“And I hesitate in part because of that. If we’re to be lovers, you must know that I amintense.”
He looked down at her, his heart throbbing. To his surprise, she tipped her head back and let out a peal of laughter that echoed in the quiet room.
He pursed his lips, even though the sunshine sound of her laugh was fascinating beyond measure. “Are you mocking me, Mrs. Huxley?”
“Not at all,” she said, smiling up at him, as if his stern command meant nothing to her. He’d never met a person who reacted to it that way before. “I only laugh because the fact that you’re intense is fairly obvious. You acted as though that was new information and it is most definitely not.”
He shook his head. “Intense when I look at you at supper and intense when I take you to bed are two different things, Imogen. In bed I like things…rough. I might hold you down, I might scrape my teeth along your skin until you feel the faintest bite of pain along with the pleasure, I might slap your arse until it burns, I might…” He stepped forward and extended a hand, letting his fingers rest against her throat. “I might do this, but a little harder, as I pound into you.”
Her pupils dilated and she leaned into his hand, forcing his grip to tighten that tiny fraction that took it from gentle to something else. Her breath whispered from her lips in a soft sigh, and she nodded. “I…don’t have experience in those things, you’re right about that. But when you say them, I feel nothing but curiosity. Nothing but a desire that I suppose I should be ashamed of.”
He dropped his hand away from her neck and tilted his head. “Why? Why should you be ashamed about wanting the same thing I’ve already confessed I want? Why should you be ashamed about what you want at all? You have as much a right to pleasure as anyone else, Imogen. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”
Her mouth twitched, her expression softened, and for a moment it was quiet between them. He had no idea what was going on in that mind of hers, but at last she stepped forward, closer yet again to him. Almost tight to his chest.
“How long would an affair last if we were to enter into one?” she asked.
He cleared his throat, trying to find words around the lump that had suddenly formed there. “You were looking for a protector.”
She nodded. “Yes. If I survive this—”
He flinched. “You will.”
“WhenI survive this,” she corrected gently, “my situation will still be the same as it was before. I need a protector, whether that is you or someone else.”
“We could see how we suit while you are staying here,” he suggested. “I’ve had mistresses before.”
“Yes. Louisa,” she said, her tone unreadable.
He ducked his head. “That would be another issue we need to address. Louisa wanted…she wanted something more than I could give. Perhaps it isn’t something I’m capable of giving. And I never want to hurt someone like that again, I’ve seen the consequences.”
“Love,” Imogen said softly. “She fell in love with you.”
He nodded. “Or she convinced herself she did. She wanted me to love her back. And while I was very fond of her, I considered her a great friend…it wasn’t enough. She was hurt. She left. And the rest is…well, we’re here. And she’s gone.”
Imogen reached up, cupping his cheek. God, how he wanted to lean into her fingers, to drown in this comfort she gently offered. Somehow he managed to keep himself still.
“I won’t fall in love with you,” she whispered.
His brow wrinkled at her certainty, and he found himself a little annoyed by the lack of emotion in that declaration. Why, he couldn’t say. Her statement was exactly what he wanted. What he needed. If they were to have an affair, it had to be one that excluded the heart.
“If we try something and you don’t like it, you need to tell me,” he insisted. “If I want you and you aren’t in the mood, you need to tell me. Sex should be something we revel in and celebrate and enjoy equally. Will you promise me?”
“You really are entirely unexpected,” she said with a little laugh, he thought almost more to herself than to him. “But yes. I promise you I will only do what I like and I will only do it when I wish to. Are those all your terms, Mr. Fitzhugh?”
She extended a hand as if to shake on it, and he stifled a smile. Her cheekiness was so wildly attractive. He was pleased she was becoming comfortable enough, overcoming the terror of what she’d gone through enough, to show it.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles before he traced one with the tip of his tongue. “All my terms. So we are agreed then.”
“Are we lovers?” she asked, and looked genuinely confused.
“When we’re lovers, I hope you’ll be very certain of that fact.”
She tilted her head, staring at him so intently that he caught his breath.
“What?”
“You are very handsome, Oscar. Really uncommonly handsome. It’s distracting.”
