Perfect Wedding

by Duncan, Alice

  Above all the other emotions roiling within her at that moment in time, she felt absolute rage. That being the case, and because she hoped to disconcert her foes, she said in a fair semblance of her normal tone, “It’s the police. They patrol this house regularly, you know, because—” Fudge. She’d thought quickly, but not quite quickly to think of a good reason for the fictitious patrol. “Because Captain Quarles pays for it. Because of all the valuable antiques.” There. These two couldn’t possibly know that she’d just lied.

  “She’s lying,” said Frank matter-of-factly.

  “Sure she is. Stupid lie, too.”

  Fie on them! “I am not! It’s the truth! The Quarleses are enormously wealthy!”

  “Marjorie?”

  So relieved was Marjorie to hear Jason’s voice, she nearly fainted. Catching herself in time, her heart pounding like a base drum, she shrieked, “Jason! Help!”

  With a mighty shove, Bart grunted, “Let’s get out of here,” as he rushed toward the door.

  “The boss ain’t going to like this,” muttered Frank, following his cohort at a dead run.

  As for Marjorie, she staggered across the room with arms flailing in an attempt to keep her balance, bounced off the far wall, ricocheted back again, and ended up pitching onto the kitchen table, upending her hot cocoa and sending another of Loretta’s beautiful china teacups crashing to the floor. Cocoa, she thought inanely, seemed to be a dangerous beverage in this household.

  Terrified that the two villains would harm Jason, and still so angry she could have spat tacks, she shoved herself upright and raced to the door, punching the light switch on the way. The kitchen garden lit up just in time for her to see the back end of one of the culprits slither over the wall. She heard a thump and a muffled curse, and then the sound of retreating footsteps racing down the alleyway. She cried, “Jason!”

  A form picked itself up from the graveled walkway running between the rows of vegetables Mrs. Brandeis and the gardener tended. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  Marjorie raced outside to help him. “Confound you! Why didn’t you come earlier?”

  He frowned at her. “I’m quite all right, thank you. No bones broken. A few scratches here and there.”

  “Confound you!” Her heart hammering so hard it hurt, she reached his side and grabbed his arm. He seemed basically unharmed. Thank God, thank God. “If you’d been here on time, none of this would have happened!” She eyed him critically as he dusted himself off. “What did happen?”

  “A couple of ruffians ran into me.” Jason scowled. “Ran over me, is more like it.”

  Relief washed through Marjorie like flood water. “Why the devil weren’t you here earlier?” The mere thought of that huge knife plunged into Jason’s heart made her want to weep. She’d be cursed forevermore before she’d do that.

  “What the devil are you going on about the time for?” Jason demanded.

  “You said you’d be here earlier, confound you! Those men wouldn’t have . . . have . . .” Pooh. She didn’t know what they wouldn’t have done, actually. They might have come anyway and killed them all.

  “Who were those fellows anyhow?”

  “I don’t know!” A tear slipped out in spite of Marjorie’s rigid control, and she wiped it away angrily. “But they asked where the Chinese girl—or, rather, gal—was.”

  “Damn.”

  “And well you might swear,” Marjorie said, furious that she had actually shed a tear over fear for his welfare. “Why weren’t you here earlier?”

  “I knew I was being followed,” He said in a voice conveying hurt that Marjorie should be blaming him. “I thought I’d shaken them off my tail.”

  “Well, it looks as if you didn’t.” Repressing the urge to feel Jason to make sure none of his limbs were damaged, Marjorie clasped her hands together instead. She was so angry with him, both for being late and for worrying her, that she also had to resist the urge to kick him.

  “Damn it, I’d been hoping no one knew about Jia Lee being at Loretta’s place.”

  “It’s a forlorn hope now,” Marjorie said sourly.

  “Evidently.” Jason took a step, said, “Ow,” frowned, and said, “There’s a rock in my shoe.”

  Once more Marjorie’s heart began to pitch and roll. “Are you sure it’s only a rock?” Oh, Lord, what if the knife had fallen and stabbed his foot?

  “Yeah, it’s only a piece of this cursed gravel Loretta has spread all over the place. I’m all right. Why’d they spread gravel? Wood chips would be better.”

