Page 7 of Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses
“You’ve never been in love?”
The question caused his stomach to tighten, the sadness in her eyes made him want to lash out. He fought back the urge by making his voice as frigid as possible. “Have you?”
She shook her head. “No, which to be quite honest I find a bit disheartening. At the ripe old age of nineteen, it seems that at least once I should have fallen in love, possibly had my heart broken.”
“A broken heart serves no use. Trust me on that.”
“Have you had your heart broken?”
Not in any manner to which he was willing to admit. “I have heard musings on the subject of broken hearts from those who have.”
She studied him as though she suspected him of attempting to divert the discussion from his own past. After all these years, he still couldn’t admit the truth regarding the naivete he’d shown in his youth. The music ended. Thank God. They’d begun traveling down a path he did not wish to follow, one that would lead to the resurrection of memories best left buried. Holding her gaze, he brought her gloved hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her fingers. “You will find love, Miss Hammersley. I’ve no doubt of that.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Gentlemen prefer heiresses. You shall have a slew of beaux from whom to choose. Don’t settle on Somerdale until you’ve seen the other offerings.”
“Do you prefer heiresses?”
One in particular but she was far too dangerous, too alluring. “Only the ones who are already married.”
“Why are you so opposed to marriage?” she asked, disappointment registering in her eyes. He kept his face a mask so as not to reveal that he detested disappointing her.
“The same woman every night for the remainder of my life? Why give up the feast for porridge every day?”
“You have a cynical view that does you no good. Even porridge needn’t always be served the same way. I find your thinking lacks imagination if you don’t see that.”
“Trust me, Miss Hammersley, my imagination isn’t at fault here.” But damned if she didn’t make a good point. He suspected every day with her would be filled with surprises.
A clearing of a throat had him glancing over at Lord Manville.
“I believe the next dance is mine?” the viscount asked hesitantly as though he wasn’t quite certain Andrew would give up his claim on the lady.
What could she possibly see in the gap-toothed man? Still Andrew was not going to become jealous of a gent who barely reached his shoulder. He bowed slightly, only then realizing he had yet to release his hold on her hand. “Of course.” He turned his attention back to her. “Thank you, Miss Hammersley. It was an enlightening conversation.”
Striding away, he couldn’t help but wonder exactly how she liked herporridgeserved.
Sitting in his father’s library, sipping on scotch, Andrew cursed the strange fascination he had with Gina. He’d ended up staying until the last guest left, remaining in the ballroom and tormenting himself by watching her dance, flirt, and laugh with an assortment of gentlemen, all unsuitable for her. Considering her diminutive height, some were too tall—including himself if he were honest. Some too short. Others too plump or too thin or odd looking. She’d even danced with Lord Wheatley, whose face was a permanent mottled red that made him look as though he walked around in a constant state of embarrassment. Did she really want a child who resembled that unfortunate fellow? Like begat like. Perhaps he should hand her a book on husbandry and explain how breeding worked.
Gina and his parents had retired for the night. His mother had suggested he stay, rather than heading to his townhouse, but how could he when he knewshewas sleeping down the hallway, only a few doors from his room? He imagined if he listened very carefully he would be able to hear her breathing in slumber.
As much as he fought it, he envisioned more than her breathing. He saw himself standing beside her bed, gazing down on her as she slept, unmoving until finally, at last, she opened her eyes, smiled softly, and lifted the covers in invitation.
All he imagined was the sight of bared shoulders, yet he grew so hard he ached. What the devil was wrong with him? Obviously he’d been too long without a woman. It had been weeks since he’d parted ways with the actress, and he’d not sought out a replacement—not even for a single night. That was the reason for his mind’s lustful wanderings when it came to Gina.
Well, he knew the cure and just where to find it.
Gazing out the window, Gina had yet to see Andrew leave. Although he could have made his exit while she was changing out of her gown and into her nightdress. As she’d started up the stairs, she’d overheard the duchess imploring him to stay the night. Perhaps at this very moment he was stretched out on a bed, staring at the canopy, and thinking of her.
She scoffed at that fantasy. He considered her dull. Although he’d admitted to wanting to lay his tongue against her pulse. At the thought, warmth sluiced through her just as it had when he’d spoken the words in a raspy voice as though the mere idea of it dried his throat. It had certainly dried hers.
It was long past midnight. She should be abed, but how could she sleep when memories of the day bombarded her, all the moments when she’d been in his company? She’d engaged in conversation with other gentlemen, danced with them, but the memory of the time spent with them was rapidly fading like fog withering before the sun. While every recollection of Andrew seemed only to brighten in intensity.
Slumber would elude her. Perhaps a book would help. While she was only a guest, she was familiar with the residence, having spent considerable time here after Tillie became betrothed. She was certain the duke wouldn’t mind her prowling about his library. Perhaps she’d even nip a bit of brandy. That should help her sleep.
After slipping into her wrap, she headed into the hallway and down the stairs. In the foyer, she turned into the hallway. The residence was still and quiet. Everyone lost to dreams except for her. Brandy was definitely called for—after finding a book. Entering the library, she found her nose very nearly flattened against a broad chest.
“You’re still here,” she said to Andrew, hating that she sounded breathless, excited, and grateful all at once.
