Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Marjorie gazed over at Alfie, her eyes tracing his face for any sign of panic or fear. She felt the tension rippling down his shoulder and forearm, yet he didn't pause.

With another glance behind her shoulder, she was surprised to see Hollyvale slowly grow smaller behind them as they weaved through the gardens, heading deeper into the park. A lot of the flowers were spent, yet another sign of autumn well on its way. But the sun was warm on her skin, the air heavy with the scent of earth and leaves and a slight hint of burned sugar.

Her body still buzzed, and she was certain she had a heavy blush on her cheeks from the mere memory of that balcony and how Alfie had moved over her, desperate and hungry.

Alfie cleared his throat as if returning from a daze and pulling them both to a stop. "I should apologize."

She tilted her head, studying his face. She loved the way his short curls piled on top of his head, the sun streaking gold and weaving through.

"We can return," she started. "If it's too much. I am already so proud."

He shook his head. "No, it's not that." He held his hand out and ran it through her hair, capturing a small lock between his thumb and forefinger. "You're here," he whispered, reverence heavy in his voice.

She nodded.

"And we are walking the park as if?—"

"Like we always did."

"Would you like to go on the rowboat on the pond? Like we used to."

Marjorie couldn't shake the memory of his fingers on her, the feel of his tongue against her until she fell apart beneath him. Capable and handsome.

She spun out of his touch and backed up a step, before throwing her arms wide and tilting her face up toward the sun.

"I want to remember you like that, forever."

She opened one eye, smiling at him, certain she was more than a little in love with him. The excitement of it coursed through her. She had a confession of her own—she wanted to remember the look in his eyes watching her now. Marjorie felt the tension simmer between them, before spinning on her heels and taking off through the field, her hands brushing against the last color flush of wildflowers before the cold settled in.

"You don't think I'll chase after you?" he called out.

The pond came into view, sitting at the bottom of a large hill and surrounded by a group of old oak and elm trees. And to the left, a small stone folly that his father had turned into a glass house. Marjorie darted over, attempting to open the doors, but they wouldn't budge.

"Jo."

She startled, surprised at how quickly he caught up to her. "It's locked. I haven't been inside in… years."

He bent around her to an old terracotta pot by the peeling celadon door, the tangled snarls of rosemary brown and silver from years of neglect. The brittle leaves rattled and fell as the pot tipped over with a soft thud on the landing, and Alfie stood with a key clutched in his hand.

Marjorie plucked the key out of his hand and slipped it into the lock, frustrated when it didn't budge. She pushed against it, but the door stubbornly refused to open. She felt the heat rolling off his body before Alfie's arms reached around her, so close.

"Allow me," he whispered, his lips ghosting by her ear as his chest brushed against her back.

A soft rush of air left her lips as he caged himself around her, opening the door with a push, and suddenly she was hit with a wall of memories of when they were younger.

The folly still smelled the same, of earth and geraniums and apples. The wild flush of roses that climbed along the wide bank of windows overlooking the pond were long past now. She stepped inside, her slippers scuffing against the stone floor. The cushions and blanket were still where she had stacked them for the last time they rowed on the pond, folded in the corner by an old trunk. And beside that, a pile of books and an old top hat and scarf.

She walked to the small desk in the corner, tracing her fingertips through the thick layer of dust. The taper candle was still half burned, unmoved, perched beside an old journal of hers. This had always been her favorite hideaway. She remembered afternoons spent here in the summer with Alfie, Percy, Harry, and Emily. Before Emily fell ill with smallpox.

"You haven't changed a thing." She glanced over her shoulder to find Alfie standing behind her, his hands stuffed into his pockets, studying her intently.

He cleared his throat, and whatever dreamy look had washed over his face, it disappeared. All these years and it was as though he had stopped time at Hollyvale, waiting.

Her heart ached all over.

One can't wait on ghosts, and Harry and his father were never returning. Emily would never again be the young girl who climbed trees and fought bravely against Harry, the pirate king.

Those were memories now. The ones she weaved into her manuscripts when it was early in the morning, and the world was quiet, and her heart was sad.

"I kept everything as you liked."

She nodded, stepping away from the small desk to the bed tucked into the back corner. Marjorie flopped onto the dusty mattress, grinning foolishly to herself as she gazed up at the ceiling and discovered the mural that she and Alfie had painted remained.

