Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (13 page)

C
at heard Marcus’s loping gait coming down the hallway to her office at Andersen Hall and selfconsciously tucked a stray hair in her bonnet and adjusted her starched apron. Although she no longer wore a bandage, she’d gotten a larger cap to help avoid headaches and her wayward hair was always spilling out.

It had been two whole days since he’d brought her back to the orphanage and she’d been waiting with bated breath for his return. During the course of the four days of his nursing her back to health, she’d come to relish seeing his handsome face. She’d enjoyed listening to his rumbling voice and watching him move about the chamber in that smooth, graceful prowl she’d come to appreciate.

Since he’d left her at Andersen Hall she’d missed seeing him so much that she’d felt like a prisoner denied sunlight.

And now the imaginary window had just burst open, letting in the spring breeze. Quickly, she stood, bumping her chair back into the wall with a thud.

“Tossing furniture around again?” he teased, reminding
her of his prior visit to her office. His deep voice rumbled, sending a thrill rocketing through her middle.

“Hello, Marcus,” she murmured, as her traitorous cheeks heated.

“How’s your head?” His penetrating blue gaze swept over her features, as if seeking reassurance. His concern almost melted her heart.

He’d been the most considerate man in Britain while caring for her and she’d needed every ounce of self-control to keep from fantasizing about the man every waking moment.

Marcus was not of her world, she knew. He was like a shining comet blazing through her black sky. But soon he would be gone and she would be back to her gloomy, lackluster existence. But she hoped to have some lovely memories of their friendship once he’d left. She only prayed that day didn’t come too soon.

“Fine,” she replied, soaking him in. Today he used his crutches, once more the epitome of wounded soldier. His fine azurite coat with ivory buttons perfectly matched his brilliant eyes and she couldn’t help the tingle in her belly every time his gaze met hers. His eyes were like magnets, drawing her near…

But she had to resist. If he had an inkling of how she felt, it would be too mortifying, too awful to bear! He had been very careful to keep his distance during their time together. Being a good friend and companion to her but never giving any indication that he was interested in her in any other capacity. He almost certainly thought her a green chit. Too naïve for his worldly tastes. He probably had a different lover in every port….

Jealousy flashed though her, and she lowered her gaze, afraid he might see. Marcus was a free spirit, a ship floating on the untamed sea. She refused to have him think of
her as a barnacle clinging to his side. Remembering how he’d dealt with the chits growing up, she recognized that if he knew how she felt, he’d probably do his utmost to keep her at arm’s length. Something she couldn’t endure.

“You look well, Cat,” Marcus intoned, pulling his hat from his head and running a hand through his loose hair.

She wondered how soft it might feel between her fingers. Inwardly she sighed, realizing she would never know. “Thanks to you.”

“You are an excellent patient.”

She smiled. “I had a good nurse.”

Recalling his tending, she marveled again at how easy it had been for her to lower her defenses with this man. Once she’d decided he was telling the truth, of course. She’d never been one to relax her guard around others. And no wonder, after her experiences with her cousin Stanford Caddyhorn.

Stanford used to jump out at her from behind corners and doors and grab her in places no decent person would touch. He’d even hid in her wardrobe once, scaring her half to death. Her screams had brought the servants running and the little monster had played it off as an innocent prank. Not amusing to the girl he was trying to molest. Even today, she still checked under her bed, in the closets and behind curtains before undressing every night. Sometimes she even shot up from bed in the middle of the night to recheck the closets, behind the curtains and under the bed, because she could not sleep without knowing for certain that no one lay in wait.

Yet somehow, Marcus Dunn had managed to breach all of that wariness, and in only a few days. Amazing.

“You seem much improved,” he remarked, bringing her mind back to reality. “Perhaps you were correct about being ready to go home.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden on you—”

“Never a burden, Cat.” He smiled and she felt the heat all the way down to her toes. All thoughts of the Caddyhorns slipped from her mind.

“A bit heavy,” he added. “But never a burden.”

She couldn’t help but grin, recalling being carried down those narrow stairs in a traveling trunk. “No one noticed our little subterfuge did they? I mean, no one has said anything?”

