Page 12 of Married Off by the Duke
“Indeed.”
“But you said…” she trailed off in confusion. A shiver worked down her spine at the memory of his growled, You’re not marrying anyone but me.
“I know what I said, Emma. They, however, do not.” He held out one hand. “Come. Let’s disabuse Pindell of any notion that he’ll ever lay a hand on your delectable person.”
Emma made a face. “And you think you will?”
Max’s self-assured half-grin twisted her insides. Feelings were stupid things. She wasn’t letting him seduce her this easily. He’d switched from antagonism to charm, and he could switch right back again at any time.
“The way you look at me, Emma, tells me you’ve wanted me as badly as I did you all these years. You’re as eager for me to touch you as I am to oblige you.”
She snorted in derision, but Emma was afraid he might be right.
CHAPTER 7
“I’ve never had to turn down a suitor before,” Emma mused. “Never mind two offers in a single afternoon.”
“Third proposal’s the charm,” Max said cheerfully. Thirteen days to win her heart. He ought to have begun years ago, instead of getting so flustered in Emma’s presence that he parried her rapier wit with barbs of his own. They’d both been too proud to stand down.
Emma propped her chin on her hand and said, “What if I turn down the third proposal, too?”
“Then you’re a fool.”
Max let his mouth quirk up in a half-grin. She blushed and glanced away. “Honest question, Emma. Why wouldn’t you want to be my duchess?”
“We both know I’m not fit for such a role,” she hedged.
“If you’re my wife, you’re fit. Full stop.” He unlocked the boat house doors. The odor of damp wood took him back to his university days. “A duchess defines her role. Not the other way around.” Max found the device he was looking for and held it out. “Here. Put this on.”
“What is it?”
“A life jacket. The interior is cork. I’ll indulge your sense of adventure, but I won’t risk your life, Emma. I assume you can’t swim.”
“Not well. Is that something we can add to our agenda?”
Her enthusiasm tugged his lips into a smile. She must have felt so stifled at that stuffy finishing school.
“Getting to Brighton and back would consume more time than we have allotted. I promise you, though, that if you want to learn how to swim, I shall find a way to make it happen.” Max tightened the straps so the life jacket fit snugly around her torso. Perhaps he could prevail upon someone to use a private pool. They could swim without bathing costumes…
Possibilities whirled through his mind.
“Is the river cold this time of year?” Emma asked, interrupting his daydream of swimming naked with her.
“It’s cold year-round. If you’re not a strong swimmer and weighted down with skirts and shoes, this jacket could mean the difference between survival and drowning.”
“I wasn’t proposing to leave it off, Max. I want to try rowing, not die in the process.”
Emma twirled to show off the awkward flotation device. Her skirt belled out. Everything between her waist and her shoulders was padded with cork-stuffed cotton twill. When she stopped spinning, she frowned.
“Where is your life jacket?”
“I don’t need one. I’m a strong swimmer, and I’m not wearing a skirt.” He stripped off his knit jersey and tossed it aside, standing in that shirt she liked so much. The Henley.
Emma rested her chin on her fist while her gaze skimmed down the row of buttons marching straight down his sternum. She caught herself staring and jerked her gaze away, saying, “Perhaps I ought to start wearing trousers, for ease of mobility.”
Max’s loins tightened. Heaven help them both if she adopted men’s fashion. He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her.
“We’ll use this boat.” He gestured to a low-slung shell tethered to the pier, stepped into the flat bottom and offered Emma his hand. She placed one delicate palm into his. Max’s pulse quickened at the contact.
