The way her bosom rose above the neckline of her bodice at his murmured words was most interesting.
“I try to be good,” she whispered.
Frederick had to angle himself away so his raging cockstand didn’t bruise the lady, such was the effect of her speech. She tried to be good? He could help her tap into that instinct and enjoy surrendering to his will. If the ballroom doors had been wooden instead of glass, he would have had her bent over the balustrade right now. Damn glaziers and their cursed craft.
He struggled for words appropriate for the moment that wouldn’t send her screaming, but Frederick had to settle for staring at the stars. His balls ached for need of filling her, and here she stood, oblivious and not at all affected by him! What a twist of fate for a duke who had dodged marriage traps the entirety of his adult life.
“I’m glad to have met you, Your Grace,” she said, the formality returning along with a lift to her voice that signaled she’d soon take her leave.
“And I you, Miss Vyler.”
“Thank you for the dance.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She turned to go, but her hand was still within his. He didn’t relinquish it. The wind moved through the trees and bushes in the garden in a way that reminded him of her playing. It seemed like a sign from the heavens.
“I wonder if you might be induced to stay in London,” he said.
“Stay in London?” she asked, her face painted with consternation. “The only reason my guardians would permit it is if I were to marry one of those men, the toothless gentleman or the groping baronet.” She gestured with her free hand to the ballroom.
“If you were to marry,” he said.
“Yes, if I were to marry.”
She wasn’t catching on, the dear thing. How he longed to kiss her.
Did he even know how to kiss?
“Well, that settles it,” he said.
“Settles what?”
“You’ll have to marry me.”
Chapter 3
Had someone spiked thepunch? There was no way the Duke of FitzOsbern planned to marry her. Why, he hadn’t even clapped eyes on her before this very night!
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, certain she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“You sound upset to be leaving London, and it seems an unfair thing to do to a young lady,” he said. “Removing her from friends simply because she hasn’t yet married.”
Marianne catalogued the teas and musicales that she had attended and found that her overbearing guardians had prevented her from forming such friendships.
“If that’s not a cause for consternation,” he continued, “I’m afraid I have committed an act of indecency and must rectify it. By marrying you.”
“Indecency!” she exclaimed, looking about them as if to discover where it was hiding.
“Yes, madam, permit me to convey my sincerest apologies.”
“Whatever for?”
“I caught a glimpse of your ankle.”
“A glimpse of my ankle. In the ballroom.”
“Indeed. And I did not avert my gaze.”
