Silence met his words. He was hoping for a reciprocity of similar sentiment at the very least. Instead, she pulled the sheet up, making sure her beautiful breasts were covered.
“I am not a Renault,” she confessed. “My father is an English baron, Lord Elmstead.”
Speechless for a moment, Malcolm’s mind rearranged the facts. She was British by birth. Her father was a member of the gentry. He’d just deflowered a baron’s daughter.
Rolling onto his back, he considered it a moment before realizing it changed nothing. He’d already intended to marry her. All that was left was the asking. He turned to her.
“Is Serena your real first name?”
She nodded.
“Will you marry me, Miss Serena Elmstead?”
Shocked silence, and then an avid denial, “Absolutely not!”
Malcolm sat up in bed, taking the sheet with him as he looked down at her in astonishment. Her cheeks were flushed beautifully as if they’d only just exerted themselves in the grand art of tupping, and her hair was in a charming disarray upon the pillow.
What’s more, in the daylight, finally he could satisfy his curiosity — her nipples were peachy rather than pink.
But her green eyes were glittering with some emotion. It looked like fury, but there could be no cause.
“Whyever not?” He asked the first jealous notion that came into his head. “Is your heart engaged elsewhere?” In which case, he would be quite sorry, for she held his firmly in her possession. He might even have to engage in an honorable duel.
“How can you ask me that,” she demanded, “after what we did last night?”
He settled back beside her. “Then how can you turn me down, especially after what we did last night?”
“This is a terrible time to ask for my hand,” she protested, flinging off the sheet and counterpane before turning toward the window, presenting him with her back.
Unless he was mistaken, she intended to get up and walk away from the discussion.
“This is the perfect time to ask,” he insisted, resting an arm across her, just enough to keep her from slipping out of his reach.
She clamped both hands onto his forearm, plucking at it futilely.
“Obviously, you shouldn’t ask me underthesecircumstances,” she said. “In the heat of passion.”
“We are not in the heat of passion. I’m starting to feel chilly in fact because you tossed off our coverings.”
“War is about to break out,” she protested, turning back toward him. “We are in the middle of a conflict.”
Leaning on his other elbow, he grinned down at her.
“As long as the conflict isn’t between us, I see no reason we cannot come to an agreement, a treaty as strong as the one signed in Vienna.”
Pursing her lips, she closed her eyes, effectively shutting him out.
Well, that wouldn’t stand.Bending low, he took her nipple between his lips, and then he nibbled.
“Oh!” she exclaimed and slapped his shoulder. “Youarea rogue.”
Ignoring her, he enjoyed himself before moving on to her other plump breast. Her nipple pebbled in anticipation before he even touched it.
With her breathing growing heavier once more, Malcolm couldn’t deny them a second round of pleasure. Positioning himself between her thighs, which she willingly parted for him, he nudged inside her. As he did, he put his mouth to her ear.
“Youwillbe my wife,” he promised. “I’ve decided.”
He heard her growl — an actual feral sound emanated from her throat, even as she kept her eyes firmly shut.
