A Marquess for Miss Marigold (A Wallflower's Wish #3) - Maggie Dallen Page 0,3
the men they’d each chosen were perfectly suited to them.
Her heart gave a decided thump. She didn’t dare to admit this aloud to anyone but part of her was a bit...jealous.
Daisy had become the toast of London, even before she’d become engaged. And Laura, or Lily as they called her in their group of wallflowers, had always been so strong. She was a wallflower by choice not design.
But Marigold... Marigold was a true wallflower by nature. Quiet, reserved, shy—she was almost never asked to dance and when she was, it almost always ended in disaster.
When she didn’t trip over her own feet, she tripped on her words.
She likely shouldn’t have been surprised that the one time she’d landed in a man’s lap, it was an awkward mistake.
“What the bl—” he started but she raised a hand to cover his lips.
She hit his chin, quite by accident but he ceased talking anyway.
A relief considering how stubbly and rough the skin was. What sort of man, who was at a house party, was not clean shaven? Not a gentleman, that much was certain. “Please, sir. Cursing is entirely unnecessary.”
And then she dropped her hand again, where it landed on his chest. A puff of dust rose from his clothes, tickling her nose and promptly causing her to sneeze.
He let out a decided groan. “I was going to say blazes. Is that acceptable to you?”
Heat flared in her cheeks at the sound of complete and utter annoyance in his voice. “Oh yes. Apologies.”
Marigold shifted in embarrassment but then realized that her bottom was seated between his rather large, muscular thighs. She imagined they were the thighs of a man who spent a great deal of time on the back of a horse.
Even as she thought it, she realized that she really shouldn’t be thinking about a man’s thighs at all.
She stiffened away, pressing against his shoulders, but her foot caught on something hard and as she started to rise, she fell again, crashing into his chest and knocking his scruffy chin with her temple.
A sharp pain shot through her forehead even as he grunted in obvious pain.
“Miss...” he hissed out. “Please stay still.”
She swallowed a lump as she rubbed her forehead. This was definitely nothing like her books. “Apologies. Again.”
He let out a long breath. “Just give me a moment and I will untangle us and have you on your way. Am I to assume that you are a guest at this house party?”
Marigold nodded and then realized in the dim light he might not be able to see her movement. “Yes. That’s correct.”
But then several thoughts of her own coalesced. His dirty clothes, scruffy face, and his question all melded together. He was not a member of the party. Who was he then?
Her heart stopped. Had she landed in the lap of a ne’er-do-well? Merciful saints.
He shifted under her and then stiffened, grabbing at his leg with a groan.
She tightened her grip on his shoulders, forgetting all about her worry. “Are you hurt? Did I hurt you again?”
This time, when his arms squeezed her back, they were gentle, comforting even. “No. You did nothing. My leg...I’ve suffered a prior injury. Don’t trouble yourself.”
She relaxed against him, her chest coming into contact with his. Then she realized what she’d done and stiffened again, pulling back as far as his arms allowed. If ever a more awkward embrace had occurred, she’d be shocked. “An injury? How unfortunate for you. What can I do to make our...er...untangling easier?”
He shifted slowly under her, drawing one knee up and pushing her body closer to his. “Just give me a moment.”
She looked up at the dark ceiling. “All right.”
His hands left her back. “Hold onto my shoulders.” He scooted more upright inch by inch. Then he paused. “This is going to take a minute. Perhaps you should tell me about yourself while I just get situated.”
She nodded. Normally, talking to a complete stranger was not a skill of hers but something about the dark and his disheveled state made her just a touch more comfortable. “My name is Mary but all my friends call me Marigold.”
“Why is that?” he asked, shifting her weight to the left. His hands came to her waist as he did so and heat filled her cheeks at the intimacy of the touch. His hands were large and strong.
She leaned closer, and under the scent of dust, she caught hints of sandalwood, leather, and just a touch of citrus. Orange perhaps. Very nice, indeed.