“Yes. I must.” He rose from his chair, quite abandoning the pretense of dining in favor of wooing his future bride. “Because it was glorious, and because I intend to do it again as often as you will allow it.”
“You’re scandalous.” She pushed back her chair and rose as well, watching him with a wide-eyed stare as he circled the table with its untouched second course growing steadily colder. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you why you should marry me.” To his relief, she didn’t shrink away from him or attempt to retreat as he reached her. Instead, she remained where she was, allowing him to take her into his arms. God, she felt good there. Right there.Perfectthere. “Showing you why youmustmarry me.”
“Ridgely,” she chastised, but there was a breathlessness in her voice that gave her away. “Trevor.”
His given name on her lips pleased him. Her hands were on his chest now. Not pushing him away, but caressing. More pleasure unfurled, hot and thick in his veins. He loved when she touched him. Never wanted her to stop.
“Duchess,” he said, testing the appellation and liking the way it sounded very much. Liking the implication, that she would be his, even more. “Virtue. There, we have both called each other by two different names.”
Her gaze narrowed, but her hands continued their bold exploration of his body, traveling to his shoulders. “There are other names I might call you.”
The minx.
“Such as?” His head lowered a fraction. Her intoxicating scent was driving him to distraction, and her lips were close enough to claim.
“Such as…” Her words trailed off and she frowned. “Inconsiderate lout.”
“How can I be inconsiderate? You have been my sole consideration from the moment I became your guardian,” he countered, and that much was true.
His every decision and each day had revolved around her and his obligations where she was concerned. He hadn’t intended to hurt her by selling Greycote Abbey. But he also wasn’t accustomed to dealing with wards or losing his bloody head over an innocent. No woman before her had ever held him in her thrall.
“Ha,” she scoffed. “That is nonsense. If you were thinking of me, you should have told me my home was being sold and I would not have the opportunity to return.”
It occurred to him that he owed her an apology. Even if he had only been carrying out Pemberton’s will as was his duty under the law, he should have consulted her. Informed her of the process. Warned her, at least.
“I’m sorry,” he said, finding the words were not as difficult as he might have supposed. He’d made a habit of living his life without apology. “I should have made certain you understood the clauses in the will, and I ought to have kept you informed. When I heard from my man of business, I should have come to you directly.”
His contrition appeared to take her by surprise. For a long moment, she stared at him, her gaze searching, as if seeking some hidden mirth or a hint of insincerity. Very well. He deserved her doubt. She could look all she liked. She’d find nothing other than earnestness.
“Do you mean it?”
“Of course, I do.” His hands were on her lower back, and he allowed them to move, smoothing over her, absorbing her heat, her curves, her strength. “I may be accustomed to everyone carrying out my wishes now that I am duke, but I can own when I am wrong. It was never my intent to hurt you, Virtue.”
“Thank you for that. However, you did hurt me. I’ve told you how much Greycote Abbey means to me, how much I love its people. Did you not think I would want to say farewell?”
“I thought you had already done so,” he answered honestly. “If I could undo what has been done, I would. However, even if I had wanted to keep the estate from being sold, I could not have. The clause in your father’s will demanded it be done.”
“Very well.” She nodded. “I accept your apology, but not your proposal. I don’t want to marry, as I’ve informed you on countless occasions.”
“What of your love for the Viscount Mowbray?” he asked pointedly, understanding the games she had played far too well now. “I thought you were thoroughly besotted and wished to marry him.”
She raised a brow. “Perhaps I shall yet. I am certain the viscount would not sell my beloved home away without at least informing me first.”
A growl emerged from him at the notion of her marrying that fop. He couldn’t control his response. Virtue washis. The sooner she realized it, the better.
“You’re not marrying anyone except for me. Because you’re mine. And I’m going to kiss you now.”
He was giving her ample warning. She could step away, push him, hell, she could slap him if she liked. But if she hadn’t any protest, not even the appearance of Prinny himself in the midst of the dining room was going to stop Trevor from having Virtue’s lips beneath his.
“You are overbearing.”
Trevor didn’t argue. He was, and he knew it.
His head dipped.
“And infuriating,” she added, apparently for good measure.
