She wanted to imagine he’d come for her—her knight in shining armor. She’d always dreamed he would someday. And though she’d never have admitted it to anyone, it had truly distressed her to know that he’d not cared enough to challenge her father’s mandate all those years ago.
It didn’t matter; he was here now, and there was hope.
Christian watched as she lifted up a small leather-bound volume, her lips curving in the most damnably tempting smile he’d ever beheld.
He could scarcely keep himself from wondering at her thoughts as her smile deepened to reveal perfect white teeth. Like rose-blushed porcelain, her cheeks were stained with color, and the long, lustrous strands of her hair were swept up at the sides, arranged to fall in an artful tumble of midnight curls. A few escaped confinement—evidence of her delightful romp in the brook.
He stared like a besotted youth, and only belatedly came aware of the soft rhythm she tapped upon the small volume she held and his gaze focused upon the book.
Indirectly the book reminded him of his reason for calling today: her brother’s damnable proposal. The terms of their bargain had been spelled out for him in the library this morning. Ironically, it was there, some five years before, in that very same room, that the old duke had breached yet another contract with him, and that recollection had a rather sobering effect.
What did he care about some fresh-faced miss?
Her feelings weren’t his concern.
She lifted the book to her breast, hugging it shyly, and guilt pricked at him nevertheless. He ignored it, thrusting his damnable conscience away, suffocating it with his anger.
She smiled gently. “You see, I truly was reading, my lord.” She presented the book as evidence. “Adelard of Bath,Questions on Nature. Do you know the text, by chance?”
Christian’s brows lifted. “I wasn’t aware it was proper reading material for a young lady,” he said bluntly.
Her brows drew together. “Why not?” She sounded quite affronted.
“Have you by chance read them all?” He was convinced she had not. Had she bothered, she’d never have brought up the manuscript at all. She’d more than likely be sitting upon the blasted book—as she was those stockings of hers, hiding them from his scrutiny.
Her legs were bare.
His heart quickened at the thought. God, but he felt like a beardless youth with sweaty palms sitting beside his first lover. What the devil ailed him?
“Not all of them, of course,” she was saying. “Though I’ve never found a one to be improper in the least. In fact,” she informed him pertly, “I find them to be rather clever speculation and very much worth contemplating indeed!”
“Clever?” Christian suppressed a chuckle, sensing she was perfectly serious. He found, at the moment, that the last thing he wished was to offend her.
“Yes, of course,” she persisted. “Quite. Such as...”
She tried for a disaffected tone, but he anticipated the coming challenge. The shrewd little wench was baiting him, he realized.
“Do you never ponder, my lord, whether beasts have souls? Or...” She cocked her head coyly. “Why the seats of imagination, reason, and memory are found in the brain? or why the waters of the sea are salty? or why certain rivers are not?”
She glanced up at him, and seemed encouraged by his interest.
“Or,” she continued, her tone flippant, “why men get bald in front?” Unable to contain a giggle, she then continued, “Or, for that matter...” Her lips twitched. “It simply boggles the mind to consider why men were not born with horns or other such weapons on their person! Do you not agree, my lord?”
She graced him with a heart-stopping smile suddenly.
Dark, sooty lashes framed eyes that fairly glowed with merriment, and the effect was nothing less than stunning. It momentarily snatched Christian’s breath away.
He chuckled and cleared his throat, struggling in vain to ignore the lust that held him firmly in its grip now. “Are you quite certain we are not,m’mselle?”
Her brow furrowed softly as she pondered his question.
God, but she was an innocent.
“Of course, but how can you know,” he persisted, “whether I, in truth, have no horns, or other such weapons upon my person? I very well might.”
Once again her blush crept to her bosom.
His gaze followed, too tempted to resist. “My guess,” he ventured, smiling darkly, “is that you do not.” He lifted hisgaze. “Furthermore, my lady scholar, not all of those inquiries in that little book of yours are suitable material for impressionable young women, clever speculation or nay.” By her expression, he surmised she was truly unaware of some of the baser texts within the pages of her book. “Such as,” he added offhandedly, “why women, if they are more frigid than men, are more wanton in desire.”
