“Do you want to marry this Northwoods fellow?” Mr. Beckworth seemed genuinely interested.
Lord Northwoods’ countenance wavered in her mind. “I don’t. I cannot picture myself as his wife.”
“Well, ruined or not.” Mr. Beckworth leaned into the corner of his side of the bench. “You are the daughter of a marquess. You will marry.”
“That’s a presumptuous thing to say. Even if you understood the workings of theton, you don’t understand me.”
“Don’t I?”
His questions started a buzzing in her chest, because some part of her wanted him to know her—very much so.
“Why haven’t you married?” she asked, ill at ease with her thoughts—and the fact that she spoke them all too easily with this man.
“No need.” He shrugged. “I’m not like the men in your world. Aside from the obvious. I’ve no duty or legacy to worry about.” An odd not-quite smile danced on his mouth. “I’m not even sure where my name comes from.Beckworth. It sure as hell wasn’t my father’s.”
“But you have property,” Amelia pointed out. “Who will it go to after you’re gone?”
“That won’t really matter, will it? Seeing as I’ll be… gone?” Just when she was about to concede his point, he winked at her. “I suppose there are some benefits to marriage, though…”
Amelia was suddenly aware that her knee was pressing into his again. And, the same as the night before, all the nerves around that point of contact were jumping and screaming and… sending butterflies flitting about her insides.
“Such as?” She felt unusually bold.
“The obvious one.” He was being provocative.
“For the man, perhaps.” She might be naïve, but she had some understanding of men—and their sometimes-uncivilized tendencies. “It isn’t the same for women.”
Mr. Beckworth laughed. At her.
Again.
It wasn’t as pleasant sounding today.
“It isn’t,” she insisted.
“How can you know that?” he taunted. Amelia’s instincts screamed for her to retreat from this conversation. Ladies did not discuss these subjects. Not with other ladies and certainly not with members of the opposite sex.
“Amelia?”
He leaned forward, and she struggled for where to look—into his eyes, or at his hand, looking almost innocent as it rested on her knee.
Just a few years before, she’d hoped to find romance. She’d believed in a very special kind of love.
But since then, nearly every gentleman who’d courted her was a disappointment, She hadn’t felt anything close to this spark of excitement. Ever.
An unfamiliar heaviness settled between her thighs, her breasts ached, and her spine softened.
Glancing up, she locked her gaze with his, which, if she didn’t know better, was smoldering.
Was he attracted to her?
It didn’t make sense. In fact, she couldn’t even allow herself to entertain the thought.
Where their knees touched, he exerted a subtle pressure.
Not much, but enough to acknowledge the sensation—the connection. Enough to set her heart to pounding.
Amelia swallowed hard and then let out a long, slow breath.
