Gentlemen Prefer Spinsters (Spinsters Club #1)(13)

“Well, if you must know, it is not about the curse. I just wish to give them some space. They are newlyweds, Harry, they deserve that much.”

Harcourt snorted. “Few newlyweds get ‘space’ and most survive. This is about the curse.” He grinned. “You think it might be true.”

She sucked in a breath as though stunned he would even consider she might. “I certainly do not. Curses and magic and the like are entirely fictional. I would never believe such a thing.”

“And yet you fear for Dan’s marriage.”

“Our family does not have the best record of successful marriages.” Merry sighed. “We have yet to have a good one. I really hope Daniel’s is the first. He deserves happiness.”

“I have no doubt Isabel will make him happy indeed. You need not fear if your presence will hinder their match. And you certainly need not worry about this curse.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “I do not fear the curse,” she insisted.

He turned and eyed the moldy ceiling above. “What will your brother think when he comes home and finds you have evacuated from the house?”

“I told him of my intentions before he left. He insisted it was not necessary but the more I think about it, the more it seems a sensible solution,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Only you could think a young woman moving into a dower house alone is a sensible solution.”

She pursed her lips. “Well I will not be completely alone. I shall have my maid and a servant or two with me. One of the kitchen maids has agreed to come and cook.” A smile broke across her face. “I think I could be quite content here all alone. It shall give me plenty of time to study.”

“There is more to life than studying.”

An eyebrow rose. “Like drinking and gambling and dancing, I suppose.”

“Like spending time with good friends.” He moved closer.

He saw a slight tremble run through her body. She was not immune to him, he was certain of that. Admittedly kissing her after she had buried her father had not been his most sensible of moves but it had felt right at the time—a perfect way to comfort her. Pursuing her while she was in mourning might not even be the most gentlemanly of things to do either, but if her father’s death had taught him anything, life was short. He had little intention of wasting anymore time.

“I’m not going to become a recluse simply because I move into this house, Harry.”

“I know what you are like once you become lost in books. We shall be lucky to see you once a year,” he teased.

“I must finish this translation.”

“How long exactly will this translation take?”

“Oh years I suspect,” she said breezily.

“Years? Christ, Merry. I thought the Odyssey had been translated already.”

Hands to hips, she eyed him. “By men. All the translations have been done by men. And all translations are subject to bias. Because they are interpreted by men, they focus on the men, yet there are so many female characters of significant importance. I intend to translate it with the female view in mind.”

Harcourt rubbed his forehead. “Well, if I know you at all, I am certain you shall do an outstanding job, but I’m sure sorting out this house—”

A crack sound rumbled through the house. He froze. Another cracking sound followed, and a sprinkling of plaster dusted Merry’s nose. She wrinkled her nose and peered up. A sizable portion fell, this time landing on her head.

As the next rumbling of noise occurred, the ceiling gave way. Harcourt snatched Merry to him, hauling her to the door as a large lump of ceiling crashed down, cracking across the furniture. He eyed the great fragment of plaster and looked back at Merry. Plaster dust covered her face and smeared her mourning dress. Little fragments of white were stuck in her black hair.

She stared up at him, wide-eyed. He kept her close, aware of his heart pounding hard. Her lips parted, and he could swear he heard her deep breath in.

“Are you well?”

She nodded.

Her arms were slender beneath his touch. he was too aware of her figure even under her simple gown. Heat rolled through him like a storm breaching the skies. He saw her pulse flutter when he reached to pluck a fragment from her hair. Releasing one arm from his hold, he smoothed away the dust from her cheeks then her nose.

“You need to be more careful, Merry.”

She nodded again. Her pale blue eyes had darkened. He had to mask a triumphant grin. She could not hide her reaction to him. Lady Merry Bradford desired him as much as he desired her. Now he just had to make her realize that she loved him too.

A final piece of ceiling landed with a crash. The sound seemed to wake her from the moment and she jerked away, much to his regret. Harcourt pushed a hand through his hair. He should just come out and say it, but he knew what Merry was like. She was so damned stubborn, she’d send him packing. He had to tread carefully. Make her see what he had. His time in London had secured it in his mind—he could not live life without her.

“I had better get back to work,” she murmured, brushing her hands down her gown.

“I can help,” he offered.

“No, I can manage.” She kicked a lump of ceiling aside. “Do you not have your friend to entertain?”

“Griff is abed. And likely will be for a lot longer.”