraith I’ll be ready in a few minutes, so she can have the gig brought around.”

  “Her ladyship already did that. It’s waiting in the drive.” Semphill pulled out two walking suits. “Do you want to wear the green wool or the tweed?”

  Ten minutes later, dressed in her green walking suit of summer-weight wool, Marjorie, breathless and excited, was stepping up beside Clara in the gig. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m not supposed to tell you anything,” Clara replied as she snapped the reins and the gig jerked into motion. “Jonathan said it’s a birthday surprise. Happy birthday, by the way.”

  Marjorie laughed. “Well, this isn’t such a surprise. I don’t know where we’re going, but I do know what he wants to show me.”

  “Do you, indeed?” Clara’s smile widened knowingly, making her blush. “We’re going to Beaulieu, if that enlightens you at all.”

  It didn’t, and since Clara refused to say any more, she could only wait in delicious suspense as the carriage rolled through the countryside. Like yesterday, the day was fine and warm, the air was sweet and fresh with a hint of the nearby ocean.

  Marjorie tilted her head back and closed her eyes, savoring the sun on her face and the sweetness of anticipation and the exhilarating joy of being loved and in love. She couldn’t imagine ever being happier than she was at this moment.

  Beaulieu proved to be a charming little village a few miles from Southampton, and after traveling along its high street of shops, pubs, and thatched roof cottages, Clara steered the gig onto a wooded lane. They went another mile or so, crossed over a charming stone bridge, and turned to pass through a pair of wrought-iron gates.

  Marjorie caught her breath. Ahead of her, a tree-lined lane led straight to a classical Georgian home, rectangular in shape, with a Corinthian portico in front and a rotunda above it. Behind one corner of the house, she could see a splendid view of lawns and gardens that led down to sprawling green fields and hedgerows. Far in the distance, she could see the Port of Southampton, and beyond it, the glittering water of the Solent and the faint outline of the Isle of Wight.

  I’m home, she thought with sudden, joyful certainty. I am home at last.

  In the circular drive, another gig was parked, showing that Jonathan was already here, and Marjorie could hardly contain her excitement. Clara hadn’t even pulled the brake before Marjorie jumped down and raced toward the house, opened one of the two entrance doors, and walked into a rectangular entrance hall.

  “Jonathan?” she called, her steps and her voice echoing through the empty, unfurnished house. She paused in the center of the hall, her gaze lifting from the wide staircase ahead of her to a mezzanine with a brass grillwork railing and a stunning domed ceiling of glass panels overhead. “Jonathan?”

  “Here,” he called, and she turned, her gaze lowering again to the mezzanine, where she saw him leaning on the rail, watching her. “It’s called Ainsley Park,” he said with a nod to their surroundings. “The house was designed by Wyatt. Not up-to-date at all, I’m afraid, but that’s easily done.” He spread his arms. “What do you think?”

  She laughed. “I don’t know yet. I just walked in.”

  “Wait there. I’m coming down.”

  He moved along the mezzanine and vanished from view as Clara’s footsteps sounded on the travertine floor behind her.

  “It has beautiful lines, doesn’t it?” Clara remarked, glancing around as she paused beside Marjorie. “One can really see the architecture when there’s no furnishings to get in the way.”

  She had no chance to respond as more footsteps sounded, and she turned, watching Jonathan descend the staircase. As he came toward her, he glanced at Clara, who immediately gave a cough.

  “The grounds seem quite lovely,” she said. “I believe I’ll take a stroll.”

  “I’d suggest the front gardens,” Jonathan replied, his eyes meeting his sister’s in a meaningful glance Marjorie didn’t understand.

  Clara seemed to understand it, however, for she gave a nod and turned, heading back the way she and Marjorie had come in.

  The front door had barely closed behind her before Jonathan was pulling Marjorie into his arms. “How do you feel this morning?” he asked, smiling a little.

  “All right. A bit sore.” She blushed, feeling shy and flustered. “But happy.”

  “Me, too.” He bent his head and kissed her mouth, then drew back and took her hand. “Come on. There’s so much I want to show you, and we don’t have much time.”

  “No, I suppose we don’t,” she agreed as he pulled her toward the stairs. “Irene has a birthday lunch planned for me with the ladies before everyone starts leaving for the station. Did Torquil have something for the gentlemen?”

  “It’s not that. But I’ll explain later.”

  He showed her the upstairs floors first, and as they walked through the two adjoining suites that would form their apartments as husband and wife, Marjorie felt more certain than ever that she’d come home. They agreed that the nursery needed to be moved closer to their own rooms, and at least four of the twenty-six bedrooms would have to be converted to baths, then they headed back down to the ground floor.

