Page 37 of Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses
Her words jumbled in his brain, made no sense. “What are you talking about?”
“Somerdale. When we were walking in the gardens last night, he asked to whom he should speak regarding his intentions toward me.”
There was a sudden roaring between his ears that made it difficult to think. “Do you want to marry him?”
“I like him well enough and I think we’re well suited.”
“He’s gambled away a good bit of his inheritance.”
She shrugged. “And mine will fill his coffers. It’s the reason gentlemen prefer heiresses, isn’t it?”
You are deserving of a man who would marry you if you were a pauper.
She took a step toward him. “I suspect things are going to move rather quickly once Tillie and Rexton return. I want one more night of adventure. Something wicked and scandalous.” Another step forward. Tilting back her head, she met and held his gaze.
“I want one more night with you doing something I shouldn’t, something I can look back on with fond memories, that will make me smile. A night when I wasn’t dull... before I settle into a life of porridge every morning.”
As he sat in the parlor of the Nightingale Club, he called himself every sort of fool. He’d given in to her desires and brought her here when no good could come of it.
They’d arrived in a hansom. Beneath her cloak, Gina had been clutching a domino mask, which led him to believe she’d have come here without him if he hadn’t reluctantly agreed to bring her—if she’d been able to find the locale. Knowing her as he did, he was fairly certain she’d have sniffed it out one way or another. Better to come here under his protection than alone. Or so he’d argued with himself.
He hadn’t visited the infamous residence since he’d ended his affair with Lady M all those years back. While initially he’d had fond memories of the place, they’d been soured by the countess’s revelations regarding her marital status. It was still difficult to believe he’d been such an idiot. Thank God, he no longer thought with the lower half of his body.
Then what the deuce are you doing here now?
Gina was going to want to go up those stairs and into one of those bedchambers. She wasn’t going to be content to have a glance around the parlor, note the various flirtations, and identify which lords were about.
When they’d arrived, he’d escorted her to a back door where the ladies entered. Someone would assist her in disrobing and putting on silk that clung to the skin and flowed with her movements. Then she would be escorted here, and he would claim her so fast it would make the other gents dizzy. The mask would conceal her identity—
Only it didn’t. He realized that the moment she strolled over the threshold. How could any man watch the vision in pink gliding into the room and not recognize her? How could they see the shining blond hair draped over one shoulder and not envision it tucked up into an elaborate coiffure at a ball? How could they not estimate her height, take in the luscious dips and swells outlined by silk and not know they were looking at Gina Hammersley?
This had been a terrible, awful idea. He didn’t recall shoving himself out of the chair but suddenly he was standing in front of her. The mask covered three quarters of her face, leaving only her mouth and chin visible, but how could any man who had danced with her not spend his time memorizing the perfect bow shape of her upper lip, not envisioned himself nibbling on the full lower lip? How could they not recognize the dark pink that begged a man to taste them?
How could any man look into her eyes and not know that no other woman in England had eyes so green, so fetching, so tempting?
He was in trouble because there was nothing he wanted more than to take her up those stairs and possess her completely, to claim her as his own, to make those eyes darken with desire, to make those lips part in wonder, to hear her sighs and moans ringing in his ears.
She smiled, and he was lost. His resolve to honor her, to not take from her what could never be returned, cracked and buckled under the weight of how desperately he wanted her.
“Lord Andrew Mabry, you despicable blackguard! I knew it was you!”
It took Andrew a moment to break free of the spell she’d placed over him. Looking past her, he saw the Earl of Montley standing there. Good Lord, he was wielding a pistol. The room had gone completely quiet and still.
“Montley—”
“Come here, you unfaithful wench,” the man barked, and Andrew realized the earl thought Gina was his wife.
Stepping in front of Gina, Andrew tried to push her even farther back, not at all happy with the resistance she was emitting. “She’s not your wife, man.”
“Don’t be absurd. Do you think I don’t recognize my own countess?”
“Apparently you don’t.”
“Come here, wife, or I shall shoot off his cock!”
Gina stepped forward. Andrew wrapped his fingers around her arm. She flung him off. “My lord, I am not your wife.”
“You deceitful liar!” He aimed the pistol at Andrew, low, very low, cocked it—