  “How should I know?” Feeling very cross, Marjorie stamped to the kitchen door.

  He squinted at her in the light provided by the one lamp over the door. “What the devil’s the matter with you?”

  Indignant, Marjorie snapped, “I’ve just been accosted by two black villains, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Right.” His continued scrutiny made her nervous. “Damn, I wish I could have caught one of them.”

  “I know their names,” Marjorie said, taking his arm and turning him toward the kitchen door. “Bart and Frank.”

  “Big help.”

  Annoyed, Marjorie said, “It’s more than you know!”

  “Right. Sorry. I’m only upset that this happened.”

  “So am I.”

  Upon entering the kitchen, they saw Jia Lee, obviously terrified, standing at her bedroom door, her hands pressed to her heart. She looked delicate and fragile, which she was, and her perfect, beautiful, oval face conveyed terror. Marjorie thought she’d never seen anyone look more beautiful and pathetic at the same time, and a surge of jealousy as unexpected as it was unworthy, shot through her.

  Jason hurried over to Jia Lee, saying something in Chinese that, naturally, Marjorie couldn’t understand. She frowned at the two as they talked with each other.

  A notion had just struck her, and she didn’t like it one little bit. Was Jason interested in Jia Lee as he’d been interested in his late wife? Was his concern for the poor girl more than purely medical or kindly intentioned? Her heart, which had been performing erratically all night long, plummeted sickeningly.

  As she continued to watch Jason and Jia Lee, she absently fingered her bruised cheek, recalling as she did so that Loretta had been similarly injured several months earlier. Marjorie prayed that her own cheek wouldn’t swell as had Loretta’s. Loretta had been a mess for a couple of weeks, and she’d been unable to speak clearly for several days.

  With that in mind, Marjorie hurried to the ice box, grabbed the ice pick, and chipped off a good mound of ice. With soft Chinese murmurs floating in the background, she wrapped the ice in a clean kitchen towel and pressed it to her cheek. Then, since Jason obviously didn’t need or want her help, she went back to the table and retrieved the broken pieces of teacup and mopped up the spilled cocoa. She thought about making more, but decided to wait until Jason was through with Jia Lee. Maybe he’d want some, too. Or maybe he’d want his latest Chinese love to have a cup.

  Marjorie told herself to stop it. Even if Jason did fall madly in love with Jia Lee, it was nothing to her. Absolutely nothing. Less than nothing.

  Another tear slid down her cheek, and she cursed herself as a blathering, haggis-headed gudgeon.

  # # #

  Jason settled Jia Lee down in her bed, pleased with her relative progress since she’d been staying at Loretta’s house. He was very concerned, however, that her enemies had discovered her whereabouts. He couldn’t understand how they had done so. He thought he’d been so careful.

  “Get some sleep now,” he advised the girl.

  She thanked him, and Jason was surprised and a little worried to see the same expression on her face that he’d so often seen on Mai’s. The little voice in his head couldn’t be right about his first wife’s devotion, could it?

  Oh, hell, what difference did it make now? He was very, very weary as he went back into the kitchen, shutting the door softly behind him. He was rather surprised to see that Marjorie had waited for h
im, as she’d seemed unaccountably irritated with him before he’d examined Jia Lee. Narrowing his eyes, he peered at her, wondering why she was holding a kitchen towel to her cheek.

  “What the devil are you holding a kitchen towel to your cheek for?”

  Narrowing her own eyes, Marjorie looked up at him, a scowl on her lovely face. She lowered the towel, revealing the angry red imprint of a hand on her cheek.

  Gasping, Jason darted over and knelt next to her. She drew back, as he should have expected her to do, but hadn’t, thereby irritating him. “What happened?” he demanded.

  “One of those beasts—Bart, it was—hit me.”

  In less than a heartbeat, rage consumed him. He grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her clear out of her chair. “I’ll kill the bastard!”

  And then, before he even knew what he was going, he’d clutched her to his bosom and was kissing her on the lips. Before his own eyes closed, he saw hers open wide in shock, register an instant’s anger, and then close in rapture. He assumed it was rapture, because that was his condition.