  “All the reception rooms flank the terrace,” he told her as they paused at the back of the main hall where a wide corridor stretched in opposite directions toward the wings. “Drawing room, library, and music room to the right, and billiard room and ballroom to the left. This,” he added, pulling her into a spacious room of teak floors and white millwork, “is the drawing room.”

  Marjorie’s attention was caught at once by the French doors that stretched along the back, showing off the magnificent view beyond. She cro
ssed the room, unlatched one of the doors, and walked out onto the flagstone terrace, Jonathan behind her.

  “That’s the way we came when we arrived in England,” she said, pointing toward the sea as she crossed to the stone balustrade. “The Neptune sailed right past here, didn’t it? We couldn’t see anything that day,” she added, smiling as she stared out over the water. “All that rain and fog.”

  “Look down there,” he said, pausing beside her, pointing to a snakelike trail of murky green leading in from the sea. “That’s the Beaulieu River. We’ve got a quay and a boathouse, so whenever Henry and Irene take the Mary Louisa or the Endeavor out on the Solent, they can come up the river, dock at the quay, and—”

  “And visit us,” she finished in delight as she turned toward him.

  “Or fetch us, if we want to go along. We can even have a yacht of our own, if we wish.”

  That made her laugh. “I thought things like yachts were a waste of money,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist as she reminded him of his words aboard the Neptune. “You said I couldn’t spend my money on frivolities like yachts.”

  He grinned. “Yes, well, I think I might be changing my mind about that.” He paused, nodding to their surroundings. “Do you like the house? If not, we can look for something else.”

  “No, no, it’s—” She broke off, happiness clogging her throat, making it hard to form words. She swallowed hard, glanced around, then looked at him. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

  That pleased him, for his smile widened, creasing the edges of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad.”

  “Shall we look at the rest?” she asked. “We haven’t looked at the kitchens, or the servants’ hall, or any of that.”

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “We can’t, not today. There’s something else we need to discuss, something important, and we don’t have much time.”

  That was his second mention of time, and as he drew back from her, his arms sliding down so that he could take her hands in his, Marjorie felt an odd shiver of apprehension, but she shoved it aside, telling herself not to be silly. “Why are you so concerned about time today? Is your day so very full?”

  “It is, actually.” He cleared his throat, looking down at their clasped hands. “Do you remember what I told you at the ball? Why I wanted to bring you here?”

  “Yes. You said you wanted to show me the house you bought for us. And you have. And I love it.”

  “I also said I wanted to tell you what I’ll be doing with my life.” He looked up, meeting her gaze. “You know Clara wanted to make a place for me in Deverill Publishing, and I turned it down because it wasn’t my dream anymore. I knew I had to find a new dream, and—” He broke off and took a deep breath. “I have.”

  “That’s wonderful!” she cried. “What is it?”

  “A month or so ago, I met the Marquess of Kayne. Rex introduced us. Lord Kayne owns a company called Hawthorne Shipping. They build cargo ships—big, steam-driven transatlantic cargo ships, right here in Southampton. Kayne wants to build passenger liners, too, but can’t do it alone. I met with him yesterday, and we agreed to form a joint venture for the project.”

  “You’re going to build ships like the Neptune?”

  “Yes. We’ll be based right beside Hawthorne Shipping.” He let go of her hands, put his hands on her shoulders, and turned her around so that she was facing northeast, toward Southampton, then he stretched an arm over her shoulder, pointing. “Right there, at Hythe, across the port from where Cunard docks its ships.”

  “So, you’ll sell the ships you build to Cunard, and White Star, and such?”

  “Not exactly.”

  There was an odd inflection in his voice, and for no reason she could identify, Marjorie felt another pang of apprehension, and when he turned her around to face him, it deepened into fear, for his countenance was graver than she’d ever seen it before.

  “We’re going to build our own ships,” he said, once again taking her hands in his. “We’ll be competing with Cunard and White Star, not selling to them. To do it, we’ll have to arrange routes, get the moorings, study the competition . . .” He stopped and took a breath. “That’s my part.”

  “What are you saying?” she asked, but even before he replied, the sick feeling in her stomach gave her an inkling of what he was going to say.

  “I’ll have to travel, Marjorie. A great deal, especially in the beginning.”

  Her worst fears confirmed, she felt suddenly cold, and she jerked her hands from his. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Marjorie, listen to me, please. This is the first thing I’ve found since Deverill Publishing that excites me, the first thing in a decade that makes me truly want to settle down.”

