Page 35

R as sipped his brandy and felt his body mellow with the drink.

He needed it after that scene with Lady Zoe.

How else was going to erase the sight of that girl in his mother’s dressing gown?

He’d much rather remember Kynthea with her hair coming out of its plait.

It was a honey brown color that made him think of summer days.

He wasn’t sure why that was, but looking at her reminded him of the sweetest days of his childhood.

Of course, his imagination put them both by a stream engaged in a very adult activity.

But thanks to the brandy, he could revel in the thought without throbbing with uncomfortable needs.

He jerked out of his reverie at a scratch at his door. If that girl was back, he was going to lock her in her bedroom and have a footman guard the door. He tied his robe tight and opened the door a small crack. Then he jerked back in shock.

Kynthea’s pale face gazed up at him.

He swung the door wide, glanced down the hall to make sure no one else was there, then quickly pulled her inside, closing the door behind her.

“Is everything all right? Is…” Damn it, he didn’t even want to say the girl’s name. “Is she all right?”

“She’s embarrassed.”

So was he.

“But she’ll recover. Isn’t that what being sixteen is all about? Doing stupid things for glorious reasons?”

“She’d said she’d sacrifice herself to me like a virgin on some hideous god’s altar,” he grumbled. Then he gestured her to the other chair set near the fire. It was too warm to have started one, but the location was cozy, especially with the moonlight streaming in through the window.

She took his suggestion, sitting down with casual grace.

Looking at her bathed in moonlight soothed his heart even as his blood began to heat at the sight.

She didn’t have that restless energy of so many.

Neither did she fake a bored disdain. She was composed and elegant.

And she was twisting her hands together in anxiety.

“Would you like some brandy?” he asked.

She looked at first like she would refuse, then she smiled and nodded. “Yes, please.”

He poured, then watched as she took a large swig. She was definitely nervous. He wanted to ease her strain but wasn’t sure how. So he waited, knowing that she would come to it eventually. And in the meantime, he enjoyed simply watching her.

“Thank you,” she said, indicating the brandy.

“Have more if you like.”

“That was plenty, thank you.”

She’d consumed half the glass rather quickly. Her cheeks were starting to color, but he didn’t know if that was from embarrassment or nerves.

“Would you like some food? I could find us something without waking the—”

“No, no. I’m not hungry, but I would like to discuss something with you.”

“And I would like very much to apologize to you. I bungled things so very badly.”

She blinked at him. “You bungled things?”

“You caught me off guard. I wasn’t thinking—”

“ I caught you off guard?” Her sarcasm couldn’t be more plain.

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not doing this well. Miss Petrelli—Kynthea—I wish—”

“Stop!” She held up her hand, her expression fierce. “You do not need to apologize for this afternoon. In fact, that is what I wish to speak with you about.”

He closed his mouth, damning himself for drinking the brandy. He was not normally this tongue-tied, but he’d never proposed to a woman before.

“Please,” she pressed. “Just let me say this.”

He leaned back, grateful for the reprieve. “Of course,” he said.

“I should like to…um…I should like to sell you my virginity.”

Thank heaven he’d finished his drink. He might have choked on it otherwise. “I see,” he said slowly. “Exactly what would be the price?”

“The, um, usual arrangement would suffice,” she said. Her hands tangled now in her skirt. “I assume…er…after this morning, that you are interested?”

No, he wasn’t. Well, he was absolutely interested as his cock was already thickening at the idea. But this was not what he’d expected at all. “You have my attention,” he said. And at her widened eyes, he hastened to explain. “And I most definitely want you in my bed.”

Her gaze skipped sideways to the furniture in question, then rapidly returned to him. “Um, the usual is a room somewhere. I don’t require much, though I would appreciate a maid of all work.” She swallowed. “I shall need it for a year.”

“Where did you learn this?” His voice was growing tight as his anger stirred. She wanted to sell herself to him!

“The L—” She cut off her words. “It doesn’t matter. I spoke to people who know, and they were most helpful.”

“Really?” he drawled. “And what else did they tell you?”

“That as a lady of quality, I am worth a premium.”

He winced at her blunt phrasing. “It seems you are very well informed. How much do you think that should cost?”

She named a figure that had him gripping his empty brandy glass in fury.

Not because it was an outrageous amount, but because it was so damned low.

She was worth ten times that amount! She must have noticed his reaction because her chin firmed as she steeled herself to continue.

This was hard for her, as it should be. And he was angry enough to force her to continue.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Yes. I do not want to bear children out of wedlock. I have gotten these…” She pulled an envelope that no doubt contained French letters. “I’m told that they are effective, but most men don’t like them.”

“That is correct—”

“I insist.” She looked down at her hands. “This is my choice, you understand. To become risqué. But I will not impose that choice upon a child. Bastards are not treated well, and I won’t—”

“You will have no bastard by me.” His voice was harsher than he intended.

He wanted children with her. Bright boys and sweet girls.

Or sweet boys and bright girls. It didn’t matter so long as he saw her in them, and he could love them as his father had loved him.

But rather than focus on that, he noted that she had come here prepared not only with information, but also with condoms.

“You seem to have thought this through,” he said.

“I always try to be prepared,” she acknowledged.

“Then what happened this morning?”

Her head came up. “What?”

“I could have had you this morning in the tack room,” he said. “You never mentioned French letters then, nor the price of your virginity.” He sounded like the worst kind of libertine, but he couldn’t control the hard tone in his voice. He was furious.

“I…no, I guess I didn’t,” she said. “I suppose I am lucky then.”

“Lucky?” he rasped. “My dear, you are playing with fire.”

If he thought to cow her, he was sorely mistaken.

