Page 78 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
“I think we should attend Lady Anne’s ball,” she said.
So much for arousal. He flopped onto his back, turned his head to study the canopy. “Is that what all this extra attention was about tonight? To sway me to your way of thinking?”
Her brow furrowed as she worked her way up to her elbows. “No. Using intimacy to gain favors from you would make me … well, not a very nice lady.”
“A whore, darling. That’s the word.”
She scowled. “I don’t like that word.”
He arched a dark brow, and she amended, “When applied to me.”
“And I don’t like to be manipulated.”
Scooting over, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. It was going to take much more than that to get him thinking pleasant thoughts again.
“Earlier had nothing to do with my thoughts now,” she said. “But if we don’t go, then she’ll have won.”
“Won what?”
She shook her head as though to organize her thoughts. “She wanted you. You wanted her. You told me you wished a divorce. Now you’ve settled for me—”
“I didn’t settle for you,” he growled, interrupting her. “I’d have never walked into your bedchamber that night if I’d not wanted … more between us.”
She began swirling her finger around his shoulder. “Are you fond of me?”
Trust her, his heart screamed. Trust her with all you’re feeling.
But he couldn’t open himself up completely. Couldn’t tell her how deeply he’d come to care for her, so he settled for, “I adore you.”
Her eyes lit up. “Then we must make an appearance. We must leave no doubt that we are content with each other.”
“We are more than content.”
She began stroking him. “So we shall go?”
He growled a yes, then proceeded to tickle her senseless, to relish her laughter, before making love to her again.
Chapter 22
Claire took extra care preparing for the evening. It was ludicrous to be so concerned with impressions, but she didn’t want to be found lacking in any manner by anyone. In some ways, tonight was more important than her wedding. It was an affirmation that her marriage was no longer floundering.
She wanted Westcliffe to stride into the ballroom, pride evident in his stance, contentment in his smile. She wanted him to be glad that she stood at his side. Wanted him to have no regrets.
She knew her efforts had been worthwhile when he wandered into her bedchamber. Appreciation darkened his eyes.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t go,” he said.
“Why ever not?”
He took a step nearer, raised her gloved hand to his lips. Through the material, she could feel the heat of his breath. “I’d much prefer spending the evening ravishing you.”
“I would prefer to spend it being ravished.”
“Then why, pray tell, are we going?”
“To make a point—”
“Which I do not believe needs to be made.”
