Page 16 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

A tight-lipped smile stretched Charlotte’s lips.

“You don’t have to look so smug, my lady.” He grinned at her. “It’s simply that I need a proper bath and some fresh bed linens.”

“I won’t argue with the first item. You reek, sir.”

Oh, that did it. He pulled himself from the chair, walked down the length of the long table, sat down next to her, and placed a hand to his ear. “What’s that? I couldn’t hear you from way down there.”

She refused to meet his gaze, but her muttered words were as crystal clear as the fine goblet holding her wine. “You are incorrigible.”

“So you’ve told me. On multiple occasions. Now, I believe we have something serious to discuss. So, if you could refrain from your pointed barbs—at least for a few moments—I would appreciate it. I want to get back to my bed.”

He waited, gauging her reaction. Unfortunately, she remained stone-faced. “Have you considered my proposal?”

“I’ve thought of little else. But before I answer, I have a few questions.” Her gaze flicked toward Frampton, then back to him. “May we speak in private?”

Simon waved a hand at Frampton. “It’s fine. The lady’s reputation is already in tatters. Hence the need for this discussion. Besides, I’m in no condition for ravishing at the moment.”

Once Frampton had left them alone, she said, “Ribald comments such as that are precisely why I must know what your expectations are. You said you wouldn’t force me.”

He sucked in a breath. “And I meant that. Forcing a woman is beyond the pale. However . . .”

Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched. “What?”

“As I said, my father’s estate is entailed, and I’m his only son. It would bring my mother comfort knowing she had a grandson to inherit when I die.”

“So youdoexpect to bed me?”

“I hope to, which is different from expecting. You can refuse me until my dying day. There are couples who—for whatever reason—can’t have children. My mother need never be the wiser. She would simply chalk it up to bad luck. However . . .”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s necessary.” He leaned in, hoping to make his point. “I promise I would make it pleasant for you. I’m told I’m quite skilled in bedsport.”

She snorted a derisive laugh. “Perhaps in your estimation.”

He shook his head. “In my partners’ estimations. I’ve never had complaints.”

Pink bloomed on her cheeks, giving him satisfaction.

“And would such . . . associations continue after we’re married?”

Ah, there was the rub.“No. As difficult as it would be—and make no mistake, it would be difficult for me—I would be faithful to you. You have my word.”

“Ha! The word of a self-proclaimed rake!”

“I’ve never claimed to be perfect—unlike you. Believe what you will. But I hope with time, you will at least tolerate me enough to share my bed enough to produce a child”—he grinned—“or two.”

“So I’m only a brood mare.”

Lord, the woman was exasperating. She was sucking all the joy out of him. “No. You are in a sticky situation. And the more I thought about it, the more a marriage between us made sense. I was planning on marrying anyway—someday. If this infernal illness would ever leave me for good. I can’t bear the thought of leaving my mother and sisters homeless should bothmy father and I die without someone directly in line to inherit.”

“You have sisters?” She appeared surprised, as if having grown up with other women didn’t suit him.

“Five. All younger than I.”

“And the next in line?”

“A cousin thrice removed. An oily sort of man, quite like your Lord Felix.” His stomach turned at the thought of Cousin Horace, and he worried the consommé, which had tasted so delicious minutes before, would make a reappearance.

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