Chapter Twenty-Six
It had been the maid, of course.
She had heard Scarlett crying out, she claimed, and worried she had hurt her ankle again.
Scarlett had answered the door, only opening it a tiny crack so that the girl could not see into the room, and told her that she had only had a nightmare.
An ironic excuse, really. Scarlett had never been so awake.
After that, Malcolm had left as quickly and discreetly as possible.
That had been three days ago now. She had seen him since, at dinner and on excursions with the rest of the party, but they had quietly agreed it was too risky to meet in their rooms like that again. Not with the maid still in attendance.
The maid didn’t seem like a naturally suspicious girl; rather, just good-natured and irritatingly diligent when it came to her duties.
Scarlett would have preferred to repeat her experience with Malcolm again, of course, but she also needed the time to process what had occurred.
She had expected to enjoy bedding him, but she hadn’t anticipated the extent.
The way he had fit inside her, the way he had made her feel.
Lying with him—before, during, and after their coupling—was the most intimate, pleasurable experience of her life.
And it made her sad to think of how seldom it could be repeated.
She didn’t even know if they would be able to find the privacy to be together again during the few remaining days of the house party.
She had learned so much about Mr. Malcolm Brown.
It had surprised her that he also thought he would never marry.
He did not think himself capable of making a woman happy.
The irony, of course, was she thought his wife would be one of the luckiest women in England.
More than once, she had found herself regretting that her courses had arrived.
Would she still reject his offer of marriage if he made it now?
Even if it were just a matter of honor to him?
Would she have the strength to deliver that no she had once given him? She had her doubts.
“Scarlett?” She turned toward Tilly’s voice.
She was in Tilly and Vera’s room, preparing for the ball that was to be held tonight. Vera, however, was convalescing in a private parlor that Mrs. Salisbury had made over for her exclusive use. Vera often wanted to lie in a quiet, dark space, and their room here was very bright.
The ball tonight was to be, of course, the crown jewel of their entertainment at Parkhorne Hall, as balls always were at house parties.
It marked that only seven days remained and that it was drawing to a close.
Mrs. Salisbury had invited all her friends and acquaintances from the surrounding neighborhood, so it would approach something like the smaller balls they attended in London.
“Yes?”
Scarlett was supposed to be focused on Tilly—but she had been daydreaming and gazing, almost morosely, she was sure, out the window.
“You seem distracted,” Tilly said, her expression pensive. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” Scarlett said, smiling. “I was only thinking of how much is about to change.”
Tilly had yet to tell her she was engaged to George, which continued to surprise Scarlett.
“What do you mean?” Tilly said, looking away from her and back to the glass.
“Well, the house party is almost at an end. You’ll be engaged to George soon, I should expect. Then there will be a wedding to plan.”
“Yes, of course. It will be a big change,” Tilly said, without much feeling.
She looked at herself in the glass and frowned, then moved to smooth her hair afresh.
“We have always lived together, Tilly. It will be a big change for me as well as you.”
Scarlett knew she shouldn’t say such things.
In all of their years together as sisters, Scarlett had always been the responsible older sister, the one guiding and prioritizing Tilly, and she didn’t make herself or her own feelings the younger girl’s concern.
But given the large change that was to come to their relationship, Scarlett couldn’t let it go unacknowledged—that her life was about to take a turn as well.
“I am sorry to leave you with Mother,” Tilly said softly. “It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Oh, that’s not what I meant.”
Tilly made a sour little face, which Scarlett had only ever seen her direct at Mrs. Perkins. It was the kind of face that one could only make regarding one’s parent.
“She is so quarrelsome—and judgmental,” Tilly said. “I love her, of course, but she doesn’t always make for the best companion.”
“Vera suits me very well as a companion. I just meant that I’ll miss you, Tilly,” Scarlett said. “We’ve never been apart.”
Tilly nodded. “I know.”
There was no denying it. Her sister was acting a bit strange. Usually, Tilly’s emotions were irrepressible, both the good and the bad. And Scarlett knew she must feel some genuine sadness at the prospect of parting from her. But she seemed muted, as if communicating with her from a distance.
Her sister turned back to the glass.
