Page 7 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)

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Emma swallowed, staring at the closed door of her bedroom. What was Trevor doing here? He’d gone to bed a long time ago. He shouldn’t still be up and about.

“Emma,” Marcus whispered. He sounded both panicked and angry.

“One moment,” she said aloud, dropping the screw again. “Quick, under the bed.” She waved at Marcus.

He scowled. “Seriously?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Now we agree,” he said.

“Go, go.” She stood up and straightened her gown as Marcus squeezed his large build under the bed, scoffing. When he disappeared completely, she opened the door. “What is it?”

Trevor walked in, hands in the pockets of his dressing gown. “Nice to see you, too. Why do you say that in such a rude tone?”

“I’m not being rude.”

Trevor sat on the bed and bounced on it once. “I just wanted to know how you were faring.”

“Spectacularly.” She picked up the blasted screw.

“You broke something else.” Trevor tsk-tsked. “Your touch is a curse.”

“It’s not broken. It’s the pilot that…the screw that left the hole.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.” She sat next to him. “Really, what troubles you? Boring conversation? Your conscience doesn’t allow you to sleep?”

“No. My conscience is fine.” He worked his jaw. “And I find it interesting when Sir Albert and Sir Horace talk about the technical part of their work. It’s something else.”

“What?” she prompted.

“Promise me you won’t be upset.”

“How can I? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He lay down, crossing his arms under his head. A soft sound came from under the bed. Likely, the mattress lowered and Marcus got hit by Trevor’s weight. She hid the noise with a cough.

“I had a chat with Father before dinner,” Trevor said. “He asked me a lot of questions about Marcus.”

“Did he?” She propped herself on an elbow. “What did he want to know?”

“My opinion on him, mostly. I told him the truth. Marcus is a bloody good chap, but Father has ideas.”

She stiffened, thinking of Marcus under her bed. “You usually don’t stop talking. Now I have to pull each word out of you. If you don’t want to tell me, don’t.”

“I think Father is considering him as your suitor.”

She sat upright, her face warming. Marcus was right under her bed, listening to every word they said. Did he know that Papa saw him as her suitor?

She wrung her hands. “Maybe we should talk about that another time.”

“I knew it.” Trevor sat up as well. “You’re upset. But don’t worry. I don’t believe Father will make an arranged marriage with Marcus without telling you.”

“No, I’m not worried about that. I’m surprised. That’s all.” And embarrassed.

“I told Father it wasn’t a good idea.”

She gave him a shake of her head to signal him to stop talking.

“I’m glad you agree.” He patted her hand. “Marcus isn’t a good match.”

“No, I…” She rubbed her forehead. What a mess. He’d completely misunderstood her intentions. Although she wasn’t sure what to make of Papa’s idea. “You just said Marcus is a great chap.”

“And I stand by that, but he comes from a different world.”

“Papa doesn’t care. And Mama wasn’t from a noble family.”

“Yes, and see what happened.” Trevor pressed his lips together.

“Grandmother didn’t speak to Papa for years.

She missed our birthdays. The first time I’d met her, I was five.

And some peers, like Lady Eve, didn’t invite us to her parties until I was twelve.

I don’t want the same thing to happen to you. Different worlds, as I said.”

A flare of annoyance bothered her. “You were supposed to marry Ophelia before she broke the engagement.”

It was unfair of her to mention lovely Ophelia, the daughter of a rich trader who had been Trevor’s bride-to-be for a short time. But Ophelia came from a different world as well.

Trevor’s face transformed from slightly concerned to angry. His usual cocksure expression vanished. “Exactly because of my experience with Ophelia, I can tell you that Marcus isn’t right for you.”

“She was lovely.”

“But she broke the engagement. What does that have to do with anything?” He scoffed. “Ophelia and I were different,” he said in a softer, sadder tone.

A few moments of silence passed, and she didn’t want to press her brother further about Ophelia. Thunder roared in the distance, and the bolts of lightning flashed across the room.

