Perfect Romance

by Duncan, Alice

  The problem was that Loretta didn’t feel the least bit nonchalant. She felt spectacular, actually, and that sort of precluded nonchalance.

  Malachai mumbled something.

  After clearing her throat, Loretta said, “I beg your pardon?” Then she wished she hadn’t used the word beg. It came too close to what she wanted to do, which was to beg Malachai to kiss her again. She retained enough pride to know that begging the man for anything would violate every female human principle she held dear.

  He turned so sharply, Loretta jumped. He looked awfully angry for a man who had just perpetrated a kiss from which Loretta’s senses still reeled.

  If she felt this way, he shouldn’t feel that way, should he? She had rather hoped the delicious pleasure she’d felt from the kiss had been shared by him.

  “I said,” said Malachai, “that I’m sorry.”

  He was sorry? Loretta had the weird feeling that she was tumbling headlong into a whirlpool and that it was going to drown her. She cleared her throat again. “You are?” Her gaze drifted south for a brief instant. He didn’t look sorry. He looked ready to perpetrate a ravishment. Mercy, the man was large.

  His face took on a thunderous cast. His brow furrowed, his eyes snapped, his heavy eyebrows formed a perfect V over his aquiline nose, and his lips thinned into a forbidding straight line. “I’m sorry, damn it. That was a damned stupid thing to have done.”

  Loretta could only stare up at him, perplexed. She couldn’t understand why he was angry. As far as she was concerned, Malachai Quarles was still a beast—but that kiss had been perfectly splendid.

  But everything was coming around and would be all right any second now. She was accustomed to Malachai’s frowns. She felt approximately on his level when he frowned, because she could frown right back, even when she was dazed, as she was now.

  Being dazed didn’t negate her duty as a free-thinking, worldly woman who should not appear to be affected by a mere kiss.

  A mere kiss? Loretta, who didn’t approve of people lying to themselves, knew it had been more than a mere anything.

  That, however, was neither here nor there. Squaring her shoulders, determined not to let him know how much his kiss had dazzled her, she said, “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?”

  They didn’t speak again as they walked back to Tillinghurst’s mansion side by side.

  # # #

  Malachai hadn’t done such a damned fool thing in his entire adult life. Oh, he’d played around enough in his late adolescence and early twenties, but he’d been smart enough to understand, even then, that it didn’t pay to be irresponsible with respectable females. Or any female, really. If a man went too far with a woman, he either got himself shackled for life, or he left tokens of his lust behind to be thrown into orphanages, as he had been.

  And orphanages were only for the lucky ones. He hated to admit that Loretta was right about that. There were millions of children who had been abandoned by their parents, either on purpose or as a result of tragedy, and who were forced out onto the streets to live or die according to the whim of a capricious and uncaring God.

  As he slumped along beside Loretta, he decided it had been her impassioned rhetoric that had ultimately pushed him over the edge. When she’d begun lecturing him about women forced to care for their children after having been abandoned, he’d snapped.

  Damn it all, why should she care about widows and orphans? Nobody else did. She was about to send him over the edge with her lectures and orations.

  Anyhow, what did she know about poverty? She was rich. She didn’t know what it felt like to be herded along with a hundred other little kids, as if you were so much cattle, by a bunch of nuns who took care of you because it was their so-called “Christian duty,” but who didn’t give a hang about you. She didn’t know what it was like to wake up in a room full of other kids, all of whom were nearly frozen solid under their thin blankets. She didn’t know what it was like to be sick and to have no one to kiss you and make you feel better. She didn’t know what it was like to have nothing but thin soup and stale bread for every meal. She didn’t know, damn it!

  Malachai tried never to think about the orphanage. He hadn’t been able to help but remember it, though, when Loretta’d started her diatribe. Coupled with his own meditations prior to their meeting today, it had thrown him over the edge of sanity and into that . . . that kiss.

  Good God almighty, that kiss.

  Would she expect him to marry her now? That’s what would have happened even ten years ago. If a man lost his head and kissed a respectable female, she expected him to marry her. Loretta claimed to be an enlightened feminist, but Malachai’d believe it when he saw it. He had yet to meet a woman who meant what she said.

