“Of all the books that spilled onto the floor, that’s the one you remember? Did you not see the highlights of botanical fertilization? Or the study of childbirth mortality rates?”
“I did not.” He laughed. “And even if I had, I’d still find myself most interested in your lady book.”
Marcus expected her to go tightlipped and silent. Instead, she sighed and looked thoughtful. “I did not come by it easily,” she admitted. “It cost me a month’s allowance.”
“Oh, really?” Damn, but she intrigued him at times. Perhaps this drive wouldn’t be so tedious after all. “Was it worth it?”
She tilted her head, squinting her eyes behind those spectacles. “I’d not realized men and women could find pleasure in doing things that were not exactly… reproductive in nature.”
Marcus had performed a wide variety of the acts she referred to—with a variety of women, no less—and yet he’d never found himself so easily aroused as he was upon hearing those words, casually spoken, by the innocent Miss Goodnight.
“With mouths!” She then shook her head, “I would never have imagined doing such things. So unsanitary, and yet people would not do them if they didn’t evoke an unique sort of pleasure.”
Marcus nearly choked as he tried to clear his throat. English wives didn’t do “such things,” as she referred to. He doubted many English wives even spoke of them. But in her words, Marcus heard something rather thrilling to a man about to sacrifice his bachelorhood.
Curiosity.
Three days! They would wed in three days! His gaze drifted to her lips. Soft, plump, and pink. It then traveled to the edge of her bodice. Her skin appeared soft and untouched. He knew she hid soft and rounded curves. He couldn’t help staring at her mouth again.
There was a reason women didn’t speak of such things.
He adjusted himself uncomfortably. His breeches suddenly tighter than they had been earlier.
“I have noticed dogs doing things with their tongues, but I imagine that was more of a cleaning ritual.”
Again, he nearly choked. “I don’t imagine your parents are aware of your reading tendencies.”
She laughed. “Most of the books in my special collection are written in Latin.”
“Mentulais Latin then… for…?” He really ought to have looked it up.
“Well, you know. Your man… part.” She stared at him as though he might be the biggest idiot ever. “Didn’t you study Latin as a youth?”
“We studied Latin,” he ceded. “Just not that sort of Latin.” What kind of a governess had her parents hired for her?
“Hmph,” she responded. “I’ve come to realize that the most interesting reading is always kept on the out of the way shelves, difficult to reach. Upon realizing this, I always make a point of searching those shelves first.”
He nodded. “And so, when you went into the Crabtrees’ library, you were looking up high?”
“And very low.” The sun slanted in through one of the windows, creating all sorts of golden sparkles in her hair. “And I’d found a book that seemed worthwhile. I never finished reading it though.”
“Right, right. Why read about it when you can watch a live exhibition?”
She looked as though she might say something but then nodded instead.
“What?” he prodded her. He’d never been interested in a woman’s mind until he’d met this one. “Tell me what you were thinking just now.”
“I watched you,” she admitted. And then she blew out a deep breath. “It didn’t look very enjoyable. You… well… you looked rather angry, and afterward you weren’t very nice to Mrs. Cromwell.” She glanced out the window. “She almost deserved one iota of sympathy.”
He remembered that night. His mother and sister had been in the ballroom. They’d ignored him, likely at his father’s command. He’d felt raw, angry. And then Vivienne Cromwell had come along.
“Are you always like that?” She looked a little uneasy when she asked the question.
He didn’t want to discuss himself, but the question was a fair one. Especially in light of… “I was angry,” he admitted. “Mrs. Cromwell knew I was angry.”
“Because your father was in attendance?”
“Because—” He’d not discussed this with anyone before. “Because my sister was there. And my mother.”
