Page 8 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)

seven

There was little to no difference between the night sky and the daylight when Marcus finished breakfast in the dining room the next day.

The thunder had boomed through the night, sometimes sounding more distant than others.

Now the storm kept teasing them, roaring on the outskirts of Newport-on-Tay.

The wind had picked up during the night, but still no rain.

Strong gusts shook the tree branches, curving them at odd angles. He worried they might snap.

The sea was so enraged its sprays of foam in the firth could be seen from the window. The Tay Bridge appeared dark and thick against the backdrop of the stormy sky.

Father stood next to him, studying the clouds. “The wind has been blowing for hours. The bridge is under a lot of stress.”

“Are you worried?”

Father scratched his chin. “Horace was the last one to inspect the bridge, and he didn’t find any faults. So no, I’m not worried. I shouldn’t be.”

“May I come with you this morning?” After the conversation he’d overheard between Emma and Trevor, he would rather face a day under the rain than see the two of them.

Not that he expected Trevor to consider him good enough for his sister, but the way they’d talked about him had left a mark. Although if the earl approved of Marcus’s suit and Emma was happy as well, Trevor’s opinion wouldn’t matter.

He exhaled. Who was he fooling? Emma wasn’t interested in him.

“I didn’t expect the weather to get worse when I said you could come.” Father averted his gaze from the bridge. “The inspection is a dangerous business, especially in this weather, and we can’t delay. Besides, this weather is ideal to test the strength of the beams.”

“The earl isn’t going to be in danger, is he? He’ll probably watch the bridge from his carriage while you do the work. I’ll do what he does.”

“Then there would be no point in you coming. You won’t see anything.”

“I want to come with you. It can’t be more dangerous than walking up and down the scaffolding.”

“It can.”

“I can’t stay here.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

He couldn’t tell the whole truth without mentioning Emma inviting him into her bedroom. She would be in trouble if he told everything. And telling Father about Sir Horace’s crass remark about Emma wouldn’t be a good idea either. Father might start an argument with Sir Horace.

Father put a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t speak.”

“I don’t have a lot in common with Lady Emma and Lord Trevor.”

“Nonsense. You’re friends with them. You always say you don’t have anything in common with anyone, but it can’t be true.”

“Let me come with you.”

Father drummed his fingers on the windowsill. “Fine, but if I think it’s too dangerous because of the wind, you’ll get back here immediately.”

“I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

He rushed up the stairs, only to bump into Emma coming down. He hitched a breath. She looked like a rose glittering with morning dew in her pink gown.

Last night, she could have lied, knowing he’d been there, listening, but she’d chosen to tell the truth about not wanting him as her suitor. He appreciated her honesty. That didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt.

He mumbled, “Good morning.”

“Trevor and I are going to the town. Would you like to come with us?” she asked.

Those large eyes would be the death of him.

“I’ll be joining my father to inspect the Tay Bridge.”

“Oh.” She looked genuinely disappointed. “In this weather? We wanted to have tea at the Peacock Tea House. It’s warm and cosy.”

“I’ve never inspected a bridge with my father. And bad weather is part of my job.”

She lowered her eyelashes. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Enjoy your morning.” He went to brush past her, but she stopped him by touching his arm.

“Are you upset about last night?” She waited for a footman to pass before continuing. “We decided to be friends. You would tell me the truth if you were upset, wouldn’t you?”

He wouldn’t lie, but he wouldn’t talk about how hurt he felt just yet. He needed to clear his head and think about something else for a while.

“I promise we’ll talk later. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready.”

He hated the look of disappointment on her face, but the earl had been clear.

Emma had the last word on whether she would accept him.

The fact he kept changing his mind about his feelings, shifting between hopeful and desperate, bothered him to no end.

If only he could choose a frame of mind and stick to it.

When he finally left Thistle Hall in a carriage with Father, Sir Horace, and the earl, his chest became lighter. Not even the howling of the wind and the flashes of lightning concerned him.

“Nervous, Marcus?” the earl asked.

“Eager, sir. I’m looking forward to seeing the bridge and working with my father.”

Sir Horace grinned. “I’m happy you chose to come with us. It shows your commitment to the work. Priorities are everything in life.”

He closed his fists on his knees. “I would say that manners come first.”

The earl glanced from one to another. “I agree with Marcus. What would we be without manners?”

“Pigs,” Marcus said.

Sir Horace cast him a hard glance before turning towards the window.

The thunder shook the carriage as they drove along a bumpy road.

Marcus’s relief about not having stayed at Thistle Hall didn’t last. The rain finally hit Newport-on-Tay in the early afternoon. Once at the firth, they’d barely had time to make a general inspection of the beams before the weather turned for the worse.

Sheet after battering sheet of pelting rain had convinced his father to send him back to Thistle Hall, no matter how vehemently Marcus had protested.

By the time the carriage stopped in front of the house, the wind was so strong the footman had trouble holding the door. Marcus walked the short distance between the carriage and the front door with his head low and a hand on his hat, lest it fly away.

Walking was difficult with the wind and rain battering his back. It was as if a whole team of rugby players were shoving him backwards. Rain had drenched his coat and trousers, and a pool of water gathered at his feet when he stepped into the entry hall.

Stewart and a maid fussed around him to remove his wet coat, hat, and scarf.

“You’d better change into something dry, sir,” the maid said. “I will send up hot water, sir”

He removed his muddy shoes. “Thank you.”

“Did His Lordship say when he returns?” Stewart asked.

He ran a hand through his wet hair. “No, he didn’t. I asked him to come with me, but he wanted to stay with my father and Sir Horace.”

The butler and the maid both looked at the inclement storm battering the earth. He could almost hear their thoughts. Staying outside was sheer madness.

He went up the stairs and reached his bedroom when Emma called to him as she was coming out of her room.

“You’re back. I was worried.” She gave him a long glance. “The weather is wild. Trevor and I came back earlier from the town. Did Papa return?”

“He decided to stay at the bridge.”

“Why would he stay?”

“He chose to stay. Perhaps he didn’t want special treatment.”

Her shoulders stooped. “Oh. Will you join Trevor and me for tea downstairs? Or is tea a problem?” There was a challenging note in her voice, which he deserved.

“I will join you. Thank you.” He resumed walking to his room.

“I’m happy you’re here. Truly.”

He paused to nod at her.

“You promised we would talk,” she added.

“We will.”

She gave him her star-bright smile that never failed to give him a flutter in his chest.

So far, he’d never had problems understanding what she was feeling, but after last night, he wasn’t sure anymore of his ability to interpret her mood. She seemed apologetic, but for what reason? Because he’d listened to a conversation he shouldn’t have, or because she liked him, too?