"It is no wonder you are a duke and I am an authoress because our painting leaves something much to be desired."

"Dukes can be a great many things."

She pushed up onto her elbows, meeting his stare once again. Something about being in this folly made her feel… Well, it was as if she were walking back into time all the while knowing she was no longer that young girl. She was trapped in another body entirely and governed by a mind that had lived lifetimes.

Marjorie was no longer the quiet country girl, nor was she the quiet wallflower of London. She very well was an author with a pet raven who trudged around the countryside in the early morning to catch a glimpse of the sunrise. There were so many pieces of who she was, and it felt as though none of them fit with him watching her.

"Then what are you, Alfie? A brilliant mind with a kind heart? A scholar of Greek mythology and purveyor of antique maps? A formidable duke who carefully builds his empire?"

He glanced down toward the floor, fighting back a grin.

"I don't know at the moment who I am. But I do know I am glad to see you here again."

"I can't stay," she said quietly, half warning him.

"I'm not asking you to."

"Then what are you asking me, Alfie? These past few days have been a whirlwind, and I am sure it has been as overwhelming for you as it has been for me."

"Overwhelming?" he chuckled. "Am I so much…"

She shook her head, pushing up to her hands to sit on the bed. "No, that is the strangest of all. Not too much. I saw you this morning, and I thought it was how it always should have been. You are… perfect."

He scratched his jaw, wriggling his eyebrows. "Let's take the boat out on the pond."

From the moment she climbed through his window, Alfie had admonished any negative thoughts she had about herself, yet he couldn't accept her compliment.

Marjorie grabbed the cushions and blankets and followed him outside to the small rowboat stored beneath a large oak. He readied the boat, then helped her climb in as he pushed off from shore.

She reclined and gazed up at the clouds, smiling to herself as she spotted one that looked like a dragon. It had been their favorite game when they were younger.

"Should I recite some poetry or…"

"Oh, heavens, no," she laughed. "I was beginning to like you."

He knocked his hand against the bottom of her slipper before pulling her feet into his lap. A deep, warm chuckle radiated from his chest. Marjorie rolled her head to meet his unwavering stare.

"Only beginning to like me?"

She didn't miss the roughness in his voice, echoing the stubble shadowing his jaw.

Her heart went up like dry kindling at his smile, and in between the rush of excitement and giddy pleasure of knowing she had his attention, she withdrew her foot from his hands and sat up. "You have your merits."

"You go away to London and return a flirt."

"Is that an accusation, Your Grace?"

"Call me that one more time…"

She leaned forward in her seat, her fingers gripping so hard her knuckles were white, waiting. "What?"

A slow, wicked grin tipped the corner of his mouth, and he reached for her, snatching her up and into his arms. Marjorie squeaked and squirmed, playfully wriggling away as he bent down and whispered into her ear, "I'll find something else for that mouth of yours to do."

Her pulse thrummed against her chest as she drew back, attempting to mask the anticipation coursing through her body. But instead of pulling away, she reached out with two fingers and placed them under his chin, tipping his face up to hers.

"You accuse me of flirting, Alfie. But that sounded like a promise."

He growled.

Alfred Renwick, the Duke of Abinger, growled at her. Goodness.

Pleased with herself, she attempted to slip away only for his hand to reach for her waist, but her foot caught on the hem of her dress, and she fell toward the side of the rowboat.

It happened in a blink. He reached for her as the boat tipped to the side, but it was too late. Alfie and Marjorie splashed into the pond as cushions and blankets rained down around them, and a cool wind shifted through the trees.

"Alfie!" she cried, slapping her hand against the water.

He popped up a moment later through the surface, his curls now plastered flat over his head, giving him a rather rakish appearance. "Good day for a swim."

"We wouldn't be in the pond if it weren't for you." She couldn't even pretend to be mad. Laughter slowly unfurled itself from her chest.

He hauled her against him, the two of them kicking to stay afloat. She leaned her head against his shoulder, unable to stop laughing.

"I wouldn't be out here in the pond if it weren't for you," he whispered, cupping her cheek gently.

"In time, yes. I believe that. It has nothing to do with?—"

Alfie kissed her cheek, swimming them a little closer to shore. "It has everything to do with you, Jo. It always has. And my life has been all the better for it."