  “But you won’t be settled, will you? No wonder this excites you. It’s the perfect way for you to go where you want and do what you want. Meanwhile,” she went on, overriding him as he opened his mouth to reply, “I’ll be alone, in this lovely house you bought for me, waiting for you to come back, the same way my mother waited for my father? Is that it?”

  “No!” he cried, grasping her arms as she tried to turn away. “I won’t be gone all the time, and when I do have to go, you’ll come with me.”

  “And do what?”

  “See the world, of course. For God’s sake, Marjorie, you spent most of your life cooped up inside a school. There is a huge, beautiful world out there, and you’ve never seen any of it. Don’t you want to? Don’t you want to see Venice, or Gibraltar, or the Greek isles? Don’t you want to walk with me through a copper bazaar in Tangier, or stand under the cedars of Lebanon, or take a tour up the Nile?”

  That all sounded grand, but Marjorie feared the reality wouldn’t be quite so romantic. “What you’re saying is that we’ll be living like rich wanderers instead of poor ones. What about children? What are we to do with them? Stick them in a school somewhere and leave them there?”

  He actually had the nerve to smile. “I think we can afford a nanny to come with us, don’t you?”

  “Don’t laugh at me!” she cried, jerking her shoulders, wrenching free of his hold. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

  His smile vanished at once, and his expression became tender, tearing at her heart. “I’m not. But I do wish you’d get this idea that we’ll be homeless vagrants out of your head, because that’s not how it would be at all.”

  “Why? Because you bought a house? I can’t think why you bothered if your plan is for us to live in hotels?”

  “Because that’s not my plan. We’ll travel, yes, but . . .” He paused and spread his arms. “We’ll always come home.”

  “And when,” she choked, “would all this world traveling begin?”

  “Well, for you, I thought we could start with a honeymoon. For me, however . . .” He paused a fraction of a second. “I have to leave this evening.”

  “Tonight?” She stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.

  “I have to go to Gibraltar. Kayne set up a meeting about moorings there,” he added, speaking quickly, as if sensing her shock and hoping to diffuse it. “He was supposed to go, but since I’m involved now and handling the moorings shall be one of my primary responsibilities, we agreed I should go. My ship sails at five o’clock.”

  “You’re leaving.” Even as she said it again, she still couldn’t quite believe it. She couldn’t believe that he could present her with such a perfect, beautiful life and then immediately abandon it. “You canceled your trip to South Africa, only to replace it with one to Gibraltar.”

  “This won’t be for long. Just one month.”

  As if the amount of time mattered. “You knew yesterday you were leaving. You knew this new venture would take you all over the world. You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

  “I intended to tell you today,” he muttered. “I had it all planned. That’s what I was talking about when I told you at the ball that I knew you’d need time to decide
if I was the man for you. Remember? I told you I’d wait for you to be sure, and that while I waited, I’d be building a life for us. I thought while I’m away, you’d consider what I’m doing, and that when I got back, we’d talk it over, perhaps find a way to make it all work. But then, you came to my room—”

  “So, why didn’t you tell me then?” she demanded, stepping back from him, feeling misled and manipulated. “Before I told you I loved you, before I shamelessly threw myself at you and gave myself to you, you could have told me all this, but you didn’t.”

  His gaze slid away, the glimmer of a guilty conscience. “I was going to tell you, but then you started taking your clothes off, and I . . .” He paused, met her eyes again, and sighed. “I lost my head.”

  She stared back at him, aghast. “Last night, you persuaded me to marry you, knowing this. You pushed me to agree, never saying a word—”

  “You came to me last night. I didn’t come to you. Hell, I’ve been doing my damnedest to avoid what happened last night. Forgive me if I just couldn’t fight it anymore. Would you have preferred that I lie with you without wanting or expecting marriage? Would that make me more honorable in your eyes, or less?”

  He stepped closer, closing the distance she’d put between them, gold glints sparking in his hazel eyes, glints not of desire, but of frustration and anger. “Did it ever occur to you that my heart was on the table last night? Did you consider what it would have done to me if I bedded you only to find out afterward you didn’t love me or that you wouldn’t agree to marry me and share my life? I’ll tell you what it would have done. It would have broken my heart.”

  Still reeling from shock, still feeling deceived, Marjorie couldn’t find it within herself to worry much about his heart just now. “So, better to avoid telling me the truth until afterward, and risk that my heart will be the one broken?”

  “Your heart isn’t broken, and by God, you’re working damned hard to make sure it never will be. That’s what this is about. You’re afraid of the day when I go off without you, as if that’s fated and inevitable.”