“That is an odd way to describe a longtime friend... as ‘unfortunate.’?”
“He is likely the only one who will cry when I’m gone. I regret that.”
What a sad thing to say, as if he might want her sympathy. Or was he just testing her to see if she had any? When his expression hardened, she decided it was neither. He probably hadn’t intended to reveal something like that to her, so she quickly said, “You have a wound?”
“A gift from yourbrotherthat refuses to heal.”
He said “brother” as if speaking of the most reviled thing imaginable. They really did have something in common, but she didn’t want to talk about her feelings for Robert.
Instead she glanced at the leeches on his thigh and said, “He wasn’t aiming for your heart, was he?”
“I think it’s obvious what he aimed for.”
A crude gentleman? No, he was no gentleman at all, or he was attempting to shock her. The latter was more likely, but it didn’t work. The long bare leg shocked her. The bare chest shocked her. That her brother had tried to make sure there would be no more Wolfes didn’t. But that wouldn’t be Robert’s goal. Robert would have aimed to kill.
So she said, “I disagree. What’s obvious is that he has no more skill in shooting pistols than you do.”
She realized too late that she’d just insulted him, so she was surprised when he admitted, “I’m not in the habit of dueling.”
“That’s too bad. With more experience you could have saved us both this...” She didn’t finish. Telling him she didn’t want this marriage was revealing too much.
But he guessed anyway, saying drily, “Unwanted marriage?”
She could have lied, but she chose not to answer. She’d meant she wished his aim, not Robert’s, had been true, but there was no point in clarifying that. He was going to think the worst of her simply by association. She was a Whitworth, the sister of the man he’d thrice tried to kill.
But she couldn’t hold back her curiosity. “Why didn’t you practice? Wouldn’t that be the logical course of action, practice first then issue your challenge?”
“Rage doesn’t acknowledge logic.”
Well, for some people such ashimit might not, but—oh, very well, he had a point.
“Are you even old enough to marry?”
The question, out of context, drew her eyes back to his. The anger appeared to be under control for the moment, but she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t getting a sense of the man yet, other than that he was quick to anger, quick to blunder, and was not giving her a welcoming smile. Perhaps he never smiled. But if he was going to be civil again, she could be as well.
“I don’t think anyone cares if I am or I am not—certainly not the Prince Regent, who is demanding that our families be joined in marriage—but as it happens, I will be eighteen in a few weeks.”
“And what would a spoiled earl’s daughter as young as you know about marriage?”
She stiffened only a little. “I understand what’s expected of me.”
“Do you? I highly doubt it. Your mind is more likely filled with misconceptions, but how could it not be, when half thetonbeget their children without ever taking off their nightclothes?”
Her mouth dropped open. She quickly closed it.
“Come closer.”
She didn’t. With two feet between her and the bed, she was close enough to a naked wolf. They weren’t married yet. He wasnotgetting any samples....
“Already you show that you don’t know the first thing about marriage, or did your mother fail to mention that above all else, you willobeyyour husband?”
She knew that rule, but she also knew that without some sort of mutual respect and devotion a marriage could end up being quite odious—for her. But what the deuce was he doing? Just making sure that she would be a dutiful wife? Or making sure that she knew that beinghisdutiful wife wasn’t going to be pleasant?
She took a step forward before he made the demand again. But when he just stared at her, waiting, she knew he wanted more. Decide! Call his bluff? Be compliant? Remind him... no, shehadto marry him or else her family would lose their lands and title. Hehadto marry her for the same reasons. They might as well already be joined.
She took the step that brought her upper thighs to the edge of his mattress. His arm closest to her slipped around her waist and up her back as he drew her closer. It was so sudden she almost sprawled across his chest, but caught herself in time, placing one hand on the bed’s headboard above his shoulder. But he was still pressing her closer, and his arm had too much strength for her to resist. Her mouth got captured by his, and the heavy arm around her back kept her there.
He kissed her. His anger made it seem passionate. Itwaspassionate. It was illuminating, a promise of what could be had in his bed if he accepted her. A promise that there would be no clothes between them if he did, that he was a lusty man who would take what he wanted when he wanted it. Her heart pounded erratically, loudly. Her senses were assailed with the rasp of a persistent tongue, the scrape of stubble on his upper lip against her skin, fingers at the back of her neck that caused her to shiver, the smell of whiskey on his breath. She was in no way repulsed, rather she was lured to the forbidden.
