Page 14 of The Lyon Whisperer
“Oh.” She sent him a warm smile. “Please don’t blame him. He did offer, but I wanted to wait to remove them until…” She let her words die. The tip of her pink tongue darted out to dampen one corner of her rose-colored lips.
“Until the two of us had privacy?”
She seemed pleased by his grasp of the situation. “Precisely. I thought it prudent no one but you know of my late-night visit.”
“Prudent. I see.” He sent her a long look meant to convey his disapproval.
She gazed straight back at him, brazen as a courtesan. Only the flush staining her pale cheeks hinted at anything other than confidence. Then again, the flush could be due to exertion.
“You did not, by any chance, ride here?”
“It was rather a straight shot,” she hedged.
By God, when his uncle had shared her father’s concerns about her behavior, he’d thought the man exaggerated. This womanwasout of control. What in hell had Uncle Harry gotten him into?
He set her items on the inlayed table near the closed door and contemplated the sitting area he’d vacated, close to the low-glowing hearth. He had not stoked the fire for some time as he had planned to retire, and the room had a distinct chill.
“Would you care to sit and perhaps share with me why you called at this ungodly hour,sanschaperone?” He gestured for her to proceed him.
“Thank you,” she said, settling in one of the armchairs. He had hoped she’d deny his statement concerning her lack of a chaperone.
The woman had ventured out on her own, in the dead of night, traveling on horseback, no less, to see him.
He crouched before the hearth, adding a log to the coals before dropping into the armchair opposite hers.
She wore her black hair back in a ruthlessly tight bun. Not even a tendril graced her temples. Her face was pale as moonlight, and her eyes shone like liquid pools, reflecting the golden firelight. He could not make out their unique violet color. The lack did not signify. She was damned beautiful.
He wondered if she used her beauty to her advantage. Women did, as he well knew.
He sent her a tight smile. “To what do I owe the honor, my dear?”
She licked her lips again.
The small movement captured his attention completely. It took a moment for him to realize he was staring—at her mouth. Annoyed with his own lapse of control, he tore his gaze from her face and regarded the fire.
“My father informed me we are to be married.”
His gaze slid back in her direction. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder exactly what her father had told her. Did she know of the wager between him and Chase’s uncle?
“And you wish to discuss that eventuality with me at this particular juncture because…?”
She lifted her chin, affecting a show of bravado. The rapid pulse vibrating the delicate hollow at the base of her throat told a different tale, however.
“I have some conditions I’d like to make clear before I agree to go forward,” she said.
Intrigued despite himself, he felt the corners of his mouth hitch upward. “Do you? By all means, share them with me.”
She sent him a grateful smile, and his own pulse kicked up a notch. Irritation—with himself—flashed through him.
“First, I belong to a club. The Ladies’ Literary Society of London.”
He shrugged.
She went on. “I insist my membership be allowed to continue. Furthermore, I will read whatever I choose. That is, whatever the club decides, at any given time.”
He rose and retrieved his brandy. “Would you care for one?” he asked, lifting the snifter.
She shook her head. “No, thank you. Did you hear what I said?”