“You’re exaggerating,” she said, to break the silence and end the conversation so that Marcus could leave. “Listen, the Season hasn’t started yet, and Papa hasn’t talked to Marcus.”

“When you start a conversation with listen, I get worried.” He frowned. “But if Marcus should propose, what would you say?”

She opened and closed her hands. “It’s too early. I don’t know.”

“Do you fancy him?” Trevor asked. “This morning, you believed he hated you. If I’d asked you about him then, you would have said a resounding no. Why are you so uncertain now?”

“I think I’m tired, and I should go to bed.”

Trevor didn’t stand up. “Would you be happy if he became your suitor? Aren’t you worried about his position in society? Do you want to face what Mama had to?”

“No, I don’t.” She regretted the words immediately; they’d come out unbidden. But they were true.

Mama had suffered from being shunned by many ladies and lords, hurtful comments, and silly jokes.

She’d never complained, but her pain had been clear, and gossip had been brutal for a while.

Emma didn’t want the same fate, but Marcus was hidden under her bed, and he shouldn’t listen to that conversation about himself.

“I’ll do my best to protect you,” Trevor said.

That warmed her heart. “Thank you, but I want to choose by myself as Papa did. He was happy with Mama, no matter what.”

He lowered his gaze as if ashamed, although she wouldn’t know about what.

“Happiness is for fools,” he said. “All the clever people I know are miserable.”

She chuckled. “My brother is back.”

He kissed her forehead before standing up. “Good night.”

She closed the door behind him and exhaled.

“Marcus?” she whispered. “He’s gone.”

Slowly, he slid out of the bed, wincing as his shoulders and back scraped against the bottom side rail. He straightened his jacket and brushed some specks of dust from it.

She stepped closer to him. “I’m sorry for what Trevor said.”

His grey eyes were as stormy as the sky. “There’s no need to apologise, and Trevor cares about you. I understand his worry.”

“It wasn’t nice. You didn’t need to hear that.”

He stood tall and proud in the middle of the room among the booms of the thunder. She had never noticed how majestic his bearing was.

“Think nothing of that.” He bowed formally. “Good night, Emma.”

“Wait, what about the knob?” She didn’t care about the knob at that point, but letting him go while he was so upset didn’t seem right.

“I’d better go before someone else comes here and I hear something I shouldn’t.”

“Please.”

He remained silent for a while, shoulders stooping.

His pose was one she’d seen many times, but now she understood its meaning better.

What she’d thought to be boredom or annoyance was a sense of defeat, resignation.

He had to feel as if he truly came from a different world from her, but that wasn’t true.

The only difference between them was her father’s title.

“I really want to be your friend,” she said. “I want to know you better. Don’t let the chatter of my papa or Trevor change that. Unless you don’t care about me and want to leave.”

A flash flickered across his gaze. He was handsome, and that determined gaze suited him.

“I do care,” he said in that strong voice she liked. “Do you have a pair of small scissors or a letter opener?”

“Here.” She took a letter opener from her escritoire and handed it to him.

He efficiently fixed the knob, using the small point of the letter opener as a screwdriver. She watched him as he focused on the work, his dark eyebrows drawing together. She’d never noticed how a muscle of his jaw tensed when he concentrated on a task.

“Done.” He tugged at the knob. “It might get loose again. It needs to be fixed with a proper screwdriver. This is a temporary solution.”

“Thank you. Really.”

He pulled at his collar.

“We make a good pair,” she said to lighten the mood.

“How?”

“I break things. You fix them.”

He flashed a charming, lopsided smile, but it held sadness. “There are delicate things that can’t be mended and for which a temporary solution isn’t enough.”

“Then I’ll be very careful not to break those things.”

He placed the letter opener on the nightstand. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

He nodded and walked to the door silently.

“You know,” he said before leaving, “I might be harmless, but you’re more dangerous than you think.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she was certain their friendship hadn’t started on the right foot.