Page 65 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
“I like that you’re not a shy miss.”
She was grateful he couldn’t see what not being so was costing her. She wanted this, wanted to be with him, but a part of her wanted to retreat, wanted to ask him not to go too quickly, to give her time to adjust to the notion she might be desirable.
Again, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and began leading her down a hallway, not up the stairs as she’d expected. Paintings of horses dotted the walls.
“You do love your horses,” she mused.
“I do indeed. I find them to be gorgeous in their simplicity, noble in their endeavors. A horse will race his heart out for you. What of your parlor? Are those various representations of horses displayed there your doing?”
“Yes. I admire them as well. I suppose we have that in common.”
“We have a good deal more than that.”
They reached a parlor or perhaps it was a lady’s library. A wall of shelves contained books and assorted vases. The chairs and sofa were covered in pastels that surprised her.
“You favor pink?”
“My mother had a hand in decorating this room. My tastes lean toward the dark. She wanted someplace to sit that wouldn’t leave her melancholy when she visited.”
“I met your mother once. She was very kind.”
“I find her so.”
He led her to a set of double doors. After opening them, he escorted her into a garden. Roses and other blossoms long closed for the night scented the air. The glow from two lanterns revealed a blanket spread over the ground, a wicker basket, a bottle of wine, glasses, and plates.
“We’re having a picnic?” she asked, the very last thing she’d expected.
“I’m a firm believer that seduction begins before one nears a bedchamber.”
She looked up at him. His mother wasn’t the only one who was kind. She’d deduced he wouldn’t make a good husband for Gina. Now she felt rather guilty about her assessment, worried she might have caused her sister to lose out on a lifetime of happiness with a man who might have appreciated her. “I may have judged you harshly, my lord.”
“Because you didn’t think me suitable for your sister?”
She nodded, hating that she’d been so obvious in her disregard for his attentions.
“We’re not suited, Gina and I. I much prefer a woman who views herself worthy of a great deal more than pretty frocks and chocolates.”
Two of the items Gina had claimed would make her happy.
Drawing her in, he lowered his mouth to hers and took with a slow and steady insistence that curled her toes, melted her knees, turned the secretive place between her thighs into liquid desire. Did he really think after delivering a searing kiss that they were going to sit on a blanket, sip wine, and converse about the weather or the stars? Although she had to admit if she saw one arcing across the sky, she might very well find herself making a wish that somewhere in America she would find a man who would cause her to feel as this one did: treasured, adored, desired.
He growled once before stepping back with a harsh curse directed at himself and his lack of restraint. She’d never let him know that his ability not to resist her stroked her ego, lifted her self-esteem. He grabbed her hand with an abruptness and lack of gentleness that spoke to the tension rampaging through him. She was awful to take such delight in it.
“Let’s sit, shall we?”
Let’s nothovered on the tip of her tongue. Part of her wanted to admit there was no reason for all this. That she was well and truly seduced already. That she was anxious to go to his bedchamber, to lie in his bed. Part of her craved the wooing that had been so absent from her marriage, wanted to savor these moments, knowing everything would change once he possessed her, once he obtained what he sought. She would be his in ways she feared, in ways he’d never comprehend or understand. There was a difference between men and women, in how they viewed such an intimate act. He could partake in it without involving his heart. She wasn’t certain she could. “Let’s,” she whispered, before stepping onto the blanket and lowering herself to the ground.
He didn’t know why he was of a mind to woo her. They had an arrangement. He could have raced up the stairs, dragging her behind him, and she couldn’t have complained or objected. He could have tossed her onto the bed, lifted her skirts, and taken her and she couldn’t have faulted him. They had an agreement. They had terms.
He hated everything about the reasons that had brought her here.
But he was too selfish, wanted her too badly to send her away, to return to the original bargain and take the damn stallion for stud. She’d given herself to others, to her husband, to a damned footman, to some lucky sod or two at the Nightingale. She wasn’t pure or moralistic or particularly selective when it came to bedding. Yet, he wanted her to be all that—for him. He wanted to be all that for her.
He set out the cheese, olives, and fruit. He poured their wine, raised his glass in a salute. “To a night neither of us will soon forget.”
She lifted her glass, bowed her head, sipped. Her fragrance drowned out the blossoms that scented the air.
“During our arrangement, you’re not to go to anyone else’s bed.”
