Page 53 of Desperate Proposals
“Ahh, I think we’ve finally ferreted out the true issue, Mrs. Hartley.”
He said her name in a teasing, singsong manner. Evelyn did not appreciate it.
“Which is?”
“That you’re madly in love with me.”
“What? Don’t be daft.” She sniffed. “Although I admit your appearance is tolerable, and your voice… well, your voice is quiteelegant and your eyes rather noble—completely at odds with your entire bearing, mind—this marriage, if you’ll recall, is a mutually beneficial agreement. A contract, as you put it. A man such as yourself should be too intelligent to be governed by all this…”
She paused, searching for the right term.Feminine pursuits,she heard Selina say in her memory. Evelyn pressed her lips together. Lust was a silly thing, but there was nothing feminine or masculine about it, was there? Both sexes fell victim to its murky haze.
“… twaddle,” she finally settled on.
“We are in complete agreement on that subject,” Mr. Hartley said as he stared at a bookshelf that held only uniform red and gold volumes, “but somehow disconnected regarding the frequency of our, er…”
“Nocturnal assignations?” Evelyn suggested with an eagerness she couldn’t believe came from her own lips.
“Perhaps,” he replied with a shrug. Then his eyes wandered back to her, a smirk upon his face.
Oh dear, what had she said?
“But ‘nocturnal’ would suggest a limitation to the evening hours, would it not?”
“I suppose,” she said, drawing her words out as she fought desperately to get ahead of his thinking. But she wasn’t quick enough.
He withdrew a watch from his pocket, glanced at it, then repocketed it with a wry smile.
“Eleven o’clock,” he said.
Too late she realized what he was about.Oh no.
He stood, and lazily made his way around his desk as he spoke.
“Now, if one of us could make a compelling case to the other, there might be no need for such restrictive verbiage.” He stopped before her, looking down with a devilish grin.
She looked away, trying to appear nonchalant, as if her heart wasn’t hammering against her ribcage in a most disruptive manner.
He caught her chin.
Ever so gently he turned her to face him, tilting her head back. He loomed over her, his other hand planted on the arm of her chair, caging her in.
“What are your feelings on referring to them simply as ‘assignations,’ Mrs. Hartley?”
She parted her lips, but no sound came.
But it did not matter, for before she could gather her thoughts he was upon her, kissing her with a deliberate languor that poured forth from him into her, warming her limbs and slowing her mind. She’d missed this, she realized with startling clarity. With the fervor of a proselyte, she kissed him back, placing a hand upon his cheek, caressing him, feeling the grit of his whiskers.Why, he must need to shave twice daily, she wondered.
He pulled away, his gaze heavy. It felt as though minutes had passed.
“Well?” he said, his voice rough.
Oh. He’d asked her something, hadn’t he? She furrowed her brow, then recalled.
“‘Assignations’ is adequate,” she said, in as steady a voice as she could manage.
“Really?” He stood up and turned around, hands clasped behind his back, suddenly all business. “For I do recall you once asserting that kissing was only acceptable within the marital chamber.”
“Oh.” She blushed. “I don’t recall.”
