Oh. “Thank you. I-I was wondering about that.”
”Very good. Any other questions before I retire for the evening?”
Margo had about a million of them, but the only thin that popped into her head was, “How do I get warm. It’s freezing in here.”
Malcolm glanced around the room. “No fireplace. No stove, either. The landlady is doubtless afraid of fires and rightly so. But there should be plenty of quilts in that linen press.” He pointed to a heavy piece of furniture across the room. “Pile them on and snuggle in. Anything else?”
Margo didn’t dare admit that she wanted — desperately to say “I’m scared.” So she shook her head gave him a bright smile.
”Very good, then. I shall see you at breakfast.” He bent and kissed her forehead “Good night, my dear. Lock your door.”
Then he stepped down the hall and entered his room. His door clicked softly shut. A key turned in the lock. Margo stood gazing down the dimly lit corridor for several moments while her brow tingled under the remembered feel of Malcolm Moore’s lips.
Oh, don’t be ridiculous! All you need is to pull some stupid schoolgirl stunt like falling for a poverty-stricken time guide. He’s too old for you, anyway, and thinks you’re silly into the bargain. Besides, you had enough heartache from Billy Pandropolous to swear off men for all time.
She closed her door and locked it, experiencing a swift prickle of tears behind her eyelids. She didn’t want Malcolm Moore to think she was silly. She wanted to prove to him-and everyone else-that she could do this job. Do it and be good at it.