He was going to beat Cunningham to a pulp when he returned to London. And then he was going to personally launch a campaign to restore Eugie’s reputation. Not because she was his wife—as long as he could convince her to wed him, of course—but because she deserved to shine. She deserved to hold her head high and sail through society like the goddess she was. He would silence the whispers,by God.
“Look at me, Eugie,” he said softly, cupping her face in his hands. “You can trust me. Believe what you will of me, but I promise you I am a man of my word. I may need your dowry to save my estates from ruin, but I, too, have something to offer you in return.”
“I do not need a title to be happy,” Eugie told him softly.
He knew she was being utterly truthful. But he had come to understand her well enough to know being a countess was not enough lure to sway her. There was something else, he felt certain, which was.
He had witnessed, firsthand, the closeness of the Winter family. Devereaux Winter loved his sisters with a ferocity he had not often seen. Cam had found much to admire in the man during his stay at Abingdon Hall.
And he knew Eugie cared for her brother and her sisters with a love that was rare and generous and altruistic. Another rarity in his experience.
“What of your family, Eugie?” he pressed. “Do you think your family would be happy to see you hide yourself in shame in the country, living your life alone in some godforsaken cottage? I have seen how much you all love each other, and I cannot believe they would accept such a lonely fate for you, even should you want it for yourself.”
She stared up at him, and he wished he could hear her thoughts.
“Who says my cottage shall be godforsaken?” she asked at last, a small smile upon her kiss-swollen lips. “I will have roses there, after all. Perhaps a small library of my own. And no one will ever whisper about me again.”
It was like her to jest. He was beginning to know her. To understand her. And he wanted the chance to continue. He was not willing to give her up. He was determined.
“You will have roses wherever you live when you are my countess,” he promised. “And you may replace all the books in the library with volumes of your choosing. If anyone whispers about you, they will have me to answer to. Most importantly, you will never need to hide. You will hold your head high.”
Her countenance turned sad. “I already hold my head high. I do not need a champion, Cam.”
He begged to differ, but he would not press the matter. “Think of your sisters, Eugie. If we wed, it will go a long way toward enabling them to secure good matches as well. Your brother is hungry for the respectability marrying into the nobility will bring him and his family. I can give you that.”
“Cam.”
“White roses, Eugie. Wherever you wish,” he prodded, using her words against her.
“Cam,” she said again, but her voice had softened, along with her expression. She looked almost tender. “I can already have white roses wherever I wish.”
Of course she could. She was a Winter, and the Winter family was one of the wealthiest in all England.
He ran his thumb over the proud line of her cheek. “But you cannot have my kisses whenever you wish.”
Her eyes darkened. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, and he had to suppress a groan at the sight.
“I already have them whenever I wish,” she countered.
“I will not follow you to your cottage,” he said, and then he could not resist lowering his lips to her forehead. “I will not do this.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Or this.” Then her cheek. “Nor this.” He settled upon her lips at last. “Definitely not this.”
And then he was kissing her again, kissing her with all the passion once more flaring to life inside him. Because he could not stop. Did not dare stop. He would persuade her by any means he had, and if she would not listen to reason, perhaps she would listen to the fire burning between them.
Eugie could notresist that mouth.
Hismouth.
Cam’s.
Cam.Oh heavens, he knew how to kiss. Or perhaps he just knew how to kiss her. Or his lips were made to fit hers perfectly. He was trying his best to convince her to marry him, and she knew it. She could not be certain if it was her dowry he wanted most or the erasure of the guilt he must carry around with him for taking her virtue.
And not only did he know how to kiss, but he also knew how to persuade. Knew when to persuade with his lips and tongue instead of his words.
She kissed him back, of course she did. And her hands were in his hair now, cradling his skull, fingers tunneling through the short, thick locks that were softer than they looked. And she was breathing him in, and his tongue was in her mouth, one of his hands settled on her hip, the other on the small of her back, guiding her into the prominent ridge of his manhood.
He wanted her.
And to her shame, the knowledge sent an answering throb to her core. She was wet for him. Aching for him. Deep within her, she longed for the unparalleled sensation of her body joined with his.
