Tobias whistled. “Hello. I’ve not been in this room before. It’s my favorite by far.”
Maggie took a deep breath and faced him. “We must marry now.”
The comic appreciation he wore on his face disappeared and something softer, more genuine entered his eyes as they locked on her. “Will it be so bad, then?”
Truthfully? “No, I think not.” Except for the grueling poverty. She dropped into a nearby chair. “I’ve no dowry. You should know that.”
He kneeled before her and pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I’d assumed.”
“How?”
Tobias scanned the room around them from top to bottom and every piece of furniture in it. “If you pay attention, you can see it.”
The ruined roof, the threadbare rugs. Of course he saw it. He saw more than most.
He wrapped long fingers around her forearms, stroking the inside of her elbows with his thumbs. The sensation his touch spiraled through her made her breath hitch, her heart hammer against her ribs, warmth pool low in her belly. “It will all be well. You’ll see. We’ll get along splendidly, I promise.”
She hoped they would. His words from the garden still rang in her ears. Most girls, likely, would have taken offense if a man said she guffawed and he liked it. But Maggie wanted to hear more. She wanted to hear that she was imperfect but still loved. A name like Magnificent was a constant pressure, impossible to live up to. But with Tobias, she was simply Mags, or Pocket Princess. It was a relief, a liberation.
He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I must speak with your father. And tomorrow I travel to London to make ready for a bride.” His face broke into a wide smile, and he shook his head as if in disbelief. He took her chin between his finger and thumb and tilted her face up. “We will get along well. You’ll see. I’ll be a good husband.” He dropped his lips to hers and breathed her in with his kiss.
She placed her hands on his chest and leaned into his warmth.
He pulled away too soon, eyes closed. She watched his Adams apple bob in his throat on a hard swallow. When he opened his eyes, they fairly burned. “You,” he said, his voice shaky. He swallowed again. “I’ll speak with your father now.” He strode toward the door and turned back to her before exiting. “Married in a month, Maggie, yes?”
“Yes,” she said with a solemn nod.
He returned the nod and left.
She collapsed on a nearby sofa, laughing so hard she almost cried. It was all too much. If he’d been a rich man, she’d consider it a miracle, a way out of her blackmail scheme, a way to save her family. But she’d gone and fallen in love with an artist instead.
Chapter 15
Tobias stared up at the canopy above his bed, trying to banish the woman’s image from his mind. If the woman in question had been his fiancée, it would be perfectly acceptable. But she was not. The face of Miss Celia Weatherby frowned down at him, as it often had these past six months when sleep would not come. Oddly, the last week he’d been blessedly free of her silent censure. Perhaps not odd at all. Who could fixate on the disapproving Celia with a bright, laughing Maggie so close, so distracting?
But tonight, oh tonight, Miss Weatherby returned with a vengeance. Her frown, which he’d once found a tad adorable and had tried (unsuccessfully) to coax out of existence, sent ripples of unease through him. It served as a reminder of his mistakes.
“You’re too silly,” Celia had said, laughing and turning a cold shoulder to him after his proposal. “How can I marry a man like you? You’re good for a dalliance, Mr. Blake, no more.”
He’d doctored his tattered heart with strong spirits for a week after that. Did more ill than good, but he couldn’t seem to help it. The one time he’d shown his serious face, he’d been rejected, laughed at.
Not with Maggie. At least not all the time with Maggie. She questioned his ability to be serious. Who could blame her? But when he’d told her he planned to go into business, she’d not laughed. When he’d talked about his thoughts on art, she’d not tossed them like an amusing anomaly.
And he’d have to tell her a bit more before all was over and done with.
Celia frowned at him from the canopy.
Tobias closed his eyes. “Go away, demon spirit.” He could trust Maggie once more. He had to or she’d worry. He wouldn’t let that happen. Tomorrow morning, when he took his leave of her for London, he’d tell her about France.
A soft scratch on his door preceded its opening. Maggie’s pale face peeked through before she bolted into his room and closed the door softly behind her. A white shift peeked out from under her brother’s banyan, and her long dark hair swung down her back in a loose braid.
Tobias pushed to a sitting position and stared.
Maggie bit her bottom lip and looked everywhere but at him.
Tobias could look only at her bottom lip, the tender flesh pulled between even, white teeth.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” she asked.
