Chapter Two
Marlowe
“Did you hear that?” Marlowe’s mother asked, moving toward him.
“No. I didn’t hear anything.” Except he had totally heard that strange, high-pitched, unmistakably feminine Eep. But he certainly didn’t want his mother to know that. Nor did he want his mother to investigate. There were only two possible outcomes should she decide to do so.
One. She’d find a woman and have gossip for the entire house party because what was a woman doing hiding away from the ball?
Two. She’d find a woman and force her into becoming his wife.
Marlowe shuddered, recalling the one ominous threat from this most recent conversation with his mother that he could only pray the hiding woman hadn’t heard.
“Find yourself a wife or I will.”
Admittedly, he had put off wife-securing for as long as he could. His mother was right. It was time, at four and thirty, to grin and bear marriage to a woman who would bear him an heir.
But…given his parents’ relationship, he had no aspirations to pursue an arrangement purely for convenience’s sake.
“Are you sure you didn’t hear anything?” His mother narrowed her eyes at him.
“It was probably a mouse.”
With that revolting idea, her body was already halfway through the doorframe as she called out over her shoulder, “Say no more. I’m going inside.”
Now. As for that mouse.
A lady hiding in the bushes was a curious thing. Definitely worth investigating.
Marlowe set his glass on the ground and smoothly glided down the steps. With a quick turn, he was face to face—well, now…that was odd.
Where he should have been face to face, he was instead face to book.
“Excuse me, might I—”
“It’s ruined,” the voice hissed behind the book. “Absolutely ruined. I can’t believe you could be so careless as to toss such a destructive liquid upon my treasured—”
Using his index finger, Marlowe tapped the top of the book that was covering the woman’s face and nudged it downward, only to be greeted by a spectacular sight.
Being the charmer that he was, he had served as a magnet to women over the years. It was almost a party trick, the amount of women who would flock to him each night. So, for his mind to stutter to a stop at the mere sight of a woman’s eyes was… Well, it was simply unheard of.
A light lavender blue that had the most spellbinding effect on him, like they were sucking him in.
Like he wanted to drink from them…which was a most bizarre thought.
His heart—which he had never quite thought was dead, just more asleep than anything—thumped loudly.
Like feet hitting the floor upon waking up.
“You have the most beautiful eyes—”
“Stop that right now.” In a swatting-like motion that was completely clumsy, but given the tight quarters, perhaps forgivable, she waved at his finger still attached to the book, not quite touching him.
Her terse words yanked him out of the depths his mind had strangely fallen into.
Recoiling his fingers, he started again, “Your eyes.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not touching your book.” He felt like an impetuous child just uttering the defensive words.
“Not the book.” She pulled it closer to her chest, despite its wetness, and Marlowe’s mind started to take in the rest of her—now bedraggled—appearance.
Clumps of soaking-wet hair plastered to her face, framing it oddly but adorably.
Droplets still meandered down her neck, and then he couldn’t help wondering what wetness lay behind the book pressed to her breasts.
And given the right conditions and permissions what wetness he might find between her legs—
“Well, the book, too. Don’t touch it.” Her fingers were nearly as white as the half moon in the night sky, she was gripping it so tightly. “But also, don’t talk about my eyes. Don’t try to distract me.”
“Distract you? From what?”
“From berating you for your imbecilic actions—”
“Now wait a minute—”
“You threw a deplorable liquid on me. Possibly poisonous, given your reaction to tasting—”
“You mean the water?”
“‘Water’?” She shook her head, flinging tiny droplets outward. One fell on his lip. When he licked it off, he caught her eyes on his mouth. “No. I should think not.” But her bravado had dipped.
“It was water.”
“That cannot be so. You were disgusted—”
“Of course I was disgusted. No one should be drinking water at a ball when there are far better beverages.”
“And you think it’s all right to just toss water over the terrace when… When…”
“When what?” His feet, with a mind of their own, inched closer to her.
So close that he was hovering over her now.
Her breasts—should she breathe deeply enough—would graze his body.
Then, either to lightly trap her or to prevent himself from touching her, he placed his palms above her head on the stone wall.
“When there could be a beautiful woman hiding against the walls of my home instead of inside, where she should be during a house party ball?”
“Precisely. I’m so glad you can see my point.
” She made an exceptionally weak attempt to duck under his arm.
More or less, she leaned her head and wiggled her shoulder awkwardly, assuming he would move for her.
Obviously, her motive here was to avoid touching him at all costs.
“If you’ll just excuse me now. I must freshen up.
” She jutted out her chin, still clutching her book.
And though he wanted to keep her under the sheltering dome of his arms, he let her go. That is, until she tripped on her own feet.