Page 55 of The Earl Takes All
He could tell her then. No, he had to tell her tonight. Get it over with. Get it done.
“I’d enjoy that. I haven’t been on a horse in close to a year. Can we stop by the tea shop in the village for some strawberry tarts?”
He thought of her eating them, getting the jam on her lips. He could kiss it off her. “I don’t see why not. It’ll be a day for doing whatever we like.”
“I wish it were warm enough for a picnic.”
He imagined her stretched out over a blanket, slowly unbuttoning her bodice, peeling the cloth back so the sun could kiss her where he had not. With a silent curse, he grabbed his wineglass, gulped its contents. “When it’s warmer.”
Of late it didn’t matter what the bloody hell they talked about, he saw her stretched out before him, luring him in, tempting him. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to go as mad as the Marquess of Marsden.
Suddenly, he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m in the mood for billiards. Care to join me?”
She stared up at him. “We haven’t finished dining.”
“I’ve had my fill.” And he had to do something so he wasn’t watching her lips closing provocatively around eating utensils. She had the most sensual addicting mouth that he’d ever known. Get her away from the dining table, away from the servants, and he would tell her who he was. Her reaction would no doubt get his mind off what he’d like to do with those lips.
“You’ve never asked me before.”
“Then it’s high time I did, don’t you think?” Pulling out her chair, he helped her to her feet.
“Will you think less of me if I confess that while you were away I went into your billiards room and smacked some balls around?”
“Why would I think less of you for wanting to enjoy the game?”
“The room was always your sanctuary.”
“Now it will be ours.” He offered his arm.
As they wandered from the dining room, she admitted, “I’m not certain I was doing it correctly—hitting the balls.”
“Did they go into the pockets?”
“What pockets?”
“The holes along the sides.”
“Oh, yes, sometimes. Why are they called pockets?”
“Nicer than holes don’t you think?”
“I suppose.”
As they entered the billiards room, she said, “I’m always struck by the masculinity of this room. All dark woods and burgundy, the scent of cigars. I never thought it was fair that men got to smoke, drink, and play games while ladies poked needles and pulled thread through cloth.”
He’d always thought it rather shortsighted of men not to invite the ladies into their sanctum, which was the reason he’d asked her and Minerva to join the gents at Christmas. He moved away from her, went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of scotch. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Did you want to indulge?”
“Yes, I believe I will. I’d like to try brandy.”
He handed her the glass, watched her throat work as she sipped. Tonight she was wearing a dark burgundy that suited the room, bared her shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts—which suited him.
“It’s quite nice,” she said.
“It can fool you. Don’t drink it too quickly lest it go to your head.”
“What happens then?”
“You’ll lose all your inhibitions.”
