Page 40 of Any Rogue Will Do
Darling slid the clean dress over Lottie’s head and reached for a brush while Lottie tied the tapes. “So this is more scratching an itch?” Darling asked.
“That’s a rather crass way to put it, but yes. It occurred to me that if I’m trying to find a marriage on my terms, then I should be free to dictate the circumstances. There’s no great love match in my future, so why save my virginity for a husband? This could be my one chance to experience lust to its fullest, and I’m taking it.”
Darling finished brushing Lottie’s hair, then coiled it into a simple knot, letting a few curls wisp free at the front. “You’ll need a sponge and French letters. I’ll send to London for them. Enjoy other methods until then.”
Lottie shot her a questioning look. Darling wagged a finger and said, “Never expect a man to be prepared. Rule number one: make sure you’re taken care of, no matter what.”
“What other methods?”
Darling grinned. “Milady, let’s you and I have a talk, yes?”
A half hour later, her mind swimming with new knowledge, Lottie sent a message to Ethan to apologize for not meeting him in the library, claiming a need to rest until dinner. It wasn’t entirely untrue. The big bed with the soft floral blanket called to her like a siren song, and frankly, it was the perfect place to hide.
Darling, bless her, was a thorough teacher. She’d left after their talk to send for the supplies they’d discussed, which meant the bedroom was empty except for Lottie and her swirling thoughts battling between what she wanted and what she needed.
Everything came back to the plan. When she’d left Westmorland, there’d been a clear path laid out, a pros-and-cons list made in her head, and a firm idea of the man she’d marry. He would, firstly, be a man Father found suitable—otherwise this entire exercise would be a waste of time and money.
Secondly, he’d be a man who would be content to stay in London, living his own life, leaving her to run her home and land as she deemed fit. Having seen what Town had to offer in the summer, she now realized that would require a unique combination of disinterest and affability.
Thirdly, he didn’t have to be rich, but he couldn’t need her fortune so desperately that she wouldn’t be able to use it to further her property. A man content to live on an allowance would be ideal, but she’d begun to doubt such a man existed.
Finally, she refused to end up with a relationship like her parents’. While they’d been happy together, their bliss had come at the expense of their children and eventually their tenants. Giving one person the power to destroy her, like Mother’s death had leveled Father, wouldn’t be wise. That would never be a choice she’d make, having already survived it twice. First as a child, excluded from the warmth they’d shared, and then as an adult, left to pick up the pieces. No, a love match wasn’t for her. Let another fool fall in that trap.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Lottie hugged herself as she’d been doing since childhood and rolled onto her side. The pillow dipped under her head, smelling of a fresh herb sachet from whatever linen closet the bedding had been stored in. Staring out the window, she let her gaze wander over trees and vast stretches of green fields. In the distance a stone-and-timber structure stood in midconstruction. Probably the new brewery they planned to visit after Mr. Macdonell arrived.
Reviewing her plan and making lists usually calmed her. But the list wasn’t the problem today. The list was comprehensive. For once, it offered no comfort. Because instead of the man she’d set out to find, she had Ethan. A fiancé who was none of those things, except wealthy in his own right.
Logically, that was reason enough to return to her plan, as she’d told Darling she would, and let this temporary arrangement expire in three weeks.
Yet despite her best intentions, she wanted him. The man who was the antithesis of everything she’d set out to find.
Disinterested? Not even close. He walked in a room, and her body tingled, sensing him. By the time she caught sight of him, his eyes were already on her. The sensations she experienced when he kissed her were headier than brandy.
And lest she forget, Ethan was the one man Father would never approve of. Assuming she decided to keep him and he wanted to marry her—which was a giant leap from their current agreement.
That was the reality. The truth without emotion.
All this worry might be for nothing, because who said Ethan wanted her for longer than three weeks? Sitting up, she pushed a curl off her face and scrubbed her palms over her eyes.
If she wanted to create the life she dreamed of, she needed a husband who checked the boxes on her list. She had three weeks to enjoy Ethan, then they’d end it.
And if this month-long detour from the original plan meant she didn’t find a suitable candidate by the end of November, well, she’d deal with that when the time came. Father would have to see sense and recognize her efforts to find a husband he’d agree to. Or perhaps by then she could convince him to let her remain on the shelf and use the dowry to establish her own house.
Either way, it would work out. She’d make it work out.
Chapter Fifteen
After dinner, Lottie perused the shelves of his library, moving ever so slowly toward him, section by section. Geography. Poetry. Agriculture—a large section and a shared interest. That was an area she could have lingered in for a while, if her goal hadn’t been to eventually make her way to the fireside.
She could feel the weight of Ethan’s gaze from where he lounged in a chair by the fireplace. Since arriving at his home, he’d made no effort to hide how much time he spent watching her. Sometimes with a light of arousal in his eyes, sometimes curiosity, and sometimes simple enjoyment.
And he didn’t just watch. The man loved to touch. All day while they’d visited the brewery site, talked to workmen, and greeted Macdonell, he’d maintained contact. Whether a brush of a finger, holding her hand, or touching her where no one could see. As a result, her body had been simmering with awareness that could flare into desire at any moment.
“I dreamed of you in this chair once,” he said.
“Was it a good dream?”
“Started that way.”