“Weatherly’s Boardinghouse remains as it always was: a bastion of male exclusivity.”

“Good. Although, I’m sorry that I ruined your traveling trunk.”

“I can still use it.”

“With holes?”

He shrugged. “It was a neat trick to get you air, if I do say so myself. Well worth the effort.”

She smiled shyly. “I’m glad you think so. But I still intend to purchase you a new trunk. Before you leave, that is…” Biting her lip, she looked away. He was so good at reading her and she feared he might see how much she dreaded the thought.

They stood awkwardly in the small office, the prospect of his parting hanging over them.

Catherine couldn’t help but notice how Marcus’s dove gray breeches showed off his muscular physique in excruciatingly gorgeous detail. She’d never noticed men’s legs before, but ever since she’d caught a glimpse of those moon-pale thighs lightly grazed with dark fuzz…

Catherine coughed into her hand, looking anywhere but at him. Searching for
something
to say, she whispered, “Have you had any luck with your investigation? Any news?”

He nodded slowly, as if pulled from thought. “The fel
lows who attacked us in the alleyway led us to a gent named Lernout.”

“Is he connected to Renfrew?”

“We have no indication so far, but I have yet to interview the man. Tam is searching him out as we speak.”

A nervous fear fluttered in her belly, but she forced herself to have faith in Marcus’s abilities. “So you still believe that your façade is secure?”

“I must move forward under that assumption.” He scratched his chin. “I’m curious about that letter you mentioned. The one from your friend’s brother posted from Dover. Often the most mundane facts can prove insightful. May I have a look at it?”

“I gave it to your father, in case he saw you before I did.” Catherine had considered using the letter as a reason to seek Marcus out. But she’d been too embarrassed that he might see it as the flimsy excuse that it was. “He’s in his office. I can go get it for you…”

“How about we go together?” He turned, extending his arm. Then he frowned. “Blast, with these crutches, I can’t…” Shrugging he showed a lopsided grin and waved a hand. “If you would lead the way, Cat?”

“Yes, of course.”

Wretchedly conscious of any limp she might have, Catherine led Marcus down the hallway. She sensed his presence like a fiery summer wind pressing against her back, stirring the hair on her skin. His magnetism was a heady mix of male appeal, her not-forgotten adolescent yearnings, and her long-standing loneliness, she was sure. But since her convalescence, that attraction had combusted into a yearning so heated it kept her from sleeping at night. And from doing much of anything else, it seemed.

She could hardly focus on the accounts, on the chil
dren…Her mind would drift off and it was starting to affect her job. Even Mrs. Nagel had commented on her distractedness.

Headmaster Dunn had been the only one who’d known that she had not been visiting a sick friend but had been recovering herself. He was the only one thus far who’d held his tongue about her preoccupation. But, since her return, he would stare at her for long moments, his gaze thoughtful. Oh, how she hoped he didn’t know she was infatuated with his son! She prayed no one ever found out or she would never hear the end of it.

Still, for the disturbance Marcus’s presence wrought in her life, having him around felt
stunningly
good. She felt all atwitter, hot and nervous, excited to be in his company. The problem was, how could she behave normally in his presence? How could she not make a total fool of herself over a man who probably didn’t think of her as anything more than a lowly spinster secretary? A secretary short on looks and long on the shelf, she recalled her brother’s scathing assessment.

“I wonder, Cat,” Marcus murmured, “why you’ve never married.”

Her foot missed a step and she grabbed the wall for balance.

He stopped close behind her, reaching out to grasp her arm. “Are you all right?”

Her cheeks blazed and she pretended to look at her shoe. “My toe caught.”

“Sorry, that was a bit personal, wasn’t it?”

She shrugged, feeling his heat through her gown where his hand held her arm. “I don’t know that we can get any more personal than we’ve been.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he murmured, his smooth voice veiled with meaning.

She swallowed, hard. For her life, she couldn’t meet his eye. He must be speaking generally, right? He couldn’t mean
with her
? No, it was not possible; and she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself thinking otherwise.