“I need my sash. I think the housekeeper should be done ironing it by now—I’ll go retrieve it.”
“No, please, let me. You stay here and rest before the party. You’ll be dancing all the night, and you’ll need your strength.”
Her sister nodded wanly, and Scarlett bustled from the room.
She was concerned for her sister, although perhaps not as concerned as she would be if she did not have her own affairs occupying her mind.
However, she had to admit that a change in attitude on her sister’s part was not, perhaps, the most surprising turn of events.
She was on the precipice of the most monumental decision a young lady could make.
It wasn’t shocking that she would be contemplative.
And yet she was not convinced that was the bottom of the matter.
She was lost in these thoughts as she walked down the back staircase of the house. As she rounded the last, she nearly collided with him.
Malcolm.
They were totally alone. No one else was in this particular hallway, which led out to one of the common areas.
“Good evening.” A smile that made her feel dangerous things curled onto his face.
He was already in his ball finery. Even though for gentlemen, evening wear wasn’t that different than for balls, she could still see he had dressed a cut above his usual dinner suit.
“You find yourself more prepared for the ball than me—I haven’t yet dressed.”
“No?”
“No. I will shortly. When I go back upstairs. I am merely going to retrieve Tilly’s sash from the housekeeper.”
“Ah. Then I shouldn’t keep you.”
“No, I suppose you shouldn’t.”
Nevertheless, neither of them moved.
He stared down at her. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you,” he whispered. “Should I not say such things?”
“No,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as high and fluttery to him as it did to her. “You may. I have been thinking of you, too, I mean. Thinking about it. You. Us.”
She was babbling, practically. But he merely gave her another one of those bone-melting smiles.
“I can’t stop fantasizing about when next we’ll be able to steal a moment like it,” Malcolm said. “Even though I have no idea when or even how such a thing might occur.”
“I-I feel the same.”
He leaned in toward her now. It wouldn’t be anything, she realized, for him to kiss her. He merely needed to step forward. As she had the thought, he did that very action, and she arched up to meet him—
Footsteps crossed the threshold, and he jerked back.
Panicked, she turned toward the door, trying to make it seem as if they had merely been conversing.
“Well, well, Malcolm,” the Marchioness of Leith said, crossing her arms. “What an interesting tête-à-tête I find you in.”
“Beatrice,” he growled. “Is there something you need?”
She tutted and turned to Scarlett. “Do you see how shamefully he addresses his sister? I don’t believe you have any brothers, Miss Perkins, but I have the unique gift of possessing four. And they speak to you so scandalously at times that it makes one long for more sisters.”
Scarlett was so tongue-tied that she hardly knew what to say. She could feel that her face had gone crimson, which must appear to the marchioness like a glaring sign of guilt.
“And yet here I am,” Malcolm retorted, seemingly truly annoyed, “wishing I had fewer sisters at this very moment. How curious.”
Scarlett stifled a laugh. She had no idea how to behave in this scenario.
Yes, she had known Lady Leith was his sister, and she had seen her mischievous side throughout the house party.
But she hadn’t understood that he addressed his sister so freely.
Scarlett was not used to interacting regularly with high-ranking people.
Yes, she attended some balls and parties and public amusements where the aristocracy sometimes made appearances.
But the society her family circulated in most intimately was not that of lords and ladies, but respectable merchants and the minor landed gentry and their various associates.
“I am merely walking through my home, Malcolm,” she replied tartly. “I have not come to seek you out for anything. Although I might advise you to find a more discreet place for your tryst. Or else you risk scandalizing someone much more innocent than myself.”
“Your home?” Malcolm bit back. “I thought it was George’s home. And that you have an enormous townhouse in London, a large country seat called Leith Manor, and another property just down the road.”
“My ancestral home, then, if you are being particular.”
“And I am merely speaking to Miss Perkins. We are not engaged in a tryst. Just because of your rank, Bea, you can’t get away with saying whatever you want. It isn’t fair.”
Lady Leith once more turned to Scarlett. “Please don’t think I would ever be indiscreet. I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”
It was strange, Scarlett thought. She was intimidated by the marchioness, but she did have the sense that she could trust her.
