Livvy could scarcely catch a breath. She’d never imagined he’d speak to her in this manner. She dreamed of him saying things like this, in her most private, wicked fantasies. Every inch of her was tingling with awareness, as if he were touching her in truth.
God, he was a silver-tongued devil. How on earth could he have this effect on her while still seated six feet away, across the room?
“I . . . don’t know what to say.” That was the truth. “If I accept, and . . . encourage your advances . . . how can you possibly know my motivation?”
“My thoughts exactly. Which is why I have a different offer for you. Stay until the end of the month, as my guest. I won’t touch you without your express permission. If you want me, then you’ll have to ask. Whatever happens between us will be entirely up to you. Then, at the end of the month, you can decide whether you want to marry me or not.”
“You’d still marry me, even if we’ve never . . . been intimate?”
He gave a careless shrug. “We’ve already discussed thepracticalbenefits for us both. If you choose to be my duchess, you’ll get the protection of my title, and access to all my worldly goods. I’ll have my man of business draw up an agreement that gives you exactly half of my income for as long as we’re married.”
“That would be extremely generous.” She said faintly.
He inclined his head in wry agreement. “I would, obviously, do my utmost to prove to you the delightfulphysicalbenefits of being married, but if you truly didn’t want me, or if the passion between us fades, then I’m sure we could come up with an arrangement that suits us both.”
“You mean, you’d take a mistress.” Her heart swooped in disappointment at the thought.
“And you could take a lover, provided you were discreet. We wouldn’t even have to have to live together if you didn’t wish it. You could live in the town house in London, or stay here at Hollyfield, and I’ll go to London. You could even travel abroad, if you like. Go on a Grand Tour.”
Livvy tried to regulate her breathing and think clearly. What he was offering was incredible, utterly unexpected. Any other woman would be biting his hand off at the chance to become the next Duchess of Dalkeith.
And yet.
The problem was the inequality of their feelings. Devlin might desire her physically, but his heart wasn’t involved, whereas she’d been half in love with him for years. Marrying a man who didn’t love her back would be setting herself up for heartbreak, but the temptation to discover exactly what making love with him would be like was incredibly strong.
Would it be worth the risk?
“If we get to the end of January and youdon’twant to marry me,” he continued, “then you can leave, and you’ll be in a very similar situation to now; free to make your own way in the world. You might not be quite so innocent, of course, but nobody will know. Your friends at King & Co. might guess, if you don’t tell them, but they’ll support you whatever happens.”
Livvy cleared her throat. “If we did become . . . intimate . . . what about the risk of conceiving a child?”
“We can take steps to ensure that doesn’t happen. If you choose to marry me, and want to try for a child, then I suppose the dukedom can have an heir or an heiress.”
He tapped his lips again. “I only have one condition. If we do wed, we’ll maintain separate bedrooms. When it comes tosleeping, I prefer to do italone.”
Livvy wasn’t sure what to think of that. She’d always thought it might be nice to share a bed with a husband, for warmth and comfort, if nothing else, but she knew plenty of couples kept separate chambers.
She’d never actually shared a bed with anyone, so she had no idea if it was uncomfortable or not. Maybe he’d had a bad experience in the war, forced to share barracks with twenty other soldiers, all snoring and groaning? Maybehesnored, and was too embarrassed to admit it? Either way, his preference for uninterrupted sleep didn’t seem like much of a concession compared to what he was offering her.
“That doesn’t seem unreasonable,” she managed.
His body seemed to relax a little. “Good.”
She studied him carefully. “What guarantee do I have that you’ll actuallymarryme, if that’s what I choose? How do I know this isn’t just a ploy to make me your mistress, then abandon me at the end of the month?”
“Do you want something in writing? I can have my man of business draw up an agreement, signed by us both. Or, if you prefer, I can send to the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license right now, and we can marry as soon as it arrives. It should only take a week or so.”
“No!” Livvy squeaked. “I’m in no hurry to wed. I need more time to think before I make a decision of such . . . magnitude.”
He nodded, as if she was being eminently sensible. “Of course. Well, then. You’ll just have to trust my word. All right?”
Livvy nodded. “All right.”
She was saved from any further discussion by Fletcher’s smooth voice informing them that her room, and bath, were ready. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, and hurried to the door, tinglingly aware that Dev was watching her every move with the intensity of a hawk.
She turned to address him just before she stepped into the hall. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to have dinner brought up to my room.”
His lips curved in a mocking expression, as if he guessed her desire to avoid a dinner alone with him, but nodded his agreement to Fletcher, over her shoulder.
