She stiffened, diverting her gaze from him. “Am I a mistake to you, my lord?”
Lord, she hated to think that was how he viewed her. That she was one of his regrets. That he wished he had never kissed her in the carriage. She did not want to be a burden to anyone. Nor did she desire for Lord Harry to sacrifice himself for her upon the matrimonial altar.
“No.” His fingers brushed over her jaw gently, turning her face back to his. The decadent green of his eyes took her breath as she fell into them. “You could never be a mistake to me. But my disregard for your virtue was. And now you will be forced to pay the forfeit for my massive error in judgment.”
His words failed to mollify her. He had already told her he intended to marry her that night at the Welcome Ball, and he had courted her with steadfast attention in the week since, but she would not be his burden. She had been adamant that she would not wed. Regardless of the damage to her reputation, she did not need to marry Lord Harry. When Julian had married a wealthy American heiress, he had settled a handsome sum upon her as dowry. She was reasonably certain that her brother could be persuaded to enable her to access the funds.
She did not move from Lord Harry’s touch, for she relished his nearness and the slow stroke of his caress on her skin. But neither did she hesitate to tell him the truth of the matter. “Lord Harry, I will not be forced into anything, least of all nuptials.”
A frown marred his forehead, but even in his displeasure, he was so handsome he made her ache. “Do you not wish to marry me, my lady?”
“You have not yet proposed,” she pointed out. “Thus far, you have expressed a desire to make me your wife, but you have also spoken of mistakes and scandal and errors. If you feel obligated to ask for my hand because of what happened in the carriage, allow me to relieve you of that worry. My brother is prepared to settle a handsome amount upon me, and I do not need to marry you to obtain it.”
He blinked, the corners of his supple mouth turning down all the more. That elegant brow of his furrowed. “I beg your pardon, my lady. Are you suggesting that you wed another man in my stead?”
She pursed her lips, considering the suggestion objectively. “I am certain I could find any number of suitors who are pockets to let and only all too eager for the opportunity to fill their coffers with my sister-in-law’s American gold. Of course, there is always the other, far more preferable option that I simply remain unwed and collect the funds myself so that I may live my life as I wish, dedicated to the pursuit of science.”
His hand had traveled to the side of her face, cupping it tenderly, his thumb stroking over her ear. She had never found the ear to be a receptive or particularly delightful appendage—aside from the mechanical necessity of hearing, naturally—but ever since Lord Harry had appeared in her life, she was heartily rethinking her dismissal of it and any number of other body parts.
The pad of his thumb stroking over her ear’s delicate shell was enough to make a sharp pang of need surge through her.
“Alexandra.”
Her name in his dark, sensual voice caught her attention. A frisson of something delightfully wicked licked down her spine. She stared at his lips, noting how finely formed they were for what had to be the fiftieth time. “Yes?”
“Do you wish to marry another? Is there some other gentleman who has claimed your affections?” His voice was strained as he posed the curt questions.
“Of course not.” She blinked. “If I must marry any man, I would choose you, my lord. Supposing you had asked for my hand, of course. Which you have decidedly not, thus far.”
His thumb stroked from her ear to her cheekbone, gliding in such a tantalizing caress that she shivered. “You do not inspire a great deal of confidence in a man. Should I ask, what would your answer be, my lady? I have half a notion to expect you to tell me to turn around and never look back.”
Somehow, the thought of Lord Harry Marlow leaving her made her mouth go dry. It was lunacy, for she had only known him for little more than a week’s time. But already, she knew the heat of his lips on hers, his hands roaming her body, the taste of him, his heartbeat’s rapid thrum.
“Forgive me, my lord.” She paused, gathering her thoughts, for this was one area of her life that never failed to cause her any number of difficulties. “There is no one else. I merely relish my liberty, and I imagine you do the same. Do you wish to ask for my hand? To truly ask? Not out of duty or necessity but out of want?”
“I want you, yes.”
“To marry me,” she pressed. “Wanting to marry me is a different beast entirely from merely desiring me physically, my lord.”
“Agreed.” He paused, his touch remaining upon her in a way she liked far, far too much. “This thing between us is sudden, I know. Perhaps it is the spirit of the Christmas season, or perhaps I have taken leave of my senses, but the moment I saw you standing in the snow, I knew I had to make you mine.”
He had? She frowned. “But you thought I was a gentleman.”
“No.” He shook his head, a slow, sensual grin curving his lips. “I always knew you were a female.”
The scoundrel. Had he been having her on? She wouldn’t have thought it in him, for though his kisses and caresses were most wicked, his reputation was above reproach. “You called me Mr. Danvers.”
He pressed his lips together, attempting to squelch his smirk and failing. His fingers followed the line of her throat in a gentle sweep that made her ache. “I wanted to nettle you, I’m afraid. You were being frightfully highhanded for a lady dressed in her brother’s ill-fitting clothing, standing about in the snow. I wanted to rattle you a bit, but I also wanted to get you alone so that I could kiss you.”
Oh my.
Warmth suffused the region of her heart. Her stomach performed an odd little somersault. My God, he was charming. And infectious. The urge to spend the rest of her days thus hit her: staring into his emerald gaze, kissing those splendidly formed lips, and chatting with him in such a cozy fashion that the scent and warmth of him washed over her like a golden glow.
“You are quite the rogue, my lord,” she observed, willing her restless heart to calm itself. She could not be falling in love with Lord Harry Marlow after knowing him for all of a week. Could she? As a woman of science, she could not credit it. And yet, the evidence was there in her wild pulse, the tingling settling between her thighs, the hunger roaring through her.
“A rogue who very much wishes to marry you, my lady. If you will have me.” His hand splayed over her heart, bare skin upon bare skin, absorbing the frantic beats. “Will you have me?”
She blessed fashion for the cut of her ribbon-trimmed décolletage. The rational part of her, the science-minded part of her that believed in observation, in facts and reason, knew then what she must do. It would be a bold move, perhaps foolhardy, and certainly hazardous for her already tarnished reputation.
But it was the only move she could fathom. It was the sole manner by which she would be able to determine whether or not they were truly compatible, and whether the feelings he inspired in her were physical or had their roots in something more.
The book she’d been reading gave her the boldness she required. Was this not a new era, and was she not an independent-minded female capable of making her own decisions and forging her way in the world?
Yes. It was. She was.
Alexandra took a deep, fortifying breath. “I will marry you on one condition, Lord Harry. You must first engage in sexual congress with me.”