Then the meaning of her words sank in and Scarlett’s stomach lurched. Surely Malcolm hadn’t told his sister, a marchioness, about what they had done the other night in the hunting lodge—
“You don’t know anything,” Malcolm bit back.
“I know, just by looking at the two of you, that you are more to each other than common acquaintances. I see how he looks at you, Miss Perkins—and I only hope you find some way to turn it to your advantage. God knows that he needs to be good and properly ruined by a woman.”
“Bea, enough,” Malcolm ground out.
“Ugh! Don’t get into a lather, Malcolm, before the ball. You look so kempt in your evening clothes. I wouldn’t want to spoil it.”
With that, she glided up the stairs without another word.
When she was gone, Scarlett looked up at Malcolm. “Should I be concerned?”
“No,” he grumbled. “She just delights in being a pain in the arse.”
“Still, she is a marchioness, and she nearly caught us kissing—”
“Beatrice doesn’t care about that,” he said, with a shake of his head.
“She and her husband did far more than kiss before their marriage, I can tell you. And he wasn’t the first fellow that she …
well, let’s just say there is a libertine streak in my family, and Severn isn’t my only sibling who inherited it from my father. ”
Scarlett’s mouth fell open. She had no idea that a lady could conduct herself in such a way and still be accepted in polite society—or become a marchioness, for that matter.
“Forget Beatrice,” he said. “I will see you tonight. Perhaps we can find a, uh, moment alone.”
“Will you dance with me?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt so deeply childish that she wanted to expire of mortification.
Dance? Truly? As if she were a bright-eyed innocent and not a full-grown woman who had been moaning on this man’s cock three nights ago?
He gave a little cough and blanched. “Perhaps.”
Now, she truly wanted to die. He didn’t want to dance with her. In fact, it occurred to her that he probably did not care for dancing. Or maybe he didn’t want to advertise their connection so loudly.
But then, without warning, his lips were on hers, and those thoughts were gone—because she was kissing him back. He pressed her against the wall, his hands at her waist, and she drank in the warm, strong promise of him.
Just as quickly, he pulled back.
In his absence, she felt empty, bereft.
“I just had to do that,” he said. “While I had the chance.”
He nodded and then retreated, retracing the steps that had led him to the stairs in the first place.
For a moment, Scarlett couldn’t think of why she was standing in this hallway. Who was she? What was her name? What was she supposed to have been doing? For a fleeting second, she had no answer to these questions.
All she could think about were green eyes, warm lips, and the strong hands that had been on her waist seconds before.
But then she remembered. Tilly’s sash. The housekeeper. The ball. Her sister’s betrothal—not to be secret for much longer.
She hurried off then and retrieved the sash without encountering anyone else.
She returned the way she had come, mounted the steps, and approached Tilly’s room.
Before the door, however, she pulled to a stop, because it was just barely ajar and she heard fevered, whispered voices from inside.
“If you think I am going to sit here, Tilly, and watch you pledge yourself to another man—”
“Stop, Severn. It’s no use.”
“You’re mad. You’re mad to think that.”
And then Severn Westmore, the brother of her sister’s betrothed, began kissing her sister. Passionately. And—Scarlett had to admit—it looked as if he had done it before.
More than once.
Tilly didn’t push him away.
Instead, she let him kiss her, her hands intertwining behind his neck.
And Scarlett resolved that she had definitely seen enough.
She pushed open the door and they broke apart instantly.
Scarlett pushed the door closed behind her.
“What in the devil are you two doing?” she hissed. Neither of them looked at her or at each other. When the silence stretched on, Scarlett found herself increasingly annoyed. “Am I going to be given the privilege of an answer?” she finally demanded.
Tilly looked up at her, her chin trembling.
“It’s nothing, Scarlett! We were just arguing—”
“And kissing,” Scarlett finished.
Tilly cringed, her expression saying quite clearly that she hoped her sister hadn’t seen that.
“Please do not worry, Miss Perkins,” Severn growled, his usually cool, rakish features completely transformed into an expression of—well, it could only be called anguish.
“Your sister has made perfectly clear that she intends to wed my brother. I merely came to say goodbye and wish her joy. If you will excuse me.”
And with that, he swept from the room, the door banging behind him.