“I prefer punting,” he said.
“It’s such an odd-shaped rowboat.” He’d rented it from a gent who’d had several boats available. Occasionally they passed another spot where it appeared boats were being let or could be returned if one had enough of the river.
He grinned. “It’s a punt, not a rowboat. Hence, the punting, not rowing.”
“Oh. Have you ever fallen into the water?”
“Once, when I was first learning how to control the pole.”
While others were about, most were in rowboats. Before shoving off from the shore, he’d removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. In spite of how much of her he’d seen, she realized now that she’d viewed very little of him. She was rather taken with his forearms, the ropy muscle and sinew, the raised veins indicating the strength that resided there. She liked the way the punt glided along the water, almost as though it sat on top of it. It was a smooth and relaxing motion, and she rather enjoyed her view of Matthew. “Did your niece enjoy the book?”
“She did. She especially loved the illustrations.”
“Did you read to her?”
“Not this time. I ended up not staying for dinner.”
“So... you and your wife... you never had children?”
“The strain of our relationship made that possibility very unlikely.”
“Do you want children?”
“With the right woman, yes.”
“What would make the right woman?” she dared to ask.
He’d discarded his hat as well, no doubt because the breeze would have blown it into the river, so no shadows kept his gaze hidden from her. His eyes were even more green in the sunlight, more intense, and she had the feeling he could see clear through her, knew she found him far more fascinating than any other man she’d met thus far.
“A luscious mouth made for kissing.” His voice was low but still it traveled on the wind to her. “Sultry eyes that belong in a bedchamber. A raspy voice that whispers wicked things in my ear.”
With a scoff, she rolled her eyes. “I think you’ve just described Lottie.”
He laughed, a deep rich sound, and she thought it was the sort of laugh that would make him the right man. “I think every man wants his wife to be a tart in the bedchamber.”
Leaning forward, she placed her elbow on her thigh, her chin in her palm. “Truly?”
“Don’t you want your husband to be a bit of a scoundrel when it comes to bedding you?”
She couldn’t believe they were discussing this topic on the river, in the open where anyone might hear—even if presently no one was within hearing distance. She looked toward the trees. “I’m not certain I know enough about it to determine precisely what I want.” She peered up at him. “I suppose when it comes down to it, in or out of the bedchamber, I want to feel I can be as open with him as I am with you.”
“Do you feel that way about the gents who called on you yesterday?”
She shook her head. “One of them I have no interest in at all. He has no appreciation for books. The other... was nice enough, I suppose. I’m not certain I have patience for this courting thing. I want an instant rapport, and thus far that has escaped me.”Except when it comes to you.Not that she was going to confess that to him. “Do you really only care about a woman’s mouth, eyes, and voice?”
“In truth, I’m more interested in her actions, the manner in which she treats people, the things she cares about, the things she doesn’t. The other attributes I named would be a nice addition but not a requirement.”
“Are you looking to marry?”
His gaze shifted until it appeared he was looking past her, not so much to ensure they had no collision with another boat but because the water provided a calming effect over his thoughts. “I hadn’t really contemplated it. When I met my wife, I was quickly smitten, and she took advantage. I was young and stupid. I am neither any longer and a good deal more cautious.” His gaze came back to her. “Or at least I’m trying to be.”
“I worry that some lord will pretend to be smitten with me in order to win my hand, but all he really wants is my dowry. I want love but know it’s not what those among the aristocracy generally seek. Financial or political advantage holds much more sway. My family can definitely provide a financial advantage, and now that they’ve married into the aristocracy, I believe they’ll have some political influence. I want a man who cares nothing at all for any of that. So he mustn’t be impoverished. He must have his own power and influence, and not look to me to provide it. Even as I begin listing out my requirements, I realize I’m doing exactly what I don’t want him to do. Ticking off what I believe will make him perfect.”
“No one is perfect.”
But Matthew Sommersby came close. “In the end, I just want to be loved.”
“I suppose that’s what we all want.” He grinned. “That and a spot of tea. Hungry?”
