Again that boyish vulnerability shone from his eyes. Then his mouth captured hers and his arms flew around her, and she knew only the wondrous sensation of his kiss, his embrace.
How long they stood there holding each other, Marguerite could not say, until Lindsay’s elated voice carried to them from the doorway to the garden.
“Oh, Marguerite and Walker, I’m so thrilled for you! Now come into the house, will you? We’ve much to do and not long to accomplish it, oh, no, not if you’re to return from Gretna Green before Jared comes home next week. You must hurry, there isn’t a moment to waste!”
“Gretna Green?” Walker glanced from Lindsay, who waved for them to come inside, to Marguerite, who seemed to have grown as still as stone in his arms. She appeared utterly stunned, her lovely face flushed a bright pink. She trembled, too, which made him draw her closer. “Marguerite?”
“I-it’s a small village in Scotland just over the border,” she murmured, “on the main post road from London.”
“But what might that have to do with us?” he asked, puzzled that Marguerite seemed unable to meet his eyes. Her pretty blush had deepened, too, while Lindsay now hastened toward them.
“It’s where you go to wed, Walker!” she answered for Marguerite, impatience clearly having overcome her though she threw him a smile. “Did you not hear me about hurrying? You need no consent from family to marry there and no one need know that you’ve become husband and wife, either—not Jared, not your father, not anyone! At least not until you deem the time is right to reveal your secret…”
Lindsay had sobered suddenly, and Walker knew that she had meant whenever his father’s illness might claim him—but damnation! She’d hit upon the perfect solution to a situation he’d seen no way around other than waiting however long to avoid going against his father’s wishes.
A perfect solution as well, to the thorny issue of Marguerite’s family’s consent given Jared’s reservations about him.
“It’s not how I would wish it to be,” he said to Marguerite, lifting her chin so that she met his eyes. “You deserve a wedding in church with your family there, your father. Yet I’ll not risk that anyone might try to prevent us from marrying. Will you go with me to Gretna Green?”
She still trembled, Walker sensed from the suddenness of it all. He felt overcome, too, like a green youth instead of a grown man. He’d scarcely drawn a breath, awaiting her answer, but he exhaled when she gave him a tremulous smile, nodding.
“Say it, Marguerite,” he bade her, his gaze riveted upon her. “I must hear you—”
“Yes, yes, I will!”
“Wonderful!” Lindsay pronounced before either of them could utter another word, her arm flying around Marguerite’s waist to shepherd her away from Walker. “We must pack, at least enough for a change or two of clothes. You’ll only have time to journey there and straight back, stopping when you must for fresh horses and to see to your personal needs, of course. I’ll have a hamper packed for you with plenty of food. Walker, what will you do? Return to where you’re staying in London for your things?”
His things. Walker’s low curse made both women stop and turn to look at him, and he shook his head.
“My cousin would only ask questions. Russell was still abed when I left and is no doubt wondering what’s become of me. If I may, I’ll have your footman carry him a message that I’ve decided to leave London for a few days on business. Russell already knows I plan to open textile mills in Devonshire. It should be enough to satisfy him.”
Lindsay nodded, and looped her arm through Marguerite’s to hurry with her into the house, although she said over her shoulder, “I’ll pack you some of Jared’s clothes. Thankfully he has more than enough to spare.”
Walker didn’t reply as he followed them inside. He’d become angered, not because he must borrow Jared’s clothing, but that Sir Russell Scott had sought to direct his every footstep since they had arrived together in London.
Planning his itinerary down to the hour.
Accepting invitations for him like Lady Belinda’s to dine at her home tonight, when Walker had wanted to decline.
He’d decided after how rudely Russell had treated Marguerite at Almack’s that he didn’t much like the baronet—and Walker more than sensed the feeling was mutual.
If Russell gleaned any inkling of Walker’s true plans, he had no doubt that his cousin would carry the news straightaway to Summerlin Hall just to cause distress to his father. Why not disrupt the peace of the duke’s last days as some repayment for losing everything that Russell had believed would one day belong to him?
“Bastard,” Walker muttered, determined that the sooner he and Marguerite left London, the better. He strode into the library to find pen and ink and paper, deriving some satisfaction at least that he wouldn’t have to suffer Russell’s presence for days.
And he wouldn’t be dining tonight with Lady Belinda, her obvious intent to wrap him around her elegant little finger be hanged! She had insisted upon dancing with him the remainder of the evening, clearly making her claim upon him. No one else had come near, no overeager mothers, no simpering daughters, and for that at least he had been grateful.
Yet given that he had no idea how long he and Marguerite must hide their secret marriage, he might have to feign interest in that cool blond beauty to not raise any suspicions—God help him, no, he didn’t want to think of that right now!
Instead, as he sat down at a desk to scrawl a hasty note to Russell, Walker thought of Marguerite…the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her lips, the sweet innocence in her eyes, and the lush sensation of her breasts pressing against him…
A sudden tightness against the seam of his breeches made Walker suck in his breath.
Damn it all, why did Gretna Green have to be so far away?
