Why not marry Virtue? Two birds, one stone, etcetera.
It wasn’t ideal. He wasn’t prepared for a wife. But then, there had been attempts on his life. Someone wanted him dead. Perhaps even Cousin Clutterbuck. That reminder did something to mollify the raging need to claim Virtue here and now. To finish what he’d begun. To give them both what they wanted most.
Death and Cousin Ferdinand did wonders to wilt a fellow’s cockstand.
“Let me help you,” he told Virtue as he awkwardly attempted to pull her bodice back into place.
No easy feat when her bountiful breasts were everywhere. They were like prisoners escaped from gaol, and now that they had their freedom, they had no wish to be contained by linen and muslin.
“I suppose I’m indecent,” she said, still breathless, her cheeks flushed prettily. She rose to her elbows, which didn’t serve to help his attempts at righting her chemise.
“Blast,” he muttered. “Your breasts are as willful as you are.”
“Allow me,” she said, chasing his hands with hers. “I think you may have popped some of my stitches.”
God. He was a brute.
He swallowed hard at this knowledge, the way she so easily reduced him to nothing but raw, animal lust. The way she brought him to his knees. It had been mere weeks since she’d swept into his life with the force of a summer thunderstorm. And he was helpless to resist her.
With quick, efficient motions, she righted her chemise and bodice. He ought to have done it for her. Lord knew he’d helped his fair share of lovers back into their gowns after frantic trysts. But he was still too shaken by his realization to be of much use.
“We’ll marry, of course,” he blurted.
Not quite the manner in which he had intended to deliver the news of their impending nuptials, it was true. And the moment Virtue froze, the stubborn expression he knew all too well crossing her features, he recognized the misstep.
He ought to have asked instead of making the announcement. What was the ordinary method of such nonsense? He’d never before requested a lady’s hand in marriage.
“I fear I misheard you,” Virtue said, rising to her feet and shaking the wrinkles from her skirts.
Her tapes were yet undone. His hands clamped on her waist and spun her gently about. Trevor was suddenly grateful for a task to occupy himself with.
“You didn’t mishear me.” He knotted one of the ties. “After the liberties I’ve taken with you, there is no other recourse for us. We will marry.”
And then he could happily have her in his bed, where she belonged.
She whirled about, pulling the remaining ties from his fingers. “No.”
He blinked, feeling unaccountably awkward and bereft. This wasn’t like him. He was known for his charm. He’d used it to persuade many ladies to part with their gowns and undergarments.
Now, surely he was the one who had misheardher.
He frowned down at her. “No? What do you mean, no? Precisely what are you refusing, my offer of assistance with your gown, or my offer of marriage?”
She raised a brow. “Did you offer to marry me? I confess, I heard no offer. All I heard was a pronouncement.”
“In this instance, the offer and pronouncement must be the same,” he told her, hating himself for how stiff and proper he sounded, even to his own ears. “I’ve gone too far.”
“Nonsense.”
Nonsense? Did the stubborn chit think to chastise him?
“You’re an innocent,” he added. “What I’ve done is unconscionable.”
“Not so innocent,” she reminded him pointedly.
And although she had alluded to her lack of innocence before, on this occasion, he knew who was responsible for her education. Trevor cursed himself for the surge of possessive pride at that fact. He was despicable.
“I am your guardian, Virtue.”