  He sneaked a peek at her. Then he frowned. Outwardly at least, she appeared composed. She didn’t look as if she was about to become hysterical and demand that he make an honest woman of her.

  An honest woman. There wasn’t any such thing on earth. They were all sly, conniving cats. Malachai snorted, then regretted the lapse when Loretta whipped her head around and narrowed her eyes at him. Her scrutiny didn’t last long. Almost as soon as her head turned his way, it turned back to face the walkway again.

  She still didn’t speak. Malachai began to grow itchy. He told himself it was anticipation. Perhaps dread was a better word. Any second now, she’d lower the boom. He began composing retorts in his head, even though he knew that, as a man of integrity and firm moral standards, he’d probably have to go through with it and marry the wench. It would be his punishment for an act of blatant idiocy. It would be a sacrifice, true. The notion of being shackled to Loretta Linden for all eternity gave him . . .

  . . . a warm, gooey sensation in his chest.

  No! He didn’t mean that! What he meant was that it gave him the shivers.

  Good God, Loretta Linden really had rattled his senses. She was a disaster in human form, was what she was, for God’s sake. The mere notion of marrying her was . . . was . . . well, it was awful. Terrible. The worst thing that could possibly happen to him.

  Still, that didn’t explain why she didn’t say anything at all. Loretta wasn’t the silent type. Malachai brooded until they reached Tillinghurst’s front door. Then he couldn’t stand it any longer. He stepped in front of her so that she couldn’t move and stood stock-still. “Well?” he demanded, frowning for all he was worth.

  She stopped walking, because she couldn’t help it, and looked up at him. She was so tiny. Malachai wondered that he hadn’t crushed her bones, he’d held her so tightly. The thought made him even angrier. He turned his frown into a glower.

  “Well what?”

  Her voice was as serene as her expression. It positively infuriated Malachai. He snarled, “Well, aren’t you going to demand that I marry you? Isn’t that what women do?”

  She wrinkled her porcelain brow. It looked to him as if she were considering his question rationally, which nearly sent him into a frenzy.

  What the devil was the matter with her? What the devil was the matter with him? He wasn’t the frenzied sort. He tried to calm himself, but the attempt failed, and he stood there, fulminating like a volcano about to erupt, and she just stared at him. Serenely, damn it to hell.

  At last she spoke. “I don’t know what you mean, Captain Quarles. If you are suggesting that I should fall into the role men have dictated women should play and, because you lost your head for a moment, force you into a marriage neither of us wants, I believe that, as little as you know me, you should have learned better than that by this time.”

  And she stepped around him, opened the door, and walked inside, leaving Malachai on the porch, feeling sort of like a salmon might feel if it had been gaffed and thrown onto the deck of a boat to flounder around out of water, gasping for breath—or whatever it was fish gasped for.

  Chapter Nine

  Loretta knew she was walking, because she heard her feet tap-tapping on the tiled entryway of William Frederick Tillinghurst’s m
ansion. Her body felt so buoyant, however, that she needed the confirmation of those clicks on the floor to reassure herself that she wasn’t floating on air.

  She wasn’t sure where the captain was. She’d left him at the door, muttering to himself. That was all right. Let him mutter. She felt simply splendid.

  One glance into the parlor assured her that her secretary did not. Marjorie was as pale as a frosty window and her hands were in her lap, gripping her handbag as if she were attempting to strangle it. Worse, she’d begun stuttering.

  “B-but, you s-see, I really d-d-dinna know very much a-b-b-bout—”

  “Yes,” said Tillinghurst dryly. “I gathered as much.”

  Loretta came down to earth, figuratively speaking, with a thud. She hurried to rescue Marjorie. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry I took so long. My headache is much better now, thanks to my walk around your marvelous gardens, Mr. Tillinghurst.” She gave Tillinghurst one of the dazzling smiles she’d learned to produce when she was still under her mother’s influence. Before she’d become enlightened, so to speak.

  Tillinghurst rose to his feet. He didn’t look especially dazzled by Loretta’s smile. She wasn’t surprised. He was such a toad.

  “I believe your secretary knows about as little as you do about Moorish artifacts, Miss Linden.” His smile could have curdled milk.

