Had not Mama always told her honesty was preferable unless a polite lie would suffice?
“Because I wished to avoid you,” she answered simply. No need to offer the Marquess of Dorset a polite lie.
If she could draw blood, she would.
He quirked a brow. “I thought you may have been suffering from the bee sting.”
“Merely suffering from the desire to avoid your presence.” She swept past him, determined to put as much of the Axminster between them as possible.
“I am wounded, darling betrothed.”
There was laughter in his voice. She cast a glance over her shoulder, which proved a mistake. He was following her, an amused grin on his ridiculous mouth. Truly, why had God bestowed such a sensual pair of lips upon a rakehell?
“I am not your betrothed,” she told him yet again. “Nor am I your darling. This argument grows wearisome.”
“Then do not argue, Lady Clementine.” He stalked nearer, invading her territory, until her back was pressed to a wall of books and he was near enough to touch. His hands landed on the spines on either side of her head, caging her in. “The answer is simple. No need to complicate things. I saved your reputation when I had neither desire nor obligation to do so. You owe me, and if the price I demand is watching you squirm in a trap of your own making, you shall have to pay it.”
Drat the man. He was insistent upon playing out this nonsensical plan of his. Every inhalation brought his decadent scent, tempting and teasing. She would not look at his lips. Would not think about how handsome he was…
A sudden idea came to her, forged of desperation. What would Dorset do if she decided to capitulate? If she pretended to be in favor of this noxious feigned betrothal of his?
Oh yes. Why had she not thought of this sooner? It was all she could do to suppress her smile. The marquess may have won the hand, but she would emerge the victor from this game they played.
* * *
“Mayhap you are right.”
Dorset blinked, sure he had misheard Lady Clementine. Those four words—a concession he was correct, issued to him? Bloody impossible.
“I beg your pardon?”
She rolled her lips inward, pressing them together. His gaze was pinned upon that mouth.Damn.Why should such a vicious harpy have been blessed with lips even Venus would have had cause to covet? And why the devil should he find himself once more contemplating those same lips, wondering what they would feel like beneath his?
Pliant? Seductive as silk? Warm or cool? Would she kiss him in return, or would she hold still?
So many questions, all of them wrong. None of them should be infecting his mind. But try as he might, he could not seem to tamp down the rising tides of his lust for this woman.
“As you said, there is no need to complicate things,” she said in a pleasant tone, her voice light, sweet. “You saved my reputation in the gardens. I do owe you, and if the price you demand is a betrothal, then I shall have to pay it until the house party is at an end.”
His eyes narrowed. What was this? Lady Clementine Hammond agreeing with him, no longer prickly? Her lovely countenance was deceptively beatific. She was as glorious as a goddess and yet he knew she was as duplicitous as a fallen angel.
“You have finally decided to see the sense in my proposal?” he asked hesitantly.
“Of course.” She flashed him a bright smile that should not have hit him in the chest. Should not have made him go hard.
And yet it did.
No denying the effect this loathsome lady had upon him.
He hoped to hell his country tweed trousers were concealing his cockstand. He cleared his throat, then ran his hand along his jaw. Cleanly shaven that morning and already studded with whiskers. A reminder he was harsh. Not smooth, not soft.
Lady Clementine Hammond would do well to remember the same. How to remind her? He was so surprised by her sudden capitulation that he didn’t know what the devil to say next.
“Then you agree to a betrothal for the duration of the house party?” he forced himself to ask at last.
“Yes. I concede to the wisdom of your plan. But I should call you something other than your title, if we are to make the others believe we are truly engaged. Do you not think? A pet name or diminutive, if you please.”
Was that what she thought engaged couples did? They made stupid bloody names for each other? He suppressed a shudder. Preserve him from the nonsense of unmarried ladies everywhere. Had he ever imagined himself in love with one? He trusted Lady Anna had never been such a foolish bit of baggage.
