Page 34 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
“You attempt to wriggle away with clever words, but I will have an answer. What are your intentions toward Hugo?”
Geneviève folded back the blanket from her knees before rising. Walking overto the decanters, she took her time in selecting and pouring more into her glass. “He’s a charming young man.”
“One with wealth and a title, whom you intend to deceive into his marriage vows, making him believe you love him when you mean only to use his position for your own betterment.”
Geneviève did allow herself to laugh at that. “Where a man believes himself in love, a woman need provide only a little encouragement.”
“Love!” He spat the word. “Love serves only to blind us to the nature of the other.”
He spoke so vehemently, Geneviève was brought up sharply. “You don’t believe in love?”
“I do not.”
“Then, what do you believe…where women are concerned?”
A muscle was twitching in his jaw and his eyes had grown almost black. The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. “You profess love but only as it suits you. You are constant only where it provides material benefit. You manipulated me, Madam, but I am no longer deceived, and I will not allow you to play with the heart of one who is gullible. You may feign gentility and the sincerity of love, but I know your true nature. Ruled by your passions, with no thought of virtue, or constancy, you’re not to be trusted!”
Ice had been stealing through her at the tone of his voice, but then the ice turned to fire, and her indignation grew hot. If the viscount wished to preach, she’d happily show him his own ‘true nature’.
Geneviève pulled the sash of her dressing gown. Ashe reached the end of his tirade, she looked him directly in the eyes, letting the two halves of the garment part. As if absentmindedly, she brushed her fingers across the front of her flimsy nightdress. “You think me a whore because I have a mind of my own and refuse to act the virgin, because I desire physical pleasure in the same way as a man.”
He faltered into remarkable stillness.
Where his voice had risen, gathering in outrage, her own was measured. She moved the torn fabric to one side, exposing the curve of pale skin. “This is how you expect me to behave, is it not?”
Already, the imprint of her assailant’s fingers was visible where he’d squeezed her breast violently. A welt was rising where Lord Slagsby had raked his teeth.
“You saw this?” Geneviève touched the mole. “A pretty thing, Maxim always thought it. And you, Lord Wulverton? I recall you kissing more than my hand, not so long ago.”
“You mean to provoke me.” His voice was tight.
Geneviève continued to speak softly as she came forward. When she stood before him, close enough that he might reach out and touch her, he licked his lips, his eyes dropping to where she teased her nipple, drawing it to a point between her fingers.
He made no move to retreat, his eyes solely upon her body.
“You censure me, yet you wish nothing more than to ravish me again,” she murmured. “We’re alone, so you may do as you wish. I shan’t protest.”
She paused beforespeaking again, raising the volume of her voice, her manner more assertive. “Here, before the fire? Or would you rather bend me over where we stand?” Bringing her hand to his groin, she found what she knew would be there: the hardness of his desire.
She uttered the last with a cry of defiance. “Remember to leave payment as you did before!”
A shadow crossed Lord Wulverton’s face, as if he couldn’t decide whether to strike her or take her at her word. However, he stepped back, his lip curling in disdain.
“I concede that I cannot control every base impulse of my masculinity. However, tonight, I choose to temper those passions rather than being their slave.”
She was irked to realize that he’d claimed the last word.
CHAPTER 16
Withers drawingback the curtains allowed the mid-morning sun to enter. “Pardon me, m’lord. I thought it best to wake you.”
Mallon’s head was pounding. He couldn’t remember how much he’d drunk but, as he shielded his eyes from the sudden flood of daylight, other events from the past evening pulled into focus.
Retiring to his bed, his blood had been fevered. Geneviève had made a fool of him, or he’d made one of himself. Either way, it was a damnable situation.
They’d each spoken their mind, and there would be no more lies. He knew exactly what sort of woman he was dealing with, and she was no better than his mother. Too bold with her sensuality, too inclined to act on impulse, too adept at concealment. Like his mother, she was a breaker of hearts—and Mallon had no intention of placing his own on a salver, as his father had done, to be sliced into pieces.
He could never forget those years of his father’sembittered, cold detachment. Mallon’s childhood had been a cruel lesson in betrayal—not just on his mother’s part, but his father’s, too. They had both let him down.