  Never one to be cowed by men’s sour smiles, and especially not the smile of William Tillinghurst, a man she despised and one, moreover, who looked like the rat he was, Loretta laughed gaily. “Oh, my, is that so?” She turned to Marjorie. “I thought you’d studied something about Moorish art, Marjorie dear. But I seem to recall that was a long time ago. In Scotland, wasn’t it?”

  She saw the relief flood through her secretary and decided a brief lesson in acting techniques would not be amiss. “Oh, aye! That’s right. It was in Scotland.” Marjorie turned to face Tillinghurst. “It was a vurra long ago, you see. When I was a wee lass. In Glasgow.”

  “I see.” He picked up the knife Loretta had left on the table before she’d gone outdoors to spy. “Here’s your knife, Miss Linden. I’m sure that if you take it to another expert, you’ll learn that my evaluation is correct. It’s a simple Chinese ceremonial knife of little worth. They make ‘em by the thousands in Canton. Even in various American Chinatowns, one of which is where I suspect yours came from.” He held the knife on his palm, its hilt toward her.

  She took it and slipped it into her handbag. “Silly me,” she said, tittering. She seldom tittered, but she was willing to act like a ninny for the sake of the stolen artifacts. Reaching for Marjorie, she said, “We’d best be going now, Marjorie, dear. Our chariot awaits, and it’s quite dark outdoors.” Another titter, and Loretta decided enough was enough.

  Turning and holding out her hand to Tillinghurst, she said in her usual, no-nonsense voice, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Tillinghurst. I’m sorry we weren’t able to offer you a more scintillating artifact.”

  “Think nothing of it, Miss Linden. Ladies aren’t expected to be scholars.”

  Before Loretta could begin to lecture him, Marjorie gave her a quick—and unseen by Tillinghurst—smack on the back of her arm, and Loretta understood the wisdom of being silent on this occasion, no matter how provocative she’d found Mr. Tillinghurst’s comment. It galled her, but she held her tongue. Because she couldn’t bear to speak unless it was to set Tillinghurst straight, she merely smiled at him and gave him a nod of her head before turning to leave the room.

  Tillinghurst’s butler let the two ladies out. Loretta glanced around, but she didn’t see Captain Quarles anywhere. She allowed herself to experience a moment of disappointment, but that was all. Not for Loretta Linden the forlorn gestures of helpless womanhood. She would not pine for a man, ever.

  Deciding it was far too early in her relationship with Malachai even to think about not pining, she glanced at the door and then the parlor window to make sure Tillinghurst wasn’t watching them, and then said excitedly, “I think I found a perfect place for someone to hide a treasure, Marjorie!” She took Marjorie by the arm and started dragging her down Tillinghurst’s drive toward the massive black iron gate where, with any luck and Loretta’s large tip, their cab would still be waiting for them. “I didn’t have a chance to inspect it, because . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she decided to keep Malachai Quarles out of the conversation, at least for now.

  “I thought I would die in there,” Marjorie said under her breath, stumbling slightly as she tried to keep up with Loretta. “I’ll be hag-rid for months.”

  Understanding that her secretary was not as brisk a walker as she herself was, Loretta slowed down a bit. Her mood was buoyant, and she wanted to run. “I didn’t let on, because I didn’t want anyone who might be watching to know I’d seen it.”

  “It was the most horrible experience of my life, Loretta Linden! That crabbity auld man gowking at me with his wee smirk, as if he knew what you were up to. I thought I’d die.”

  “I’m going to come back again some night when the moon isn’t too bright and see if I’m right.” Plans started sorting themselves out in her mind. While she and Malachai had been walking, and before their walk had been interrupted by that smashing kiss, she’d seen another building; a strong, brick building, hidden behind a tall hedge. If there was a better place to hide something than in a brick building hidden behind a hedge, Loretta didn’t know where it was.

  “He knew I was no Moorish scholar. Nor even a Moorish student.”

  “I can hardly wait to explore more fully. Do you know when the new moon will be, Marjorie?”

  “Are you listening to me?”

  Loretta jumped. She’d never known Marjorie to shout before. Turning toward her with a hurt frown, she said, “You needn’t yell, Marjorie. Of course I’m listening to you.”

