Page 4 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)
Bolts of lightning slashed the sky in the distance. No drop of rain fell, but judging from the direction of the wind, the storm would soon hit Newport-on-Tay.
“Marcus.” Trevor entered the room, wearing his riding habit. “Welcome.”
“Trevor.” He shook hands with him.
“Care for a repast?” Trevor sat on the sofa, crossing his arms behind his head. “I’ve been out riding all day, and I’m famished.”
“The new purebred?”
Trevor’s face brightened. He looked like Emma—same blond hair and hazel eyes—but with an air of mischief she lacked.
“You should see him,” Trevor said. “Such strong muscles and perfect lines. I love that horse more than people, and I’m not ashamed to say it.”
“There aren’t many things you’re ashamed of.”
Trevor laughed. “You’re right.”
Not even with Trevor, did Marcus find himself completely at ease, and it wasn’t Trevor’s fault. He’d been nothing but kind to Marcus.
“Have a seat.” Trevor gestured at the armchair. “And tell me something scandalous.”
He shifted his weight, wondering how much that armchair cost. “I don’t know anything scandalous.”
Trevor popped a raspberry into his mouth from a silver tray filled with fresh fruit. “You worked in the houses of the most famous peers in London. You must have learnt a secret or two.”
“Only that Lord Cleath-Smith hasn’t renovated the plumbing in twenty years.”
Trevor threw his head back. “Boring. You’re a nice fella, but you’re too…” He selected another raspberry. “…too innocent and pure. Go out there, steal something, get slapped by a woman, live a little.”
“Getting slapped means to live?”
“Experience, that’s what I mean. Life isn’t only about books and physics. Please sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
He perched on the edge of the armchair. “But physics makes me happy.”
“See what I mean? Who would ever say that? You need to do things you’ll regret later in life. Or the next day.”
“You mean mistakes.”
“Exactly. The currency of a full life.” Trevor smirked.
Feeling so open and outspoken had to be good.
“Hello everyone.” Emma entered the room. Her lovely smile returned as if the exchange in the corridor had never happened.
He stood up and bowed. “My lady.”
She gave him another graceful nod before sitting on the armchair next to him. “Tea?”
Trevor nodded, selecting another raspberry. Marcus nodded, too, before regretting it. There. He regretted things, too.
Stewart served tea and sandwiches, and Marcus couldn’t escape another round of drinking. Served him right.
Emma was watching him but didn’t make any comment on the fact he was drinking tea.
“I was thinking about you the other day, Marcus,” she said.
Trevor frowned and munched on a raspberry slowly.
Marcus couldn’t say anything. She’d been thinking about him! He swallowed hard a morsel of a sandwich.
Emma smiled again. “Papa told me you and your father took care of the renovation of Hart House in London before we met, and that you worked on the window of my bedroom personally.”
“Did I? I mean, I remember working on a bedroom window, but I had no idea it was yours.” Had he known, he would have paid more attention to every detail.
She lifted a shoulder. “Unfortunately, I broke it.”
It shouldn’t hurt, but it did a little.
“I was distraught,” she said. “The window was pretty. An unfortunate incident.”
Trevor arched his brow, eating a sandwich. “Incident?”
Emma flushed a little. “Well, actually I was playing cricket in my bedroom despite Father forbidding me to play. Trevor gave me a fright, and I struck the ball so hard it cracked a corner of the window frame.”
“I had nothing to do with the incident,” Trevor said. “Your fault.”
“My conscience is clean,” Emma said in a playful tone.
“A clean conscience is only a sure sign of bad memory, as Mr. Twain said.” Trevor wiggled his eyebrows.
“Have I ever told you that you’re unbearable?”
“Every Tuesday.”
“I’ll be happy to repair it when I’m in London,” Marcus said when the two siblings stared at each other.
So that was why she’d thought about him. A broken window. He ought to blame himself though. Obviously, nothing about him was sufficiently memorable for her to remember him without breaking something. Their acquaintance had started with a broken music box, after all, and it wasn’t improving.
“That would be lovely. I have my second Season this year…” She lowered her voice. “Papa promised to give me more freedom. I’m nearly twenty. It’s already quite late for a suitor. So I want that crack to go away.”
“What does a crack on the window have to do with your next Season?” Trevor asked.
She brushed a curl from her face. “I want everything to be perfect. And Papa hopes I’ll find a good match. He said the Season is too stressful for him.”
“Because he has to deal with all your suitors,” Trevor said.
Marcus’s stomach churned. He was certain this Season would be her last. She would have a crowd of suitors from the best families in London, ready to propose, and she would be married within a year. He had more chances of having tea with the queen than courting Emma.
If only everything were as easy to repair as a window.