"You can't say something like that…"

"I can." He stood on the soft, mucky bottom of the pond now, and like he always had, he scooped his hand under her legs to pick her up, so she didn't need to touch the bottom of the pond. She never cared for the feeling. "And I'm going to remind you every damn day of my life if you'll allow it."

* * *

Marjorie jumped from the chair to the mattress, wearing her shift as candlelight flickered across the small glass house. She popped another grape into her mouth and crunched down before swinging her arms out wide,

"Do not test me," she declared, peeking a glance down at Alfie, then continuing the villain's speech.

He flashed her another grin as she squinted down at an old journal of hers—the scribblings of a girl with big dreams always tumbling around in her head.

"I can't read this next part…"

Alfie sat reclined back against the headboard with his legs crossed, his shirt still off from swimming hours ago. And since then, they had shared a picnic here, and Marjorie was in the middle of a dramatic reading of an old short story if only she could concentrate.

She couldn't.

Scientifically impossible, she determined. Struck and lovesick of the handsome man grinning up at her. She tossed her long hair back over her shoulder and cleared her throat before she continued. Alfie tugged at her ankle until she fell back onto the bed opposite him.

"Couldn't take it anymore, I understand." Marjorie wiggled her eyebrows, then tossed the journal to the floor.

"I haven't been in here for years." He traced soft, slow circles over her shin. "I've missed you, too."

She nodded, swallowing hard. Something about this was suddenly no longer playful. The air buzzed with tension between them, the only thing filling up the silence now was her heartbeat, thrumming in her ears and the soft rain falling against the glass.

The smile slipped from his face, and when he glanced up at her again, she swore her future burned bright there in his eyes. More moments like this, stolen and quiet. Comfortable and full of an unspoken understanding.

His hand slid down over the top of her foot, and he moved his other hand to her heel. His fingers began working over her flesh, and she moaned, slipping down onto her elbows.

"Does that feel good?"

Words escaped her, so she nodded.

"Do you realize I could listen to you read for hours? But that soft moan of yours… I would crawl over broken glass for it to be the last sound I hear before I die."

Marjorie collapsed back onto the mattress, closing her eyes to the pleasure of his touch. Firm, warm fingers.

"Make it again for me, hmm?"

His hands released her left foot and reached for her right. But instead of listening, she protested, forcing out a small grunt until his hands were back on her.

"Greedy, aren't you, Jo?"

"Friends share, Alfie." She pressed her bottom into the mattress, rolling her head to meet his heated stare.

"What I'm about to do to you isn't what friends do."

"No?" Anticipation raced up her spine.

He dropped her foot and crawled over her, covering her body with his. "I'm going to make you mine, and I don't intend to share. Fair warning."

"Now you sound like a duke."

He bent his head and raked his teeth over her exposed shoulder. Another breathy moan escaped her.

"Comes with the territory. And based on your pulse at the bottom of your throat, I'm guessing you enjoy it when I tell you what's going to happen."

"Are you teasing me?" The words skipped out of her mouth as his tongue traced up the line of her throat.

"Never about you. We can stop whenever you'd like, sweet. But let me taste you again, let me?—"

She nodded before he could finish, raking her fingertips through his hair to draw him in for a kiss. Her lips searched his, desperate suddenly to feel more. She wanted everything with Alfie.

He broke their kiss at last, the two of them struggling to catch their breath. He whispered against her ear, "Do you want that, too, sweet?"

For a writer, she suddenly was at a loss for words. Instead, she rolled to her side and pulled at his buckskins, frustrated suddenly there was so much between them.

He gripped her hand, stalling her progress. "I don't intend to rush this. Let me make this feel pleasurable for you. I…" He drew her hand up to his mouth and dropped a chaste kiss on the back of it, nearly making her dizzy. "I crave to bring you pleasure, Jo. Always."

She rolled to her knees and stood on them, towering over Alfie as he lay back on the bed. She noted the panic flashing in his eyes before she grabbed the hem of her shift and pulled it slowly over her body. Marjorie didn't break eye contact, even when she heard his soft gasp and tossed the shift to the floor of the glass house.

He could have her. Her heart. Her future.

She was his.