Page 11 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife (Cinderellas of Mayfair #1)

A maiden’s virtue is treasure indeed.

The world is built upon this creed.

Once virtue’s lost, it’s lost for good.

That jewel is gone, whate’er you would.

Athene waited for the tacit admission in her statement to evoke some expression of horror. As she knew from bitter experience, men, especially men of Sir Hugo’s class, prized virtue in women above all else. She twined her hands in front of her and braced to hear him reject her.

But he surprised her. Not for the first time. “Sometimes,” he said, as if she’d made some trite comment about the weather.

She straightened and spoke with greater emphasis. “Sir Hugo, I’ve had a lover.”

He rested against the dining table behind him. His stance couldn’t be more casual. “So have I. Several, in fact, although I wouldn’t exactly say I’m in the petticoat line. You needn’t fear you’re marrying a philanderer, my dear.”

She regarded him with bewilderment. “Don’t be glib. You must know what I’m saying. I’ve had a lover. I’m not a widow. I’ve never been married. Even if I agreed to your absurd proposal, I wouldn’t come to you pure and untouched.”

“Yes, I understood that when you told me you weren’t a virgin.” He folded his arms across his chest. “As I said, I’m not either.”

The urge to box his ears rose. He must be taunting her. Nothing else made any sense. Yet that questing knight’s face maintained an interested expression that conveyed none of the contempt she knew she deserved. Or at least that the world she lived in believed she deserved.

So why in heaven’s name wasn’t Sir Hugo Brinsmead marching out of this room in high dudgeon, offended that ten years ago, she’d shared another man’s bed without benefit of marriage?

“It’s different for men,” she muttered.

“Why?”

“You’re insulting my intelligence,” she hissed as her temper rose. “You know how things work.”

He remained as calm as ever. “I’m disappointed that just because you surrendered to a perfectly natural impulse what I assume was quite a while ago, you’ve decided you have no value.”

His remark rankled. “That’s not what I think.”

“Isn’t it?” He cocked one dark golden eyebrow in her direction. “It sounds like it is.”

She gaped at him, caught wrong-footed. Because while she’d always resisted accepting society’s judgment, she had a horrid suspicion that he might be right. Her family deemed her beyond redemption, and she accepted that condemnation. How frightfully depressing. “But…but that’s just the way it is.”

“Then it shouldn’t be.” That chiseled jaw revealed the first sign of anger. “You’re smart, determined, beautiful. A single mistake – or even something you don’t consider a mistake – shouldn’t discount the magnificent woman you are.”

Magnificent? Not a word that she’d ever associated with herself. The description was too grand for her to take any pleasure from it. “How do you know it’s only one mistake?”

He shrugged. “One lover? Five? Ten? It’s none of my business. If you commit to me, you don’t strike me as the type to go back on her word.”

“You’re…you’re a very unusual man,” she said faintly. Most people wouldn’t call him unusual. They’d call him rattlepated to the point of lunacy.

His response was a dismissive huff. “Because I’ve got the brains to question the world’s lazy thinking?”

“Yes.” Then before she could remind herself that he didn’t need to know about her past, “One.”

Those brilliant blue eyes sharpened on her. “One lover?”

While she didn’t in general blush, heat prickled along her cheekbones. She shifted from one foot to the other as humiliation gnawed at her. “Yes. Ten years ago. When I was seventeen.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

She frowned. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“I’m not. You try too hard to repel all boarders with how you dress and your unapproachable manner. I gathered that you’d made a false step and intend to make no more.”

“My defenses didn’t keep you away,” she retorted with a hint of resentment. Part of her didn’t like that he read her so easily, while part of her liked it very much indeed. Which annoyed her even more.

“I saw straightaway that the prize was worth hacking through the thorny hedges.”

Her lips turned down. “Nobody else has.”

“Then those men aren’t worthy of you.”

That did nothing to soothe her ruffled temper. “And you are?”

“At least it’s what I aspire to.”

When she folded her arms, it was a much more defensive act than his. “You have a cunning tongue, sir.”

His laugh was so incredibly dirty that she couldn’t control a shiver of sensual response. “I hope to show you just how cunning.”

She shrugged, as if none of this was of any concern. When with every second, she fell further under Sir Hugo’s spell. “With more kisses, I suppose.”

She didn’t understand the flash of shock that crossed his face. A shock quickly concealed and replaced by speculation. “That would be nice.”

