“Ahh, I see. So you expected me to spirit you away to my bedchamber?”
Oh, drat the man, how could someone sound so positively sinful? She gulped back her nervousness and summoned her courage. “Well, you see, Mr. Douglas. That is precisely why I came.”
He arched an eyebrow in surprise. “You came because you wanted me to spirit you away to my bedchamber?”
“Well, not exactly,” she stammered out. “Oh, do pour me a drink.” She needed something to bolster her flagging confidence. This was a bad idea. Perhaps the worst idea she’d ever had.
With a low chuckle, he handed her a glass. She gulped at the liquid, and fire poured down her throat. She coughed desperately. Her eyes watered, and she gasped for air. Offering a lady such a strong spirit at this hour of the morning? But then perhaps he had already discerned the purpose of her visit and dispensed with any pretense of propriety.
“Better?”
She nodded and set aside the glass.
“Do sit down,” he invited, gesturing toward an identical armchair.
She sank into the chair, grateful to relieve her shaking legs.
“Now perhaps we can get to the reason for your visit?”
Avoiding his piercing gaze, she fidgeted nervously in her seat. Finally she looked up, gathered her courage around her and blurted, “I wanted to propose that we become lovers.”
He choked on his drink and rapidly set it down beside his chair. “I beg your pardon? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“You heard me,” she said in a voice she was proud to note sounded much calmer than she felt.
He dropped his leg to the floor and leaned forward. “Tell me, Lady Jenna. What is a woman of your station doing here, at the house of an eligible man without proper chaperone? For that matter what are you doing here at all?”
This was not going according to plan. To her dismay, he was laughing at her. Not out loud, but the insufferable beast was laughing just the same. The devilish twinkle in his eye gave him away.
What was she to expect anyway? She was a far cry from the other ladies of theton. Not stunningly beautiful, though she was passable. Her chestnut hair was neither blond nor brunette, but a shade in between. Her eyes were a mundane shade of brown, and she’d been told on more than one occasion that her mouth was just a little too wide. She wasn’t the sort of woman to inspire a man—not even her fiancé—to spirit her away to his bed.
And that stung.
“Yes, well, I can see my coming was a mistake,” she said, rising from her seat. “I assume I can count on your discretion, sir?”
“Sit down, Lady Jenna. I don’t often find myself surprised by a woman, but in your case, I admit I am quite flummoxed.” His voice carried a hint of authority, though it was soft and reassuring.
She sank back into the armchair and directed her gaze at him.
“I am flattered by your proposal, my lady. But curiosity prompts me to ask why you are making such an outrageous request.”
Jenna looked down at her lap where she twisted her hands in nervous agitation. Her reasoning sounded silly even to her own ears. Ladies weren’t supposed to enjoy or look forward to the mysteries of the bedroom, yet she’d heard the murmurings of those bolder ladies of theton. The ones who defied the mold society imprisoned them in. Those who took a lover and giggled with delight at the activities they pursued. The blushes, gasps and exclamations.
She wanted that. Wanted to discover the joys of the bedroom, things that no married woman ever whispered about her husband. No, the ladies she’d spent so much time gleaning information from never blushed when speaking of their husbands.
And the truth of the matter was, she wanted to marry Stuart about as much as she wanted to die of some dread disease.
Feeling his stare and knowing he was waiting for an explanation, she finally opted for the truth. “I wanted to experience what I’ve heard so many other women whisper about.”
When she looked back up at him, he was smiling gently at her. “But surely when you marry one day, your husband will be more than happy to show you the delights of the marriage bed.”
Humiliation seized her all over again as she remembered her disastrous encounter with Stuart on the terrace. “That’s just it,” she said mournfully. “The man I am betrothed to doesn’t inspire passion in me. In fact he inspires very little.”
His expression hardened. “I see. So you wanted me to school you in the fine arts of the bedroom so that when you marry your cold fish of a husband, you can look back to what we shared.”
She nodded miserably. “He’s a good sort, truly he is. I’ve known him all my life, and our marriage has been arranged since we were children, but when I am around him, I don’t feel...anything. Well, not unless you count complete dismay. And well, he doesn’t feel anything for me either quite obviously. He’s a...” She broke off, not quite sure how to describe Stuart. He defied any reasonable explanation.
Suddenly Mr. Douglas was in front of her, pulling her to her feet. One arm wrapped solidly around her waist, trapping her against him. “So he doesn’t make you feel this...” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “Or this.” His finger continued down her neck and came to rest just above where her bare skin disappeared into her bodice.
