Page 8 of The Secret to Swooning
Ann could not breathe. She could not move. Every muscle called out,Go to him, you beef-wit! A fork had once more presented itself on her path: On one side, safety and the plan her parents had charted for her, and on the other, Everette, the rogue who’d caught her and kissed her and wanted her just as she was.
She knew what path she wished to take, had known this morning. But could she find the courage?
“You do not have to explain,” she said. “I am quite aware that a rake cannot control his impulses. You were being gallant by saving me in my swoon, and then the… press of my body against yours tempted you too far. And I think—”
“No.”
She snapped her mouth shut. What had she been about to say? He slunk low in the red velvet chair, legs spread wide—one bent, the other stretched out to its full length. One elbow rested on an upholstered arm, and he’d dropped his chin on his knuckles, his fingers held loose and long and—oh, the imprint of them still burned on the skin of her breast even though four layers of clothing—including his gloves—had kept him from truly touching her. As she’d wanted him to do.
His lips were full and kissed to a berry red. Byher. And his short hair, usually fashionably coifed, was rumpled—byherfingers—and beckoning to be tousled further. He was a veritable picture of sin and desire, and every naughty impulse she was never to admit she knew about, let alone felt, coursed through her. How could she gather any two connected thoughts with him sitting there like that?
“No what?” she asked, voice shaking.
“Ann, don’t fear me. I’ve made a mess of this. Icancontrol my urges, you know. I have this past year, ever since you kissed me to make Lord Trevor jealous. I’ve not touched a single woman. Not wanted to. Because the only urge that has driven me to madness is the urge to touch you, to bring you pleasure.
“But more than that, Ann, I want to love you. I do love you, and I want to spend every day proving that to you, teasing you, making you laugh and smile.”
Was she crumpled on the floor? Because she could no longer feel her legs.
“Come.” He flashed a wicked grin. “Sit with me again. I promise to behave until I’ve told you all.”
“A-andafteryou’ve told me all?”
“Then it’s up to you whether I behave or not.” He winked.
Ah. Another invitation to join him. She’d pushed him away twice, yet he’d remained, ever determined, ever faithful. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and made her choice.
She looked over her shoulder at the door. It seemed an insubstantial barrier against her and complete ruin. “We could be discovered at any second.”
“And then you would have to marry me, and I would not be at all upset about that.”
Neither would she.
Neither would she.
Oh. Every doubt fell away, crushed to dust beneath her feet as she strode toward him. When she stood between his knees, she clasped her hands behind her back. “What would a marriage between us be like?”
“I would wake you up with kisses and put you to bed with them, too. I would make you laugh as often as possible and seek you out whenever I’d been away too long. I miss you when you’re not near. Which is too bloody often.”
“Language, Everette!”
“My name sounds like honey on your lips. Can I see what it tastes like?”
Tempting. Torn between desire and decorum, she frowned.
“I even love that,” he said. “The V of your brow when you frown. And the way you tip your nose into the air. You deserve better than that Lord Trevor, which means you deserve better than me, but I since I have belonged to you for quite some time now, perhaps you might consider belonging to me as well?”
Her heart stuttered in her chest, reached out for him, tried to thump her entire body right into his lap.
“You seem surprised.” He lifted a hand, caught a bit of gauzy fabric, and held it between thumb and finger. Her skin tingled, breasts tightened, and she had to claw her hands together behind her back to keep from grabbing for him. “Ididpropose to you this morning.”
She looked away from him. “I have a difficult time believing it. I am not the sort of woman capable of converting a rake. I am no great beauty. No great wit. I am simply… Ann. Obedient and mild.”
His brows knit together. He pulled on her skirt, tugging her closer until their thighs kissed. “Do not disparage yourself.”
She frowned. “I speak only truth—”
He whipped to his feet and danced her across the room. When he stopped, he spun her. They stood before a gold-rimmedmirror, her breathless, him with the intent gaze of a desperate man. “Look at yourself, Ann. Pink, kissable lips, and eyes that make a man take a second look. Or third or tenth. You’ve a tart tongue, and sometimes it darts out at the corner of your mouth and makes me ache. And all this hair.” He thrust the fingers of one hand through the hair at her nape and pressed his face into her neck with a groan. “I dream of what it looks like down. You have the beauty of a winter day—sharp and clear and cutting. I’m no poet. Just believe me when I say I love you.”