  He hadn’t expected to experience such sweetness from the prickly Marjorie MacTavish, but awe, joy, and lust all built in him until he ran out of breath and resumed thinking. When his initial surprise lessened, he gentled both the kiss and his grip on her. One of his hands went to her hair—the fiery hair he loved so much—and stroked it softly.

  Sanity returned to him slowly. When it did, he braced himself for an explosion—but he didn’t let her go. She felt too good in his arms. Remembering her poor cheek and worried lest the pressure on her lips hurt it, Jason reluctantly withdrew his own, but pressed her head to his bosom. “Your skin is like silk, Marjorie.”

  She said, “Mmmm.”

  Not only was her skin like silk, but her breasts were pressing against his chest and he could feel her puckered nipples through the silk of her robe. Lord, he couldn’t recall ever thinking of Marjorie MacTavish in terms of breasts before, but he sure did now. His arousal was rock-solid and ready for action, and he was afraid to so much as move for fear something embarrassing might happen.

  He didn’t know how long they stood in the kitchen, holding each other, before Marjorie’s whisper drifted over his senses, rather like falling feathers. “You . . . you kissed me.”

  Jason discovered that he had to clear his throat. “Yes. I did.” What’s more, he wanted to do it again. And again and again and again.

  She didn’t try to pull away from him, which surprised him moderately. “I dinna think you liked me, Jason.”

  “Oh, I like you all right, Marjorie.” What worried him was that he had a sinking sensation he more than merely liked her. In fact, when he briefly considered the idea that Marjorie might marry that dimwit, St. Claire, his insides crunched up into a little, seething ball and began to throb. “But I didn’t mean to shock you.”

  “You dinna shock me, Jason.”

  Thank God, thank God. He licked his lips. “In that case . . .” And he kissed her again, thereby shocking himself.

  When, after several blissful seconds, his hand moseyed over to one of Marjorie’s enticing breasts—the breasts he hadn’t noticed until this very night, the more fool he—and she gasped, Jason brought himself up short.

  What the devil was he thinking?

  He wasn’t thinking at all, was what the matter was.

  What was he doing?

  He was fondling one of Marjorie MacTavish’s breasts.

  At once he removed his hand. Sucking in a huge breath, he then uttered a bald-faced lie. “I’m sorry, Marjorie.” He wasn’t sorry. What he was, was intensely frustrated. What he wanted to do was rip that damned robe off her body and ravish her. Right here. Right now. On the damned kitchen floor if he had to.

  “Dinna be sorry,” she whispered, thereby robbing him of breath. “It’s all right.”

  Damned if it was. This was especially true since Jason had just recollected that he wouldn’t have to use the floor because Marjorie now slept in a room only a few feet away from them. He almost wished he hadn’t remembered.

  “No.” His voice was ragged. “It’s not all right.” With almost savage force, he tore himself away from her. It hurt. “I’m acting like a damned wretch.”

  Was that disappointment he saw in her eyes? Good God, he was losing his mind. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Jason turned away, fearing that if he kept looking at her his resolve to remain a gentleman would crumble.

  Silence issued from Marjorie. It worried him. Greatly daring, he turned halfway around and peeked at her. There she stood, looking totally bewildered, and so lovely he could hardly stand it. He steeled himself against his intense attraction to her. “Um . . .” But he didn’t know what to say. They probably ought to discuss the Jia Lee situation, but at the moment, Jason wished Jia Lee to the devil.

  Marjorie shook her head once, sharply, as if to rid it of detritus, and spoke. Her voice was stronger than it had been. “Would you care for some hot cocoa?”

  The question was so utterly prosaic and so far removed from everything Jason had been thinking and feeling that it jarred him into a semblance of sanity. “Cocoa?” He shook his own head, although it still felt moderately fuzzy. “What the devil would I want cocoa for?”

  That did the trick. In an instant, Marjorie transformed from an angelic creature out of his most soul-satisfying dreams and back into a prim Scottish former stewardess. “I have’na notion. But I thought it wuid be polite to ask, you bluidy contentious nyaff.”

  And with that, she turned on her heel, went into her bedroom, and pulled the door after her with such force that Jason braced himself for a slam. She caught it just before it could waken the whole household and shut it quietly.

  When he heard the key turning in the lock, Jason felt as if he’d just lost his one true friend.