  But she hadn’t been, and Marjorie knew it. “Nay. You werena,” Marjorie said bitterly. “You ne’er listen to anyone. You only please yourself.”

  Her secretary’s words pricked Loretta, who was in the habit of believing herself to be a considerate, large-hearted woman. Yet she supposed she had bullied Marjorie—the least little bit—to perform in a manner antithetical to her closed-in, repressed, neurotic personality today. Not that such practice wasn’t good for the poor woman. “That’s not true, Marjorie,” she said quietly.

  “Aye, it is.” Marjorie shuddered visibly, her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Loretta realized she’d been more upset by her experience than Loretta had guessed.

  Feeling a teensy bit guilty, she said, “It’s good for you to stretch yourself every once in a while, Marjorie. I’m sure you’ll benefit from this experience.”

  “How?”

  How? Loretta had to think about it. “Well, it will teach you that even though you’re frightened of something, you can overcome your fear.” That sounded good.

  “But I didna overcome my fear. My fear was with me the whole time, and it vurra nearly killed me!”

  “I’m sure it was still good practice for you. You need to learn that senseless fears like that are . . . well . . . senseless.”

  “Ye think it’s senseless to be adrad in the presence of a man you believe to be the blackest of villains?”

  She’d shouted again, and Loretta began to worry a trifle. “Now, Marjorie, I don’t believe him to be a murderer or anything. Only a thief.” It made sense to Loretta, but it clearly didn’t to Marjorie, who started pulling on her lovely red hair. Loretta had never seen her so agitated.

  “I think you’re mad, Loretta Linden, and I ken you’re blathering! I was terrified in there, and all ye can say is that the man’s na’ a murderer?”

  Beginning to feel the faintest bit miffy, Loretta said, “Now, now, Marjorie, it wasn’t that bad.”

  “It was, too!”

  “Fiddlesticks. You’re overreacting, Marjorie MacTavish. And I still believe that with more practice, you can overcome your silly fears.”

  Marjorie stopped walking suddenly and
whirled to face Loretta. “What if I dinna want to overcome my fears, Loretta Linden? Did you ever think about that? What if my fears are’na neuroses, as you claim, but normal feelings any normal person would feel when ordered to act mad by a gullion? My ain fault is that I’m a glaikit goff, and I fore’er do what ye tell me to, e’en though I know ye to be a haggis-headed nyaff!”

  Loretta’s mouth fell open. Any time Marjorie so forgot herself as to spout so many Scottish words in a row, she was really angry. As a rule, the only way a person could tell the woman came from Scotland was from the slight and charming burr when she spoke.

  That didn’t deter Marjorie, who shook a finger in her employer’s face. “I’m’na the gudgeon, Loretta! You are!” She turned back as abruptly as before, and resumed stomping down Tillinghurst’s drive.

  Stunned into immobility for a moment, Loretta soon recovered and hurried to catch up with her. “Marjorie! Wait!”

  Marjorie didn’t wait. She stormed onward, muttering as she did so, “Moorish knives! Millionaire begowkers! Blather! It’s awe blather! What next? Crockin’? Mayhem? Furiositie? Aye, we’re there a’ready. Mayhap white slavery? Bah!”

  Catching up with her, Loretta said, “Marjorie, wait a moment! I didn’t realize how—how—” Oh, dear. She couldn’t think of a diplomatic way to say it. She blurted out, “I didn’t realize what a bundle of nerves you were. I’m sure you need some sort of medication. Or at least a chat with Dr. Hagendorf. It’s unnatural—”

  Marjorie harshly scraped in approximately six hundred cubic feet of air, and let it out in a screech, and in English unmarred by her childhood in Glasgow. “It is not unnatural! It’s perfectly natural to be nervous about perpetrating a fraud on a gentleman!” She poked Loretta in the chest with her forefinger. “You’re the unnatural one, Loretta Linden, with your scandalous ideas and crazy notions, and you know it!”

  Loretta was horrified to see tears streaming down Marjorie’s cheeks. “Oh, Marjorie!” She still believed her secretary was only a repressed spinster who needed to face and overcome her fears, but that didn’t negate the honest misery Marjorie was experiencing at the moment. Loretta put an arm around her. Marjorie stiffened up like a setter on point, but Loretta remained undeterred.