“You must be what? Three-and-twenty?” Marcus asked. “Why have you never tied the knot?”

Catherine blinked, bristling. “I’m
two
-and-twenty, for your information.” Straightening, she stepped away. “And I have not married because I never wanted to.” She didn’t bother mentioning that no one had ever tossed the handkerchief her way.

“I thought every woman lived for the exercise of bringing a man up to scratch?”

She stiffened. “Well, I’m not every woman.” She couldn’t explain how the Caddyhorns had taught her that any institution that gave someone legal authority over her was out of the question.

“That, Catherine Miller, is obvious.”

He smiled, and she couldn’t help but feel mollified. He did consider her special. How, she did not know, but at the moment, it didn’t matter.

“Why are you so dead set against it?” he asked.

“Marriage for a man is all well and good,” she supplied. “He gets all of the power. For the woman who becomes his property, it’s more like servitude.”

“Ouch. And I thought that
I
was cynical about the parson’s mousetrap.” He scratched his ear. “But if it’s as onerous as you say, why do so many women do it?”

“Habit?”

He laughed, a deep booming timbre that reverberated within her. “You’re an original, Cat. I’ll grant you that.”

Catherine tilted her head, unable to help herself. “Why did you ask about marriage, Marcus?”
Why do you care?

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking away. “I suppose
we’ve spent a lot of time together and I can’t understand why a woman like you has remained unattached for so long.”

“Woman like me?”

“You’re too lovely—”

A yowl escaped from her mouth. She quickly covered her lips.

“What?” he asked, a look of irritation flashing across his handsome features.

“Had you said that I was smart or a good conversationalist, then that might have made sense.” Gesturing to her gown, she laughed. “But lovely? Now I know you’re teasing me.”

He shook his head. “And women call me obtuse…”

“Someone called you obtuse?” she asked, surprised. Marcus was one of the swiftest men she’d ever met. It was one of the things she found most attractive about him. That, and those dreamy eyes, strong shoulders…

“Seriously, Cat. Why do you walk about in drab gowns and scrappy shoes? I would hope that my father isn’t keeping you under wraps so that some man doesn’t sweep you off your feet and leave him alone with his accounts and ledgers.”

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment for her attire, and pleasure at his compliment, ludicrous though it was. She looked away. “No one is going to sweep me off my feet, Marcus. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I wonder,” he murmured. “Has anyone truly tried?”

At the hint of challenge in his voice, she looked up. Those brilliant eyes fixed on her, so close she could discern his black irises within the sea of blue. She felt imprisoned by his gaze, so intent it seemed to smolder with azure fire. Her heart began to pound and a sudden rush of heat swamped her face.

“Why, that’s…” Her brain struggled to find the words. “Laughable…”

“I don’t jest when it comes to these things.” His voice was like honeyed wine: sweetness cloaking the fiery tang of spirit. “And you should have a better understanding of your charms. Lest you draw attentions you might not want…”

Wanting
was all she seemed to be feeling at the moment. Her breath grew heavy and her mind seemed to muddle. Heat blanketed her body, loosening something warm and wonderful in her middle. It felt so good, she bathed in his proximity like a buttercup bows toward the sun. Leaning toward him, seeking…

Those gorgeous peach lips that she had dreamed about in her youth opened provocatively. “You really are—”

Suddenly a muted
thud
could be heard from down the hallway.

Catherine blinked, reality yanking her away from the fantasy of her lifetime. “Wh-what was that?”

Listening, Marcus stiffened like a twine stretching taut to steel. His eyes narrowed and his lips thinned with concentration. Something crashed, followed by a yell.

“Stay here!” he shouted, tossing aside his crutches and tearing past her down the corridor.

Lifting her skirts, Catherine sped down the hallway after Marcus. The sound had emanated from Headmaster Dunn’s office. Had something fallen? A bookcase tipping over, perhaps? Images of a child trapped added fuel to her flying feet.

Wheeling around the corner, she tore into the headmaster’s office. The sight before her was a nightmare beyond her imaginings.