She went, if possible, a shade or two paler. “How much of an audience?”
“I didn’t ask. But Em seemed to think it important to gather a large one. To make certain the consequences are inescapable. There’s a word for it. A French one, I think—”
“Afait accompli,” she said in a queer monotone.
“That’s the one.”
“It’s two words.”
“I don’t speak French.” Hell, if one were to believe those of her social sphere, he hardly spoke English.
“That’s all right. I do.”
“I don’t know Greek or Latin,” he said, because these were things expected of any well-educated gentleman…which he was not. “I didn’t learn to read or write properly until I was already grown. And my penmanship is abysmal.” Still, it was a great deal better than his earliest efforts, which had been rife with spelling errors. Em, being the sentimental woman she was, had no doubt saved a few of his letters. Probably they looked like the efforts of a child, full of malformed letters and phonetic interpretations of words.
Her head canted to the right, and a loose curl drifted down the slope of her neck. “Are you trying to make me change my mind? Have you changed yours?”
“No. Just a warning that you’ve got perhaps two minutes now to turn back. Em’s finished her speech. She’s likely collecting witnesses as we speak.”
“I don’t want to turn back. It’s only—well, no one likes to be thought of poorly, I suppose.”
“There will be a great deal of gossip. You’re no stranger to that.” He had more than a handful of scandal rags to prove it. “Gossip tends to follow me, besides. I don’t pay it much mind. You ought not, either.” He eased a few steps closer, and the soft fragrance of roses grew thick in the air. “How does one compromise a lady, usually?”
“Being alone together is generally enough to do it,” she said. “No gentleman would be in the company of an unmarried lady without a proper chaperone to safeguard her reputation.”
“I’m not a gentleman.”
“No,” she said, and there was the slightest lift of her lips into something approximating a tentative smile. “I hadn’t thought you were. You’ll have to kiss me, then, if it’s not too much trouble. Just to be absolutely certain it takes.” A tentative step out of the clinging darkness that saturated the stone path, into the light emanating from the house. Another small step toward him, toward an uncertain future, and the breeze stirred the blue silk skirt of her dress. “No children?” she asked, in a low voice, as if to assure herself of it once more.
“None. You don’t even have to share my bed.” Only a kiss. Just this once.
“I’d prefer that,” she said, and winced. “I didn’t mean that as it sounded. I’m certain you’re a pleasant enough fellow—”
“I’m not.”
“—it’s only that Ireallydo not want children. I do know how they are…how they are created. I’d prefer to avoid it.” Another step, this time with more determination, as if she had seized upon some goal. “It’s common enough for men to have mistresses for that sort of thing.”
“I’ve got one.” Not that he’d had much time to spare for her just lately, nor had he had much of an inclination to make use of her services while his knee had been in the earliest stages of healing. “You needn’t concern yourself with her. We both understand the value of discretion.” It was common for men of her station to have mistresses, but they were also hypocrites about it. He could not ruin one of their own and then humiliate her with the public spectacle of another woman. “We’ll both have what we want. It’ll be an honest marriage, which is more than I can say for some.”
Somewhere not too very far away, there was a fresh burst of sound, louder than it ought to have been. Em had brought her audience, then. Phoebe jerked at the intrusion, her eyes going wide. Seconds left, probably, before they were discovered.
And she knew it. With all determination, she threw herself across the space that separated them, and Chris was forced to drop his cane and brace himself to catch her. “Make it convincing,” she hissed—a second before she slammed her mouth over his.
Christ. “Ease up,” he managed to say, though the words came out more than a little muffled, since she’d mashed his lips against his teeth. “I’m meant to be seducing you, not the other way ‘round.” If anyone happened upon them now, they’d think her a wanton—not that he’d pressed an advantage against a naïve woman. “Hell,” he muttered, and grabbed a fistful of her perfect curls to tug her away. “Hold still, you daft woman.”
“Hurry,” she snapped, and her teeth glinted in the darkness, with a sort of feral intensity that was strangely attractive. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, like claws even through the thick wool of his coat.
Footsteps, now, a great number of them, and not too distant. Light, idle chatter. Chris wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him, and beneath the frills and flounces of her gown she was…soft. Lush. He’d not expected it.
His fingers tightened in her hair, adjusting the tilt of her head. “Hold your head here,” he said, “and for God’s sake, relax a bit.”
Now or never. He kissed her. It wasn’t real, but it had to look it.Convincing, she’d said. A ruinous kiss, then, one that could not be mistaken for anything but carnal intent. His hand, which he’d splayed over the small of her back, slid down to palm the curve of her bottom, and she squeaked out a gasp.Good. He plunged his tongue into her open mouth.
For a moment, she was as stiff and tightly-wound as a spring. And then, with a queer little shiver, she went lax. Her nails extracted themselves from his shoulders. Her whole body listed against his. Her lips softened beneath the firm pressure of hisown.
Within moments, she was no longer rigid and unyielding. But, goddamn it all—he was. That was going to be a hell of a complication.
He hadn’t the time to ponder it, however, for a mere moment later, there was a flurry of horrified gasps, and a plaintive, warbling, “Oh, Phoebe.”
