“Pay the forfeit,” she repeated. “You make it sound as if wedding me would be a chore.”
“Not a chore,” he denied, “but it would not be my choice. You would not be my choice.”
The arrow of heat turned into a dart of hurt, lodging itself in her heart. “You are doing a dreadful job of attempting to persuade me to marry you, Lord Hertford.”
“It would please me if you called me Cam,” he said, reaching for her hand, which was clenching a fist in the counterpane, once more. “And I am being honest with you. Utterly, completely honest. I owe you that much. Christ, I owe you a lot more than that, but I will begin here: I desire you. Prior to arriving here in Oxfordshire, prior to having met you, I would never have wanted you as my countess because of the scandal darkening your name.”
She stiffened. “My lord—”
“Allow me to finish, if you please,” he interrupted. “Honesty, Eugie. The Prince of Proper could not bear to accept a wife whose reputation was not as pristine as his. But then I saw you in the ballroom, and you were wearing that red gown, and your lips matched, and you spoke to me with such assurance. When we danced, something happened.
“From the beginning, I have wanted you in a way that consternates and perplexes me. You are beautiful, and you are wealthy, but you are all wrong for me. Your brother is a tradesman. Your reputation is tarnished. And yet, I can think of nothing but you. When I see you, I want to kiss you. When I am alone with you, I lose my ability to resist temptation.”
Somehow, in the course of his unexpected soliloquy, the tension had ebbed from her fingers. She had ceased grasping the bed linens. Instead, her hand had relaxed, turning so her palm faced upward, and their fingers had laced together once more.
His confession was strangely endearing.
And she could understand the sentiment behind it, for she felt the same way. Whenever she was in his presence, all she wanted to do was kiss him again. To touch him. The strength of his shoulders, the muscles of his arms, to lay her lips upon him everywhere she could.
Where their hands met, a tingling awareness began and radiated up her arm, pooling ultimately between her thighs. Her body had not forgotten his.
“I do not want to be your regret, Eugie,” he continued. “But neither can I allow my sins to go unanswered for. I have dishonored you, and I must make it right.”
“No one knows,” she said. “Our secret is safe.”
“Iknow,” he said sternly. “And you know.”
She tried, quite furiously, to think of the cottage. The roses. The elusive dream of freedom. “I have a plan, Lord Hertford. I will buy my freedom with my fortune.”
“Or, you could buy mine,” he suggested simply.
“Yours,” she repeated.
“Mine. If you do not wed me, I may have to find another bride with an immense dowry, and I will have to reveal to her that I once despoiled an innocent. She will resent me to her dying day, and our marriage will be cold and chaste, and I will never sire an heir.” He squeezed her fingers. “And you will be all alone in your cottage with no one to enjoy the roses but you. What color would they be?”
Once again, his wandering mind had her flummoxed. “The roses?”
“Yes.”
“White,” she said, for she had already given some thought to her fancy. “There is something about the absence of color which makes them so beautiful.”
“Grow them at Lyndhurst House.” His thumb was rubbing lazy circles upon her inner wrist now, weakening her resolve. “White ones and red ones too, to match your lips.”
“What is Lyndhurst House?” she asked, though she could surmise well enough.
“My country seat in Lincolnshire.” His thumb traveled higher, that simple caress enough to make her weak all over again. “My father stripped it of everything of value, squandering all he could on vice. We can rebuild it together. Think of it this way, Eugie. It shall be an even bargain between us. You can save me from ruin, and I shall save you as well.”
An even bargain.
Why, oh why, had he asked her about the roses? She was sure she could have denied him if he had overlooked that infinitesimal detail. And if he was not crowding her with his large, masculine body, his warmth, his handsome face, that mouth, his scent…
“I shall consider your proposal, Lord Hertford,” she allowed before she could think better of it.
But it could not be helped, not when he was touching her as he was, and gazing upon her in such a manner. He was turning her insides to liquid.
“Cam,” he corrected softly. “If you are to be my wife, you may as well grow accustomed to my given name.”
“I did not say I would marry you,” she reminded him sharply, before thinking better of it and lowering her voice back to a whisper. “I said I wouldconsiderthe prospect. Now please do go before you are caught here, and the rumors that dreadful man spread about me are the least of our worries.”
