Page 42 of Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses
A boring one at that. He wouldn’t take her to brothels or places where naughtiness occurred. He wouldn’t snatch her into his arms because they felt empty without her there. He would make her a countess and she would make him a very wealthy man.
“The answer is no, my lord. While I appreciate your generous offer, it does not suit me.” She spun on her heel and headed for the door.
“Lord Andrew assured me you would say yes.”
Because Andrew was striving to rescue her once again. Only she was no longer in need of having another save her. She was fully capable of doing it herself. Stopping, she faced him. “Did he? Well, I do hope he didn’t make any wagers on that outcome.”
“I am your only hope to be saved from scandal.”
For the first time in her life, she understood why her sister had risked so much in order to obtain a divorce from her first husband. “Please don’t take offense, my lord, but I have discovered I’d rather live with scandal.”
“I daresay you have a rather odd notion of what it entails in order to rescue me.”
Gina was more than pleased with how abruptly Andrew looked up from the papers he was studying, how quickly he leaped to his feet with her proclamation when she strode into his library unannounced. “What the devil are you doing here?” He looked over her shoulder. “Did you come alone?”
“Yes, sans chaperone. A lady of scandal really doesn’t have to bother with such nonsense.”
“An unmarried lady does not come to a bachelor’s residence unaccompanied.”
“I would think a married one shouldn’t either.”
“A married woman already has a husband. She’s not striving to lead a gent to the altar. She doesn’t have to be quite as careful with her reputation. You, however—”
“I told him no.” Casually she strolled farther into the room, taking additional delight in his obvious confusion. If his brow furrowed any more deeply he was likely to give himself a megrim.
“Somerdale? Why? I thought you fancied him.”
She neared the desk, neared him. He made a hasty retreat to the fireplace, grabbed the mantel with one hand.
“You told me he was in debt.”
“He’s not completely insolvent. Your fortune will help him set matters to rights. He has a very fine estate, in need of a bit of upkeep, but you’ll live comfortably there. And he has a London residence.”
“You have a London residence.”
“Mine is leased. His is owned.”
He didn’t back away when she got near enough to inhale his bergamot and lemony fragrance. But she noticed his knuckles were turning white with his grip of the mantel. “You encouraged him to ask for my hand. Why?”
“Because betrothal to him will go far in limiting the damage done by your discovery at the Nightingale. It makes it moot. It no longer matters. You are spoken for—after the incident. And people will get caught up in your betrothal—why did you dismiss him?”
Moving even closer, she pressed her palm against his chest. “Because his heart didn’t pound against my fingertips. Because I didn’t hear his breath hitch.” She raised her gaze to his. “Because he didn’t have to risk denting the marble of the mantel in order to stop himself from reaching for me. And it seemed wrong, so very wrong—” She lifted her hand to his jaw, resting her palm against the pulse at his throat, where it thrummed madly. “—to marry him when I loved another.”
Ah, Christ. She did not mean him. She could not love him.
But it was there in the green of her eyes, in the intensity with which she looked at him, in the manner in which her fingers pressed against the underside of his jaw. And his pulse, damn it, responded as though she were pressing her mouth there, suckling and licking, and promising other things would be sucked and licked.
“Gina—”
“I know you have no wish to marry. I won’t force you. I won’t let your family force you. I’ll be your lover, for as long as you’ll have me. When you tire of me, I’ll return to New York and live in a cottage by the sea.”
His hand ached. He might have broken a bone, striving so hard to maintain a grip in order not to reach for her. Surrender had never felt so sweet as he released his hold on the mantel and cupped her cheek. “Iwilltire of you, you know.”
Her chin came up a notch as she again nodded. “I know.”
He stroked his thumb along the corner of her mouth. “I estimate, at the most, you would have only fifty or sixty years with me.”
Her impish grin made his heart clench, his chest tighten painfully.
