Yes, that was another argument! One she had forgotten.
“Undoubtedly you have an endless legion of women,” she said, twisting so that his maddening mouth was no longer upon her ear or throat, for his ministrations were decidedly hampering her ability to think. “You are a known rake.”
“That only means I am excellent at pleasing,” he teased, straightening and meeting her gaze, his grin once more in place. “That is not a deterrent, darling. That is a reason.”
“Rakes break hearts.”
The dimple reappeared. “Yours is already broken. Thus, the champagne that evening at the ball.”
She winced. “Please, I never wish to think of that vile liquid again.”
He sobered. “Do you truly not wish to marry me, Izzy? If you find me unacceptable—”
“It is not that,” she interrupted hastily. For he was very, very acceptable in most ways. “It is merely that I… You…”
She faltered. For it seemed now, from within the protective circle of his embrace, her lips still swollen from his kiss, the rest of her still alive with desire, that all her arguments were unimportant. She did not wish to run away to the Continent. She loved her family. Nor did she want to cause problems for her siblings. And if Lord Anglesey was this persuasive after mere kisses…
“I…” he prodded. “You?”
“Are you certain you want to marry me?” she asked, losing steam.
“I do.” He nodded, uncharacteristically somber. “It is the right thing, Izzy, and I believe we have just proven we shall suit well enough.”
She still felt rather giddy from that wicked mouth of his on her throat. “I suppose so,” she allowed. “But I thought you were not in a hurry to…consummate.”
The last word had her blushing to the roots of her hair, she was sure. Somehow, thoughts of sharing a bed with the Earl of Anglesey made her feel unbearably hot, from her face to her…well,elsewhere. But that did not mean she was prepared to be his wife in deed as well as name. She required time for that.
Did she not?
He chuckled softly. “After tonight, I find myself less inclined to wait. However, the choice will be yours, Izzy. I will bide my time.”
Was he saying he wanted to bed her?
Part of her hoped so.
“Thank you,” she said instead, tearing her gaze away from his before she did something foolish, like kiss him again.
“Now then, that is decided.” He settled her away from him. “I will see to your safe return and meet you at the train station tomorrow. We have much awaiting us. And while I cannot promise you I will be the husband of your heart, I can assure you I will make a better spouse to you than your previous betrothed, Arturd Penhurst.”
Arturd?
A shocked giggle escaped her, and she quelled it by slapping a hand over her mouth. She swallowed down the burst of levity. “Surely I misheard you, my lord.”
“No.” The grin he sent her was unrepentant, and when he was being wicked, the Earl of Anglesey was truly at his most alluring. “I assure you, Izzy. You did not. May as well call the chap by a name he deserves, no?”
“Yes,” she agreed, bemused. “May as well.”
Perhaps her misgivings about marrying the earl had been wrong after all, she thought as he escorted her from the drawing room. But then, perhaps it was also far too early to tell.
CHAPTER7
Zachary ought to have visited Barlowe Park before descending upon it with Izzy’s family, with Greymoor and his stickler of a mother following soon on their heels. He understood the magnitude of his lapse for the first time when he arrived at the front door with a series of carriages ambling down the oak-lined approach behind him and no one answered the bloody door.
He rapped on it. Tried to open it.
Locked.
Shit.
