Page 55 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
The music drifted into a silence that seemed incredibly loud as she waited for him to provide some explanation other than he’d enjoyed a dance with her. Why had he come after her in the first place that night? Why was he standing here now?
“Then I shall have to work doubly hard to ensure you trust mine,” he finally said, as the strains of a waltz started up, and he offered her his arm.
“What is your motive?”
“I’ve told you. I like you.”
“No, you said you enjoyed dancing with me. Those are vastly different things.”
“You’re quite literal.”
“Unfortunately, I am, yes.”
“Then let’s return to my original answer and grant me the pleasure of a dance.”
She hesitated for all of two blinks before placing her hand on his arm and allowing him to lead her onto the dance area. Why did she have an insatiable need to understand his presence? She was attracted to him, and once again, she would be in the circle of his arms. Why couldn’t she be content with that for now?
He wasn’t one to give a lady attention for overly long. She should enjoy it while she had it.
DID he like her? He certainly liked her legs, the way passion burned within her, the echo of her cries at the moment of climax. He enjoyed dancing with her, watching the way she carried her own in a conversation or poorly disguised confrontation. He appreciated the way she studied his photographs. If he were going to marry for money, it wouldn’t be a hardship to take her to wife. It came with the added advantage of having the luxury of bedding her—without a blasted mask, without absolute darkness.
But did helike her?
Dammit all, she deserved someone who did. He could make that claim because he did enjoy her company, but he also knew that she wanted to be more than liked. She wanted to be loved.
Every woman is worthy of love and should accept no less from a man she agrees to marry.
The opening words to her blasted book. He had known about it before Edward mentioned it, had in fact gone round to a shop and secured a copy once he made the decision to pursue her. He’d felt somewhat guilty when he’d announced he was available for all the dances. If he hadn’t readThe Lady’s Guide—it wasn’t overly long; apparently fortune hunters could be identified in short order—he’d have signed his name to several of the dance cards bumping his nose earlier and given her the scraps. Only according to her, “a lady deserved more than scraps from any gentleman who was in serious pursuit.”
If she weren’t willing to reveal her identity at the Nightingale, it seemed only fair that he not reveal his true purpose here: to fill his coffers. She’d taken advantage of him in the shadows—not that he was complaining. He was taking advantage of her in the light. Although knowing what an incredibly carnal creature she was, he knew she would gain a great deal as his wife: He could satisfy her in bed as no other man could, as no other man possibly wanted. He might not love her, but within his arms, she would never find herself lacking for attention. And she would find herself in his arms a good bit of the time.
This evening she wore a lilac gown trimmed in deep purple that brought out the warmth in her brown, almost black eyes. Her arms were bare, except for the ridiculously long gloves that went past her elbows. Why did Society have such an aversion to the display of skin? Well, not all displays. It was perfectly acceptable to tease a man with a showing of cleavage. His body tightened as he remembered the feel of her nipple in his mouth. Other thoughts began to line up like good little soldiers determined to take him through every minute that she’d been in bed with him, and if that happened, he’d barely be able to stagger off the dance floor.
“What was the reason?” he asked.
Her eyebrows drew together ever so slightly. “Pardon?”
“Your reason for not wanting to go to Texas. What was it?”
Her lips flattened, her nostrils pinched together. “It’s not that I didn’t want to go. But I didn’t want to travel there for the reason that my brother suggested I should.”
She licked those lips that he suddenly had an insane urge to kiss. “Women are scarce,” she continued. “He thought I would have better luck finding a husband. I know he means well—”
“It was insulting, to think you can’t compete.”
Her head jerked back slightly as though she were surprised by his conclusion. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was insulting. A bit hurtful perhaps. Mostly, it just irritates. I’ve had six Seasons and with each one, more well-meaning people are offering me advice on how to obtain love. Some of it is absolutely ridiculous.”
“Such as?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Do you really want to know?”
Strangely, he did. “I might need it, as I’m getting up in years.”
“Men needn’t marry young. That’s a burden foisted only on women as though, at a certain age, we curdle.ThatI find insulting, but you don’t want to hear my rant on that subject I’m sure. As for what I can do in order to find love: hang a wishbone over the door to my bedchamber. Cook even provided the chicken bone when she offered that bit of tantalizing advice.”
He smiled. “And it didn’t work?”
She scowled at him. “I didn’t hang it up. My lady’s maid is always slipping a hand mirror beneath my pillow. Apparently, it will cause my true love to be reflected in my dreams. But he’s there anyway, so I always remove it when I discover it.”
