Page 47 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
“But you know because she…what?”
“Looks…” He waved a hand. “Dreamy.”Sated. Yet always hungry for more.
“Ah.”
Charlie sat forward. “Do you worry about pleasure?”
“I do.”
“Don’t.”
She scowled. “Can one have too much?”
Time to confess. “No.”
“Horses don’t seem to have it,” she blurted.
He gulped. “You’ve seen—?”
She nodded. “I have. Good heavens, Charlie! My father breeds horses.”
His laughter rang around the tiny room. “Forgive me,” he said and wiped tears from his eyes.
“Of course. And dogs don’t seem to like it either.”
“Dogs?”
“Papa’s hunters.”
“Yes.” He nodded once, envisioning the many ways he might embrace Wills and give her heaven. “Quite.”
Esme leaned over. “Why not?”
That seemed simple. “They are not humans, my dear.”
“But if I feel this burning need to—”
“What?”
“Why do I want more than kisses and other things from Giles if it is all so perfunctory?”
“Well, my dear girl, it is not. It’s glorious. It’s heaven. Or the closest you will ever get to it here on earth. But please do not tell anyone I advised you of that.”
“Fine. Good to know. That’s what I want at the least. Pleasure.”
“Very well. So if I cannot assure you that pleasure is a natural byproduct of attraction no matter the first discomfort then…what, Esme, is your real problem?”
“Money.”
“Ha!” He slapped his knee. A rich girl with a money problem. What rich girl did not have that problem! “I need another drink on that. You too?”
She thrust her glass toward him.
He poured. “How much money might you need?”
“Do you ever lose your sense of humor?”
“You know I did. Left it in the dust and blood at Salamanca.” That sobered him, but he shook it off. “I’m eager to learn what kills your good humor on the eve of your wedding.”
