He swiped his tongue inside and then along her teeth, perfectly even but for a sharp-angled one on the bottom row. Nothing about this woman was as straightforward as it ought to be. And God help him, he was finding her disturbingly delightful.
He brushed his thumb along her cheek.
“Trust me,” he whispered against her trembling mouth before drawing back less than an inch. “I can assure you with a good deal of confidence that at least one gentleman wants you.”
“Very much,” he added.
Her small hand clenched helpless in his larger one and realization pricked at him.
Her mother and brother had only ever expressed concern for Lady Tabetha—the dramatic daughter, the more flamboyant, the relentlessly flirtatious sister. Even her father had always insisted that Bethany was too levelheaded for romantic nonsense.
They’d considered Bethany the dependable one—the rational of the two sisters.
As kindly meant as various comments perpetuating this notion had been, they’d had it all wrong.
The spring of Bethany’s debut, Chase remembered Westerley mentioning that his father considered her come-out a waste of money.
“Bethany is too rational for any nob to want to marry her,” Chase remembered Westerley joking on one occasion. “She’ll never play the games required to land a husband.” Westerley had practically been bragging about her.
Had they unintentionally squelched her feminine traits? Because she was pretty, adorably so, and yet he, nor any of their set, had ever teased her like they teased other young ladies. To his knowledge, not a single one of them had even attempted to flirt with her. It was as though she’d erected a barrier preventing that.
But he’d breached it this afternoon—in his chamber—while kissing her.
It hadn’t taken much, really. The memory of his hand on her derriere floated through his mind.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
Shifting his weight, Chase scooted his chair sideways, closer yet to hers. If they were going to stand a chance in hell at tolerating one another, he needed to know her mind. Even if he couldn’t allow her to ever know his.
“What kind of a marriage do you want, Bethany?” he pressed.
There was no missing the tremor that reverberated through her. Her lips pinched tightly together, and her fingers alternately tapped against his hand, despite his grip.
When her lips finally moved, he couldn’t quite hear her answer.
“Please.” He leaned closer. “Tell me, Bethany.”
“I want a real one.”
This time, he comprehended every word.
Chapter 16
A Real One?
Chase’s first thought was that his cravat was strangling him. What exactly did Bethany mean by that?
A real one.
He couldn’t help but recall Westerley as he’d been the day of his wedding. Besotted, doting, utterly committed to one woman for what remained of his life.
Was Bethany telling him that she wanted that same kind of love and adoration in addition to the promise of undying fidelity?
If he guaranteed her that, then he’d have to create fake realities for two women rather than one.
Was he drowning?
“A real one.” He repeated the words slowly, hoping she could shed more light on her request.
