Page 50 of His Wicked Little Christmas
“Are you still planning to marry him?” he asked without strategy. The thought of her with another man made him want to put his fist through a wall. His emotions were under siege, like he was preparing for a round at Gentleman Jackson’s. Seconds from being punched in the face. Or the gut. When he’d never been covetous of a woman. Never trotted himself out like that, vulnerable and unsure.
And there had been many women. An unwarranted number he couldn’t now recall.
Her charcoal skidded across her sheet, but she didn’t look up. “Are you offering another solution?”
He took a vicious bite of the apple, his gaze roving to the ceiling. Spiderwebs and cracks. Faded wallpaper. Leaky roof. Rose Hill was tumbling down around him. He needed funds. Franny Shaw was wealthy. She understood his vision, was becoming a helpmate. He’d never met a woman who shared his passion for design or one who evenhada passion outside him. She was an artist, talented and incredible.
Andbloody hell, did he want her. Insanely. Criminally.
But he’d promised himself long, long ago. Promised that boy. No marriage without love.
“I didn’t think so,” she murmured.
“I don’t have all the answers, you know.”
She hummed a raw, jittery sound. “You don’t seem to have any.”
He dropped his head back to the settee with a sigh. “I knew this was going to happen if I touched you. But I couldn’tnottouch you. Andyou didn’t say no when you bloody well could have! I would have gone crawling back to my bedchamber and pleasured myself all night while thinking about you, yes, but at least we’d be safe.”
She rose, crouching before him in that diaphanous chemise that provided absolutely no protection against his hunger. He glanced at the sketchpad, his chest tightening. A reflection of a man in the midst of indecision stared back at him. How honestly she saw him took his breath away.
“There was a man. In Philadelphia. A family friend. He didn’t force me. I don’t want you to think it was any choice but my own. My mistake, the way I term it. A mistake that became known because he let it be known, necessitating my leaving America. Anyway, he was cruel after. And during, now that I have…” Her smile was splendid despite the conversation. “Now that I have another experience to compare. He made me feel no one else would want me, so I took his offer. I was naïve, and he was heartless. It happens to women every day. I realize my foolishness isn’t novel.”
Chance cradled her jaw, drawing her lips to his. She went willingly. The kiss was tender and much less than he wanted to share. And much more. “He was afool. You’re my fantasy, my dream. I wish I’d been your first everything.”
Touching her brow to his, she whispered, “I could help you with your designs more easily if you talked to me. This passing notes back-and-forth nonsense isn’t aiding the process.”
Chance dusted his lips beneath her ear. “Our current state of undress is why I resorted to this nonsense.”
Sitting back, she drew a languid circle on his belly with her charcoal.
He grabbed the pencil and tossed it aside, rolling her over on the carpet. Where they kissed, touched, moaned. Grappled for control before submitting.
He was going to make her come again before dawn.
Then she laughed, belly-deep and authentic, and he hesitated, startled. He’d never laughed in bed. Teased. Talked. He felt as if he’d plunged into a lake with no bottom. Braced on his arms over her, he stared into her face, questioning the thoughts circling his mind, his heart. She had a tiny birthmark on her temple he’d never noticed.Freckles on her nose. Flecks of amber in her eyes. His fingers trembled where he held her. “If I asked, would you say yes?”
Her cheeks paled, her hand falling from the nape of his neck to the floor. “But you said, you told me… you won’t marry without love. Does that mean, are you saying?—”
He popped his palm over her mouth before she could finish the question. A question he wasn’t prepared to answer.
She sat up, breaking his hold. Her dejected expression breaking his heart. “No, then. I’d say no.”
“Hillsdale? He gets a yes? When I get a no?” He gestured to the room they’d torn up in their passion, knowing he was being a jackass but unable to help himself. The fate of millions of asinine fools before him.
Franny scrambled to her feet, a woman on a rampage.
Chance’s lips parted on a sigh. He’d never seen her angry—not truly—and a depraved part of him was aroused. Cheeks flushed, glorious breasts rising and falling beneath that twist of rumpled silk. Hips perfect for his hands to mold as he brought her against his body.God, he wanted to sink into her, make them forget about all this life shite.
Couldn’t they simply get back to the basics?
“I can marry him knowing my father’s money is all he’s after. It’s business. But not you, Remy.”
“It isn’t the money. We’re friends. Or something lost in the chasm in-between that I can’t for the life of me define. I only know that I’m trailing after you like a hungry hound, desperate for attention. But despite all that, despite my desire and my yearning, bloody hell if the blunt wouldn’t help.” He shoved to his feet, getting irritated himself. The viscountcy was not of his choosing, but he was trying to make the best of being saddled with it. Stalking across the room in search of his trousers, he found them in a wad under the bed, next to one of his boots.
“Have you seen this place?” he groused, jamming a leg into his pants and hopping around trying to secure the other. “My father left it in ruins. Left my family in ruins. My brother, Arthur, someday I’ll tell you about his trials and my desperate effort to keep him on the straight and narrow. You want me to let Mrs. Walker’s tooth fall out? The churchroof to cave in? Oh, yes, they need a new one of those. I’ve got not only this estate and every member of the staff under my jurisdiction, but an entire village to worry over.”
A gust of sour amusement left her lips. She was dancing about herself to get into her rig, a harder task than his. “Then find someone you don’t fancy inanyway to marry. You won’t have questions in your eyes when you look at them. No woman wants to see those while in the midst of the act, my lord. Advice for your next encounter.” She yanked her gown to her neck, the bodice gaping provocatively. To him at least. She had no hope to secure the thing without his assistance. “Don’t judge the decisions I’m making, and I won’t judge the onesyou’remaking. The opera singer you engage in the new year will be your business and yours alone!”