And he was not wrong in that, but she would never admit it.
“Even if I am, I will take care of myself,” she countered. “The babe will want for nothing. You need not fret over that. I’ve money aplenty to see him raised properly.”
For it was true. Dev had control of her portion of the Winter fortune, but she was sure she could convince him to relinquish it to her, to allow her to set herself up in a cottage somewhere. Anywhere she wished. She could do that. She was strong.
His grasp on her knees tightened. “The hell you will raise my child on your own. Eugie, you must see reason. I know you suffered because of Cunningham, and I promise you, I will enact my own vengeance upon him when the time comes, but I am not him. I want to marry you, and not just for your fortune, but for you.”
For you.
She had not expected those two, simple words to affect her as much as they did.
But they did.
She did not want to believe them. It hardly seemed possible a man could want her for herself. Indeed, it hardly seemed possibleCamcould want her for herself. She still did not dare trust him. Even after all they had shared.
Her heart was such a fool.
She was weak, so very weak, for him.
“You need my dowry,” she countered, finding her tongue at last.
“I needyou,” he returned, and the intensity of his gaze was undeniable.
“The mistletoe is over there,” she said weakly, gesturing to the part of the library they had abandoned.
“To the devil with the mistletoe.” He rose on his knees, and then his mouth was on hers once more.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she drew herself nearer to him. Wanting more. Wanting him so much she did not hear the library door click open or realize they were no longer alone until the shocked feminine gasp echoing through the massive chamber intruded upon her idyll.
She broke free of Cam, jerking her mouth from his too late.
The Duchess of Revelstoke stood on the threshold of the library, along with her son Viscount Aylesford, and another dowager who was a notorious gossip, the Marchioness of Heath.
“Hertford, is that you?” demanded the duchess, her tone horrified and strident.
Cutting through the silence like a slap.
“Damnation,” Cam muttered.
She stared down at him, her heart sinking like a leaden weight in her chest as the truth hit her with such force she almost cried out.
He had planned this farce.
And she would never, ever forgive him for it.
Chapter Twelve
“Iought tocall you out for this.”
Devereaux Winter’s voice seethed with fury, and Cam did not blame him one whit. He was seated opposite Mr. Winter in the expansive study of Abingdon House, feeling as if he were facing his executioner.
“I would call me out as well,” he acknowledged into the biting silence. “I cannot convey how deeply sorry I am for causing the threat of more scandal for Eugie.”
“Eugie, is it?” Winter scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “You have daring, Hertford.”
What he had was stupidity and an aching cock.
But Cam wasn’t about to venture as much aloud. Because he was a fool, but he was not mad. And the prospect of matching Devereaux Winter in a bout of fisticuffs, swords, or pistols was not exactly heartening.
