Page 102 of The Secret of Flirting
Monique rolled her eyes. Men! They always had to brandish their spears and thump their chests as they laid claim to their women. Though she suspected that Lady Fulkham would have something to say about all this. Gregory’s mother would lead the count a merry chase, no doubt. Monique looked forward to seeing it.
“And speaking of Lady Fulkham,” the count went on, “shall we adjourn to the reception? Your mother had promised to attend.”
“An excellent idea,” Gregory said. “A carriage is outside to take you and Lady Ursula and Princess Aurore—the real one. Monique will be riding in my equipage.” When her uncle bristled, Gregory added, “Suitably chaperoned, I assure you. Flora is waiting in the carriage.”
That soothed her uncle’s sudden chivalric impulses, though she wanted to tell him how hypocritical they were in light of the way he’d been behaving for the last two weeks. It seemed that having a baron want to marry her had altered his feelings considerably.
The group walked out together, and she and Gregory watched as their companions drove off in one coach. Then his carriage arrived and they climbed in. They had scarcely settled into their seats, and Monique had just registered that they were alone, before Gregory pulled her into his arms and gave her a long, heartfelt kiss that sent her pulse racing and her knees melting.
As it dawned on her what he was doing, she pushed away. “You told my uncle we’d be suitably chaperoned!”
“We will be... as soon as we fetch Flora from the park where she is indeed waiting in the carriage. Just not this one.” His eyes gleamed at her. “And if we happen to take an hour or so touring the park beforehand, who will know? Certainly, Flora won’t say anything. She works forme, after all.”
When he reached for her again, she pressed her hand against his chest. “Yousaid we had to behave above reproach until the official announcement of our betrothal!”
“We do. And when we arrive at the reception, you will be perfectly presentable, with your maid following right behind you.” His voice lowered to a husky rasp. “But it’s been three days,mon amour. If I don’t have you to myself for at least an hour, I will die.”
She eyed him askance. “A rather extravagant claim for a man who only last week couldn’t bring himself to say the words ‘I love you.’ ”
He grinned. “People change.”
“Forever?” she asked, wanting to be sure. “Once all the furor is over, there will still be people who remember I was once a ‘whore of an actress,’ who will refuse to invite us, who will—”
“I don’t care.” Taking her hand, he stripped the glove from it with clear intent. “And I believe I told you never again to call yourself that.” He tongued her wrist, reminding her of the last time he’d done so.
When a thrill shot through her, she caught her breath and had trouble remembering what she’d been saying. “O-other people may still... call me that.”
“Not if they want to keep their teeth,” he said, nipping at her tender skin as if to emphasize theteethpart. “Because I will tolerate no insult to my wife.”
“You might not be able to... to stop them. If it costs you your career—”
“Enough.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “I am going to say this only once. Unless you don’twishto marry me—and if that’s the case, please tell me immediately—we are getting married. Because I love you, now and always. And nothing short of an act of Parliament will prevent me from making you my wife. So there will be no more worrying about the future or my career. Understood,ma fiancée?”
Fiancée.Oh, shedidlike the sound of that. And if he was mad enough to risk all to marry her, who was she to protest? “Whatever you say,mon coeur.”
He arched one eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling that this will be the last time I ever hear those words again?”
She blinked. “Mon coeur?”
“No. ‘Whatever you say.’ ”
“Oh, monsieur.” She reached up to untie his cravat. “I can think of quite a few things you might tell me where I would respond with that phrase.”
Need flared in his face. “Ah. Things like ‘Take off your stockings, my love.’ ‘Lift your skirts, my love.’ ” He bent to whisper in her ear, “ ‘Come to bed, my love.’ ”
“Whatever you say,mon coeur.” She lifted her skirts enough to unfasten her garters. “Whatever you say,mon coeur. And... I see no bed here,mon coeur.”
A chuckle escaped him. “I knew it. You could never be entirely biddable.”
She smirked at him. “If you wanted ‘biddable,’ sir, you would have married long before now.”
He laughed outright. “True. Then I suppose I must put this in terms you will accept.Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, mon amour?”
“Whatever you say,mon coeur.” Then, pulling his head down to hers, she showed him precisely how biddable she could be for the man she loved.
Epilogue
January 1831