  “Ah, hell.” With that, he sank onto a kitchen chair, folded his arms on the table, placed his head on his arms . . . and wished he had a nice, hot cup of cocoa to drink.

  # # #

  An abbreviated, but hideously loud, screech awakened Marjorie from a troubled slumber the next morning. Fearing another attack on Jia Lee, she stumbled out of bed, grabbed her robe, and dashed for the door while still trying to put it on. Then she grasped the doorknob, gave the door a mighty push, and ended up mashing her nose against it. She’d forgotten all about having locked it the night before.

  “Confound it,” she mumbled, turning the key and rubbing her nose, praying it wasn’t broken or bleeding or anything else of a like nature. Her cheek took that opportunity to twinge, reminding her that she was already injured. Stupid day. Stupid door. Stupid Jason Abernathy.

  And, more than anything else, stupid Marjorie.

  She finally emerged from her room, rumpled, grumpy, and sore, to find Mrs. Brandeis lavishing adoration upon Jason. Apparently, she’d been the one who’d screeched, when she’d discovered Jason in the kitchen.

  Marjorie frowned at the scene. “What the deuce is going on?” Her tone was sharp enough to pierce Jason Abernathy’s black heart.

  He glanced over at her and grinned. “You look like the wrath of God, Marjorie. You should have let me tend to that cheek last night. And what happened to your nose?”

  To the devil with sharp voices; Marjorie was going to use a butcher knife. She stamped over to the stove, where she’d set a kettle the night before in preparation for the morning’s tea. “You don’t look so chipper yourself, Dr. Abernathy.” Her growl seemed to startle Mrs. Brandeis, who glanced at her quickly then glanced away again.

  “Probably not.” Jason rose and stretched. “I slept at the kitchen table.”

  After lighting the burner under the kettle, Marjorie turned, crossed her arms over her bosom—that same bosom Jason had lavished so much gentle and tender attention upon only a few hours earlier—and glowered at him. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Oh, Miss MacTavish,” said Mrs. Brandeis, interrupting, which was most unlike her. Marjorie supposed she’d done it to
avert an all-out battle in her kitchen. “Dr. Abernathy said that some awful ruffians came to the house last night and broke in.”

  “Aye, I know it. It was those men who hit me and injured my cheek.” She rubbed her cheek. It was very sore. So was the inside of her mouth. So was her nose. Stupid door.

  “My goodness gracious sakes alive!” Mrs. Brandeis dropped the pot she’d been holding. It crashed onto the stove with a frightful noise.

  Marjorie winced and repressed the urge to punch Mrs. Brandeis on the jaw. It was rare for her to harbor violent impulses, but so far this morning, she’d fancied murdering Jason and knocking out Mrs. Brandeis. What’s more, she’d enjoyed doing both. She wondered who would be next.

  As if in answer to her unspoken question, Loretta appeared at the kitchen door, a baby in each arm and a huge grin on her face. “Good morning, all!” she cried in an ungodly cheerful voice. “My goodness, what a crowd!”

  Marjorie scowled at her.

  Jason got up and went over to take a baby from her arms. “Hello there, Oliver, old man. How are you today?”

  The baby burped in his face.

  “That’s Olivia,” said Loretta.

  “Olivia, I mean.” He turned to Loretta, “You’ll be able to tell ‘em apart pretty soon.”

  “I already can,” Loretta informed him pertly.

  Marjorie wished they’d all go away and be happy somewhere else. All this jolliness was making her queasy. Unless that was pain from her nose and cheek. And heart.

  Mrs. Brandeis said, “Oh, Mrs. Quarles, you’ll never believe what happened here last night!”

  Spotting Marjorie, still standing like a statue of injured dignity before the stove, Loretta gasped. “Marjorie! What happened to your poor face?” She rushed over to her.

  And, to her absolute humiliation, Marjorie burst into tears. Loretta was so kind to her. And Marjorie was such a miserable, wretched, unworthy specimen of womankind; and the previous night had been so horrible and frightening, and had ended with such a stupendous kiss that Marjorie knew she’d taken much too seriously because nothing Jason Abernathy ever did was serious; and she was so very unhappy about it all, that she couldn’t hold her misery and indignation and confusion inside of herself another single second.