Her head came up and her eyes flashed. It was likely the moonlight, but it seemed like she had a fire kindling within her.

One that strengthened her voice and straightened her spine.

“If you do not wish this…this…relationship, then we need speak no further.”

“Oh, I am definitely considering it. But I have a few questions to match your requirements.”

She nodded. “Very well. Ask them.”

“After our evening is done, do we continue our situation? I would be paying for a year, you see. And are your terms for me alone or are you available for other protectors?”

She blinked twice before she answered. Clearly, she hadn’t even considered the idea. “I don’t understand.”

“I know a baron who is searching for a new paramour. Would you consider—”

“No!”

She spoke with pleasing vehemence, but he was not done.

“Perhaps you object to his low title. I am a duke, after all. But I could bring you to Prinny’s attention.

Becoming a royal consort would keep you in society.

And I understand he sometimes pays very well.

” Sometimes being the important word. With royalty, one never knew what bills they might forget.

Not to mention the fact that the idea of her with Prinny made him want to vomit.

She appeared to feel the same way. “Absolutely not! How could you think I’d want that?”

He arched his brows. “These are the questions I’d ask any potential mistress.” He leaned forward. “I need to know why you picked me to gift with your virginity.”

“It’s not a gift. It’s a… a…” Her words failed her.

“A transaction?”

“Yes.” Her hands gripped her skirt, but she didn’t flinch from the truth. Indeed, she met his gaze with a challenge of her own. “If you will have me.”

He moved so fast, she released a squeak of surprise. One second, he was in a chair across from her, the next he was on one knee in front of her. He wasn’t immune to the irony. He would propose marriage this way, but tonight’s discussion was very different.

“If I’ll have you?” he scoffed as he reached up to cup her face. “Kynthea, why are you selling yourself so cheaply?”

She looked at him, her eyes wide and earnest. Damnation, she was so innocent, and yet their discussion was anything but. “I should ask for more? You mean…like, jewelry?”

She made him want to scream. “I mean, why aren’t you asking me to marry you? Why don’t you want to be my duchess?”

She recoiled from the question. And he saw her blink away tears. “Don’t mock me, Your Grace. It’s beneath you.”

“I’m not mocking!”

She turned back and there was bitterness in her gaze, poison in her words.

“Do you think me stupid? I know you won’t marry me.

Compared to you, I am nothing. Miss Petrelli, impoverished and uninteresting to anyone except as an object of pity.

Or scorn.” She added that last word with clear rancor.

Then again, the ton had not treated her well.

“You interest me,” he said. And when she did not respond, he tried again.

“Why don’t you want to marry me? Why don’t you dream of standing by my side, of bearing my children, of holding my hand as our grandchildren play at our feet?

” That was what he saw when he looked at her.

He saw a future. He saw a woman who could stand with him before royalty and not be cowed.

He saw a mother to smart children who could make a difference in this troubled world.

And he saw a woman who set his blood on fire.

“You know nothing of my dreams,” she whispered.

And perhaps that was the problem. He didn’t know what she wanted.

Circumstances had forced her hand, otherwise she would not be here.

But ignorance could be remedied. He cupped her cheek and pulled her face closer to his even as he stretched up for her.

He could not be this close without wanting to kiss her.

“What do you dream of?” he asked. “Tell me. Maybe I can make it come true.”

Her expression shifted, twisting in ways that hurt to see. She was in pain, and he was making it worse. But he had to know why she couldn’t even imagine more for herself.

“You must know,” she whispered.

“I swear I do not.”

She touched his hand where it cupped her face. “I dream of you, you idiot. Why else would I have gone into the tack room with you?”

The urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him, but he had dreams as well. And she was too perfect a woman for him to not question it. “Why me? Is it because I gave you your first quickening? Is it because I am a duke? Why me, Kynthea? Why would you offer me something so precious as yourself?”

“You can ask that? You sat by my side for a week defending me against every snide, crude remark. You who sit with royalty, defended me.”

“You were innocent of their charges.”

“You discussed literature and Corn Laws with me without condescension.”

He shrugged. “You had read the books, and you asked the questions.”

She shook her head. “You say I am precious, and yet you have no idea how rare a man you are. A duke without arrogance, one who is kind to someone as unimportant as me. If you said you could grab a star from the sky, I would believe you.”

He chuckled. “You are not that foolish. You know I am flesh and blood like everyone else.”

She touched his mouth, traced the curve of his jaw, and stroked fire along his neck. “If you want me, Your Grace, I am yours.” She quirked a brow at him. “Or do I go to Ireland?”

Ireland? What did that have to do with anything?

“You come to me,” he said.

He kissed her. Not a gentle kiss as before or even a teasing one.

This time, he took her mouth with the fierceness of a man staking his claim.

He thrust inside her. He dominated her tongue and teeth as if he were a warrior born to possess her.

And when she made a sound of hunger, when she grabbed his arms and held on with strength, he broke their kiss and scooped her up in his arms.

“Your Grace!” she cried.

“Ras!” he commanded. “Say my name.”

“Ras,” she whispered. Then she arched her brows at him. “Erasmus Oliver Arthur Stace, Duke of Harle.”

He groaned. “Ras is plenty.” Then he carried her to his bed, setting her down gently before diving in for another kiss.

He wanted to say more to her. He wanted to declare himself.

He could command her to be his wife, not his mistress.

But she entwined her fingers in his hair, and she smelled like vanilla honey against his lips.

And part of him knew that she wouldn’t believe him anyway. She was as swept away as he.

So he enjoyed the rush, and he vowed to make this her first of many awakenings in his bed.

The priest would have to wait until tomorrow.