“I don’t want to hear it,” Susan interrupted, desperate to cut him off lest she somehow be compromised by mere words alone. A proper young lady should have no interest in hearing any details regarding the style of his lovemaking. Yet her heartbeat tripled its speed.
“Discussion is pointless,” the shameless reprobate agreed softly, “when actions speak so much more eloquently.”
With that, he took her face in his hands and kissed her.
Chapter 9
Miss Stanton’s fist connected with Evan’s ribs.
Several stunned seconds passed before it occurred to him to let go of her face. The moment he regained his senses—which had tumbled from his head after suffering his first-ever setback by a woman—he jerked his hands away as if her pores exuded acid.
She had the audacity to look wounded.
“You hit me,” he pointed out.
Miss Stanton crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “Youkissedme.”
“A mistake I shall strive not to make again, I assure you.”
“Good,” she snapped. But a slight wrinkle creased her brow, as if she weren’t completely certain whether she was winning the argument or losing.
He, on the other hand, had no such uncertainty. If two people sharing as many sparks as they did were not occupied in the pleasurable task of lovemaking or the preparation thereof, they were both losing.
Evan hated to lose.
However, his primary mission—make that his sole mission—was to uncover Timothy’s killer, not waste time dallying with fast-fisted blondes. Particularly one who now resided in the one house in Bournemouth he frequented nearly as often as his own. If shewould’vesuccumbed to temptation... Christ. The very thought of seeing the same lover’s face on a daily basis set his skin to itching.
He would, of course, accompany the jasmine-scented beauty for the duration of the walk to Moonseed Manor, as her arse had demolished the only other viable route to the top. As she was still staring at him expectantly, one pale eyebrow arched higher than the other, he might as well give her what she wished and get this over with as fast as possible.
With an ungentlemanly sigh, he proffered his arm.
With an equally unladylike... huff?... she spun around without taking it and stalked up the trail with enough unnecessary stomping that Evan began to fear she was about to ruin this path, too.
“What is it youwant?” he heard himself ask, as he hastened to her side while the walkway still existed. This was the main reason port wenches were better than Society women—he never had to ask what they wanted. The answer was always: him.
“I want you,” the blonde virago said without bothering to slow her steps, “to go away.”
And right there was the second reason.
“Just to clear things up,” he informed the irritatingly attractive sway of Miss Stanton’s backside, “I am on my way to visit Ollie, not you.”
Her step faltered, but she didn’t respond.
Evan picked up his pace. Not only were his legs longer than Miss Stanton’s, his feet knew this and every trail in Bournemouth by rote. Within the space of a heartbeat he was at her side, and within another, already beyond. He was almost to the next curve in the path when she gritted out, “Wait.”
He considered continuing on as if he hadn’t heard her. After all, he was nine or ten feet ahead. Perhaps he was deaf in one ear. She wouldn’t know. Yet some devil inside him made him slow. Or perhaps something in her voice beckoned him as irresistibly as a siren’s.
Despite such warning bells, he turned to face her. “What now, woman?”
“Aren’t you at least going to stay behind me?”
What did she expect of him? And why did she think he would grant it? Merely becauseshewas a lady?
Her cheeks held a hint of pink, whether from pique or embarrassment, he didn’t know. He had no idea why his body refused to obey his brain’s directive to quit her presence for good. She seemed to be fighting a similar internal battle. He would solve the problem for both of them by making it easier for her to decide he was the last man a respectable young lady should be spending time with. He was no gentleman. Had never been. And had no desire to be.
“We’re not promenading a ballroom,” he reminded her. “I am not your suitor.”
“Thank God for both of those facts,” she muttered. He wascertainthat’s what she’d just said. But then she met his eyes, her own blue and wide behind her spectacles, and gazed at him as if she’d said nothing. “What if I should fall?”
