Page 86 of The Art of Sinning
He winced. He hadn’t exactly made it easy for her to say anything. With a flash, he remembered her expression after he’d dictated their need to marry with all the subtlety of an ox.
She’d been hurt. She’d hoped for more, and he’d hurt her.
As guilt clutched at his throat, he took a longer swig from the flask. Damn it, this was why he’d wanted to stay away from her in the first place! He wasn’t the right sort of man for her.
Not that it mattered; he had to marry her. No other man would take her after this, or if he did unwittingly, he would make her life hell when he learned the truth. And she deserved to have a decent husband, to have a home of her own and children.
An image leapt into his head, of Yvette happy and content with a babe on her knee.Hisbabe on her knee. Some fat and sassy cherub of a girl or a restless, sweet-faced boy crawling along the floor to his father...
No! He’d been that route before, only to have it all turn to shit in his hands. He wasn’t going to throw himself into that dream again.
He would offer marriage because he must, because it was the right thing to do. But he would not indulge his sudden inexplicable urge for a romantic entanglement. That way lay madness.
It was a miracle that Yvette made it back to her room without crying. Once she was there tears boiled out of her, born as much of anger and frustration as of hurt feelings. She resisted the childish urge to tromp about her room and throw things that made a lot of noise. That wouldn’t do a bit of good, and it would call attention to her secret activities, besides.
But blast it all, she wanted to scream! Him and his pity proposal. What had she been thinking? Had she really believed that sharing a bed with the blasted man would magically make him swoon with love for her? Say he would die if he couldn’t have her?
She dropped onto the bed. Yes. Shehadbelieved it. Not consciously, of course. But the fierceness of his desire had convinced her that he really cared, that he wanted her for more than just a bed partner.
That he might actually love her.
She snorted. What a fool she was. Hadn’t she learned long ago that rogues only wanted to get beneath a woman’s skirts?
No, that wasn’t fair. A rogue would have taken her to bed and then said a merry farewell. Jeremy had resisted her, tried to run away from her. And when she hadn’t taken no for an answer, he’d made love to her and proposed marriage.
Rogues didn’t propose marriage.
She threw herself back on the bed. So now what was she to do? Obviously, if shedidfind herself breeding, she would have to marry him. But barring that possibility, she didn’t want a husband who saw marriage to her as a supreme sacrifice. Though neither did she want to be left ruined and alone.
Shehatedconundrums. Especially the kind that involved a certain aloof artist who became a pillar of fire whenever he touched her or kissed her or bedded her.
A sigh wafted out of her. Every part of her ached, yet she would do it again in a heartbeat—not just for the amazing pleasure at the end, but for the wonderful feeling of closeness she’d felt with him.
The feeling had been building for days, but it had blossomed into something more when he’d listened to her tale about the lieutenant without criticizing her behavior. He’d been irate on her behalf, ready to slay dragons and lop off horns for her.
She sat up. Yes, he had been, hadn’t he? Not exactly the behavior of a dispassionate admirer of her body. Perhaps the dratted idiot reallydidhave feelings for her. Perhaps he even really wanted to marry her.
Or perhaps she was spinning dreams again that could never come true.
Well, if something more than a guilty conscience and a rampant prick was guiding his determination to marry her, he’d have to tell her. Or show her. Or somehow reassure her that wedding him wouldn’t be a huge mistake.
Because she wasn’t about to risk marrying a man who could make her life a misery. She’d rather be ruined and alone than suffer that.
Twenty-One
“You want towhat?”
Standing in the midst of Blakeborough’s study the next morning, Jeremy winced at the man’s incredulous tone. Perhaps he shouldn’t have sprung the matter so abruptly, but it was too late to go back now. “I said, I want to marry Yvette. If she’ll have me.”
For the first time since Jeremy had met him, the earl looked completely confounded. “Marry her. You want to marry my sister.” Blakeborough excelled at stating the obvious.
“Surely you’ve noticed that she and I get along very well.”
The earl, who’d taken a seat behind his desk when they’d first entered, now leaned forward to stare at him over it. “Yes, but well enough tomarry? Have you even asked her?”
Thunderation. He could hardly admit he’d asked her more than once after he’d made love to her like a randy hound with no self-control. Or an ounce of sense.
“Not exactly.” Under the circumstances, he figured it was all right to shade the truth. “We’ve discussed the idea, but—”
