Page 8 of The Danger of Desire
He bent closer and she picked up the faintest scent of spicy cologne. “So why do you think you’re not my preference?” he asked in a rough rasp that made every muscle in her belly melt.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d soon be blushing and babbling like some schoolgirl. “Because most rakehells prefer flashy women with large bosoms and swaying hips. I am not that.”
“You know nothing about rakehells if you believe we all have the same preferences. Go to any brothel, and you’ll find women of every size and shape.” He brought his mouth close to her ear to murmur, “And a man in each of their beds.”
Jerking back, she caught the gleam in his eye and realized he was trying to shock her. Which he was very nearly doing. “Tell me, Lord Knightford, do you often discuss brothels with respectable young ladies?”
“No, but then, I rarely discuss tattoos with them, either.”
She glanced away and spotted her brother’s footman, the hulking Owen, one of the few servants they had left. He stood on the edge of the crowd, watching her. Oh, dear, it looked as if he’d read her message about tonight and needed to discuss it with her. Somehow she must get herself free of this horribly intriguing marquess.
“Which is all the more reason for us to join forces,” he said, drawing her attention back to him.
“Join forces?”
“Let Clarissa think that we’re interested in each other. Then she’ll leave us be. And we can discuss tattoos and brothels to our hearts’ content.”
“I can’t.”
“You just were.”
Curse the man for being deliberately obtuse. “No, I mean I can’t join forces with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I just can’t.” Much as she would like to curtail not only Clarissa’s matchmaking but that of Aunt Agatha, an association with his lordship was too risky. She couldn’t keep up her nightly activities if he were sniffing around, no matter what the reason.
“You mean you have someone waiting in the wings, and you don’t want me to scare him off,” he said.
His blasted lordship was going to keep prying until she convinced him that she didn’t want or need his interference. Leave it to a man not to believe a woman when she said she wasn’t interested in marriage. So she might as well tell him what he wanted to hear.
“That’s right.” She stared him down. “I have a suitor at home in Cheshire. One I vastly prefer to all the rich and titled gentlemen in London. Which is why I’m not interested in being courted by this lot.”?He looked unconvinced. “I see. And what is the fellow’s name, if I may ask?”
Frantically she cast about for one. “Owen-... ouse.” Oh, Lord. “Mr. Phineas Owenouse.”
“Owenouse?” With a laugh he swung her through the waltz. “What kind of surname is that?”
“Why, it’s Welsh, of course.” Delia couldn’t help it—with Owen on the brain, it had been the first to leap into her mind. She was generally better at dissembling than this, but his lordship had thrown her off her game. “He’s a farmer. We have a number of Owenouses in our town.”
Oh, why had she hit upon that name? Clearly Lord Knightford didn’t believe her.
“Hmm. And how long have you had a tendre for this Phineas Owenoose?”
“Owenouse. Like ‘Owen’s house,’ except without theh.”
“Ah. And does this Owenouser have a tendre for you, too?” His eyes twinkled suspiciously.
“O-w-e-n-o-u-s-e, not Owenouser. And I should hope so, or why would I pin my hopes on him?” she said blithely, ignoring his other question.
He tightened his grip on her waist. “Ah, but if you already have a suitor, why is Lady Pensworth bringing you out?”
Good question. “Well... er... my aunt doesn’t approve of Phineas, of course. She wants me to marry well, and a Welsh farmer isn’t good enough for her.” Delia couldn’t tell whether he believed her. She pressed on, knowing that embellishing a tale with details often made it more believable. “But he’s a wonderful man, who raises chickens, pigs, and cows.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “He raises all that, does he? And crops, too, I suppose.”
“Of course. There’s barley and rye and corn and—”
“My, my, what an enterprising farmer,” he said dryly. “I didn’t know that one could grow corn in Cheshire.”
