“Would it help distract you if we talked?” That soothing, gentle tone smoothed the sharp edgesof her nerves.
Would it? “Perhaps.”
Pulling up his long legs, he wrapped his arms around them, giving her a little more space. “Is it marriage itself that’s distasteful, or simply the idea of marriage to me?”
Why did that gentle voice now sound . . . vulnerable?
“I’m not opposed to marriage. I want a home and a family of my own. But marriage between us would never work. We don’t even like each other.” In a whisper, she added, “Much less love each other.”
“Love is important to you?”
What a stupid question! Her anger at him flared anew. “Of course it’s important. All these happy couples. Andrew and Alice, Ashton and the duchess, Lord and Lady Montgomery, Honoria and Burwood, Juliana and Mr. Pratt, even Charlotte and Mr. Beckham make goo-goo eyes at each other when they think no one is watching.”
His soft chuckle floated over her, slipping across her skin like a lover’s caress.
“Goo-goo eyes? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“That’s because I made it up. It’s the expression someone gets when their insides go all mushy from being in love.”
He laughed again, that time a little louder. “Mushy insides sound rather unpleasant, but I believe I’ve witnessed that particular phenomenon between my sister and Burwood.” Several silent moments passed. “And you want someone to make these goo-goo eyes at you.”
“Of course.” She picked at the torn sleeve of her gown. “I had hoped that Mr. Grey... but perhaps not all is lost, and we shall get out of here, and I shall thank him for the flower.”
“Flower?” He shifted his body, brushing against her once more.
“He left a flower for me in the library on top of a book Honoria had suggested.” At least that’s what her vivid—and romantic—imagination wanted to believe. She touched the dahlia. “It’s in my hair.”
“Why, so it is.”
She braced herself when the shadow of him reached towardher. Soft fingertips traced along her hair where the flower rested behind her ear.
“Has Mr. Grey expressed interest in forming an attachment with you?” Why did he sound as if he found the mere idea ludicrous?
“Not in so many words.”
“Well, even if we are fortunate enough to have one of the girls release us,andavoid any questions about your gown, I wouldn’t get my hopes up about Mr. Grey if I were you.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “You sound like Miranda. Am I so undesirable?”
She sensed more than saw or felt him stiffen. “Is that what you think? That you’re undesirable?”
“Well, no...yes. I don’t know. I simply don’t want to be forced into a marriage when I haven’t ever even been kissed.”
“You’ve never been kissed?” The note of amusement in his voice inflamed Anne’s already growing annoyance with the man.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised. There are many young ladies who haven’t been kissed until they’ve been officially betrothed. Contrary to what you may have heard from that horribleMuckraker, my reputation is spotless.”
He chuckled again. “Until now, that is.”
The air stilled around them. Odd, that for the past few minutes, she’d completely forgotten the cramped space she’d shared with the grump. She no longer felt like clawing at the locked door to escape, and she admitted—most reluctantly—she thoroughly enjoyed the smell of his shaving soap and citrusy bergamot. She much preferred the clean smell over musky sandalwood that most gentlemen used.
“All things considered,” he continued, interrupting her thoughts about his wonderful fragrance, “might you allow me to remedy that?”
Squinting in the dark space, she frowned. “Remedy what?”
“Your unkissed state. It might help you decide whether to accept my offer of marriage when we’re discovered.”
“Oh.” The word slipped out in a tiny gasp. Bottom lip between her teeth, she chewed. More focused on the factthat he wanted to kiss her than his statement about a marriage proposal, Anne nodded, unsure he could see in the darkened closet.