Athene frowned. Something beyond her grasp was going on here. She didn’t like feeling at a disadvantage. “Kisses have already got me in enough trouble.”

It was all very well expressing proud disdain for his proposal. But they both knew that she’d gone up like fireworks, the minute he took her into his arms. He could accuse her of hypocrisy. He’d be right.

Remembered pleasure curled his lips. She couldn’t mistake it.

Nor could she mistake the way that her stomach tightened with similar nostalgia.

She’d spent ten lonely years suppressing her inner daredevil.

Tonight that daredevil had broken free to glory in Sir Hugo’s kisses.

That daredevil was well aware that if Athene agreed to his rash proposal, she’d enjoy years of intoxicating kisses.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” His light tone grated on her strained nerves. “We were fated to kiss. You couldn’t stop yourself.”

An annoyed huff escaped her. “You have a high opinion of your attractions.”

Justified, she had to admit.

He laughed at her accusation. “Not really. But when I saw you, the air turned to lightning.”

Another extravagant statement. If she wasn’t careful, she might start to believe him when he talked about lightning and fate and commitment.

She’d flattered herself that she’d learned her lesson with George.

No libertine would lure her into his bed again.

She was too clever and she was too wary.

God help her, it turned out that she wasn’t clever at all.

“Lightning? Perhaps you should start writing poetry, too.”

Her sarcasm didn’t bother him. Nothing much seemed to. Which was the most terrifying thing of all. He looked unshakably sure of himself. He’d looked like that from the first. “Am I wrong?”

She struggled to summon a denial, but meeting that steady gaze, she couldn’t say the words. Her voice shook as she replied. “You’re an appealing man.”

While he didn’t smile, those fascinating lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “I’m glad you think so.”

She faltered back, although he made no attempt to touch her. “It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know.” Those lines became more noticeable. “You’re downplaying the bond between us.”

She waved away his claim. “There is no bond between us.”

That skeptical eyebrow rose once more. “Not even you believe that.”

Damn him, damn him, damn him. Damn him to hell.

He was right. When he’d rescued her from Lord Alfred, that immovable self-confidence had been reassuring.

Now he turned it against her, she wasn’t quite so complacent.

She struggled for a firm tone that would convince him she meant what she said.

Which was difficult when everything about him was devilish temptation.

“I won’t marry you, Sir Hugo. That promises misery for both of us. ”

Her statement didn’t have the dampening effect she’d hoped for. “You think so?”

Athene made a helpless gesture, as the reality of her situation crashed down on her, stealing away all her defiance.

She’d had years to count what her youthful escapades had cost her.

First on the list was the chance to marry an honorable man and have a family.

Tonight’s reminder of that reality was brutal to the point of lacerating.

“You say you don’t care about my past, but I don’t believe you.” Grim certainty edged her voice. “Someday, someday soon, you’ll hate that I’ve had another lover and you’ll start to hate me. I don’t want to be around to see that.”

He stepped forward to take her hand. By now, she should be used to the power of his touch, but the heat that blasted her filled her with shocked dismay. Calling it lightning was no exaggeration.

His hand was so much larger than hers. With the kind of strength that a woman could trust. If she was a woman who believed herself worthy of such care.

“You have a poor opinion of me if you truly believe that.”

For pity’s sake, she should pull away. She knew her weakness and holding his hand only fed it.

His touch had already enticed her into those ill-advised kisses in the carriage.

But she was so cold and lonely – and susceptible – that she wrapped her fingers around his.

“I don’t have a poor opinion of you.” Regret thickened her voice. “I have a poor opinion of myself.”

“I’d bloody well like to kill him,” Sir Hugo bit out.

His sudden savagery startled her. “Who?”

“The bastard who did this to you.”

“It wasn’t just George.” Athene knew it was dangerous to appreciate Sir Hugo’s outrage, but that didn’t stop her. “Anyway, he’s dead.”

“George?” He scowled at her. “That’s the sod’s name?”

“Yes.”

“Then I want to kill George.”

George was safe from Sir Hugo. When she’d abandoned her lover in Vienna, he’d been a relic of the vigorous young Adonis who had so disastrously stolen her heart.

Drink, opium, and disease had taken their toll on his health and good looks.

He’d also been unwise enough to make powerful enemies in the city.

The sort of enemies who could arrange an inconvenient foreigner’s demise with no questions asked.