Yes. Anything. Name it, and it’s done.
He’d lived long enough, however, to know the folly of his heart’s reply.
“It depends,” he said, “on what the matter is.”
“Could you… that iswouldyou… be as kind as to…”
“Yes?”
She drew in a breath. “Would you please relieve me of my virginity?”
Chapter Sixteen
She couldn’t believe that she’d said the words aloud.
Instinct had brought her here tonight; Andrew’s gruff admission that he’d been protecting her from afar confirmed that her decision had been the right one. The fact that he’d done all of that forher—she could scarcely fathom it. She owed him too much, and now she’d asked one more favor of him.
She trusted him to take care of her problem. And, given his worldly experience, he had to be the one man in London who wouldn’t be shocked by her request. Judging from his dumbfounded expression, however, her assumption might have been wrong.
“Pardon?” he said.
“Please don’t make me say it again.” Embarrassment scalded her cheeks. “You heard me.”
He stared at her, his dark brown eyes inscrutable. He stood abruptly. “I need a drink.”
As he went to the decanter, she said, “I’d like one too, please.”
“I’m afraid I don’t stock ratafia or sherry in here.”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“I’m drinking whiskey.” He swigged it like water.
Although she’d never had whiskey, the occasion might call for it. “I don’t mind.”
Wordlessly, he refilled his own glass and brought one over for her. As he handed her the drink, their fingers touched. Awareness shot through her, tingling at her nerve endings.
His hand jerked back, and he prowled to the mantel like a restless lion. “Perhaps you’d care to explain your… request.”
She took a sip of the amber liquid; it went down like fire. “Daltry’s family wants proof that my marriage was consummated.”
“In Gretna, you told me that it had been.”
Discomfited by the intensity of his stare, she said, “What Isaidwas that I’m the Countess of Daltry. Which I am. I have the marriage papers to prove it.” She blew out a breath. “And I did, um, share a bed with Daltry.”
“Did he tup you?”
“There’s no need to be crude—”
“You’re asking me to relieve you of your virginity. Given the topic, I think we’ll call a spade a spade,” he said flatly. “Did Daltry tup you?”
“Um… perhaps?”
“Bloody hell,” he growled, “stop playing games. There is noperhapsabout it. Either Daltry put his cock in you or he didn’t.”
Shivering at the lethal expression on Andrew’s face—not to mention his carnal vocabulary—she said defensively, “I’m not playing games. I’m just not certain what happened. I’d had several glasses of wine, you see, and it was dark. Daltry came to bed, and he started to, um, touch me. You know… down there.”
“What else did he do?” Andrew set his glass on the mantel, his knuckles white.
