Page 17 of Almost A Scoundrel

Her breath caught, and Phaedra swore his eyes flashed with heat. They held her captive with their intensity. She couldn’t look away, and to her surprise, she found she did not want to.

Lud, the man knew how to set a woman’s pulse leaping.

“Tell me, Deerhurst, do you always end mischievous behavior on more mischievous behavior?”

He laughed. “Since you are participating in this mischief, does that make you mischievous by default?”

Phaedra snorted. “You have hoodwinked society.”

“And how have I managed that?”

“I’m not sure, but my mother believes you to be quiet and withdrawn. It’s not easy to pull the wool over her astute gaze.”

“You asked your mother about me?”

Phaedra felt her face burn at the slip. “Do not get ideas, Deerhurst. I simply wanted to reassure myself that you are not the worst sort of hound.”

“Noted,” he said. “The countess is not entirely wrong. I do value privacy.”

“So you kissed me to scare me off your property?” Phaedra teased.

“I kissed you because I couldn’t resist.”

Oh.

The question had passed her lips before she could give thought to the consequences. Whatever answer she expected, that hadn’t been it.

“Was that not the answer you expected?” He plucked the thought straight from her mind. “You realize, my lady, if you marry, your fortune-sniffing problems go away. You will never have to worry about a man’s intentions again.”

A dousing of cold water could not have been more effective to extinguish the fire in her belly. Phaedra thought of her aunt.

“Who is to say marriage wouldn’t be an even worse problem than a few overexcited suitors?”

He frowned. “I am not sure I follow.”

“My aunt married a man she loved and believed returned her affections,” Phaedra said. “He turned out to be a monster who only married her for her dowry.”

“I see. You wish to avoid the same fate.”

Phaedra nodded. “I do.”

“Your parents seem rather enthralled with one another,” he observed.

“They were promised to each other at birth and fortunate to have found love in each other.”

“You do not foresee the same in your future? You could hold out for a love match.”

Phaedra could detect nothing but curiosity in his voice, so she said, “I suppose you believe that is every woman’s dream. Marriage. Love. Children.”

“No,” he said slowly. “I cannot begin to understand what occupies a woman’s mind, but no woman, or man for that matter, longs to be unhappy.”

“That is true,” Phaedra said. “Yet it’s a terrifying thought to entrust your life to another person’s hands.”

She did not care to inspect why she was confiding in Deerhurst. Phaedra certainly did not dream about a love match. She dreamed about booting every single fortune-skulking knave from her residence. She fantasized about waking up in the morning without having to entertain London’s penniless. She longed for her drawing room to be filled with friends, not question marks. She wanted to enjoy the season without having to examine the intentions of the gentlemen who asked her to dance.

If only she could lift that pressure.

Just enough to breathe.