Chapter Thirteen
“Fifteen minutes,” DevereauxWinter breathed down his neck.
Thankfully, the man’s wife was a far gentler creature. Cam was already nervous enough at the notion of convincing Eugie to agree to marry him with a time limit and an audience awaiting her decision.
Lady Emilia smiled at him reassuringly. “We will be just down the hall, my lord. Miss Winter awaits you. No improprieties shall be tolerated.”
No kissing Eugie, that meant.
He could accept this as his penance if it meant the chance to spend the rest of his life with her. He inclined his head. “I will conduct myself as a gentleman.”
“Or face my wrath,” Winter prompted in a protective, brotherly growl.
“You have my word I shall not ravish your sister whilst you are within listening distance,” some inner devil could not resist prodding the man.
Winter’s brows snapped together. “Did I say you are daring earlier, Hertford? I do believe I meant you are stupid. That, perhaps even, you harbor a secret death wish.”
Lady Emilia intervened, laying a staying hand on her husband’s coat sleeve, which was all it required for the surly giant to calm. The besotted look he cast his wife was not lost upon Cam.
Because he well understood the sentiment.
“One quarter hour,” Lady Emilia reminded him firmly. “No more.”
He bowed to the both of them and then did not waste another moment in slipping through the door of the salon and finding Eugie. She was within, at the far end of the chamber, her back to him. He took a moment to admire the sweeping lines of her figure, the graceful curve of her neck, the flare of her hips outlined beneath her gown, as he approached her.
From any angle, she was stunning.
He almost did not want to speak and ruin the moment. Almost feared facing her until she turned. AndChrist, the full effect of her loveliness was like running into a wall. Her eyes were wide, and she was pale, but her lips were as berry-red as ever.
Had it truly been only a smattering of hours since he had last kissed her? Since he had last held her in his arms? It seemed, all at once, as if an eternity had passed.
“Eugie,” he said, recognizing he was already wasting precious minutes by lingering at the threshold.
“Lord Hertford.” Her voice was hesitant.
He noted her use of his title. But he would not allow it to shake him. He stalked toward her, closing the distance keeping them apart.
He stopped just short of her, recognizing the compressed line of her ordinarily lush lips. “I am sorry,” he said.
“Did you plan for us to be seen?” she asked, her dark eyes searching his.
“Is that what you think of me?” He studied her, noting the confusion, the sternness, and yet the tenderness of her eyes. “Do you truly believe I hold you in so little regard that I would arrange for Aylesford and a pair of gossips to witness our kiss just to entrap you into marriage?”
Her brow furrowed. “I do not know what to think, my lord. You have had me at sixes and sevens since we first danced at the welcome ball.”
He knew the feeling. “Surely you know me better than that by now.”
“But I scarcely know you at all,” she said, her tone troubled. “I know you like gardens and libraries and that you have an estate in Lincolnshire. I know your father was a scoundrel who left you in debt. I know you are friends with that reprobate, Lord Aylesford.”
He found himself smiling at her insult. “Aylesford is not a reprobate. A rake, perhaps, but not a reprobate.”
Her lips tightened. “I do not trust him.”
“Let him be your sister’s worry,” he said. “Why are we talking about Aylesford when I am attempting to ask you to be my wife?”
She stilled. “Is that what you are doing?”
“I was trying,” he said, taking another step nearer so the warmth of her soft body burned into his and her gown brushed his legs. “But you suggested you do not know enough about me.”
