“Unfortunately, I know of no such husband.”
“You cannot ignore me forever, Hart.” She knew it was the wrong thing to say even before the words came out, but anger burned in her chest and she couldn’t stop herself.
“Really?” he drawled. “Try me.” He lifted one brow, taunting her.
Courage. Courage. Boldness. Courage.The words rang inside her head. She’d already used nearly every drop of both, but the wordstry mepresented a challenge she couldn’t refuse.
She forced herself to move even closer to him, coming to a stop directly in front of him, her bare toes only a pace from his. They faced each other, the heat from his body palpable. Shaking, she made herself rise on her tiptoes. She pressed her lips against his.
It was like kissing a statue. His lips didn’t move. His body didn’t, either. He stood stock-still while she felt like an idiot. Finally, his mouth opened and his lipsslanted across hers. His tongue plunged inside and she gasped against his mouth. His arms enveloped her and he began walking her backward toward the door. Oh God, she’d won. He was taking her to her bedchamber. He was going to make love to her.
She wound her arms around his neck as the kiss intensified. He leaned down to keep the contact between their mouths as they continued to make their way to the door. He slammed her back against the door and kissed her, long and hard. The heat of his hardness pressed against her belly. She was panting and mindless when he pulled her to him, broke the contact of their lips, and yanked open the door to her bedchamber. His smile was tight as he shook his head, pushed her firmly into the room, and pulled the door shut in her face.
Meg stood on the other side of the closed door, shaking with lust and anger. She clenched her hands into fists and squeezed them as hard as she could. He was an ass and she wanted to slap him, but the kiss had told her something valuable. She’d felt passion in his response. Hart wasn’t entirely immune to her. She had a chance to win him back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The next morning, Hart sat in his coach outside of Meg’s parents’ house and stared at the black front door. The bloody thing could use a coat of paint. Hell, for that matter, the stairs needed to be scrubbed and the entire facade looked sorely in need of repairs. He shook his head and pushed open the coach door. Might as well get this unpleasant business over with.
His knock on the front door was answered after several minutes by the same disheveled-looking butler he’d seen the night he’d come to inform Meg’s parents he intended to marry her. Just as he had that night, the butler immediately became alarmed at the presence of a viscount on the front step. Apparently, the Timmons residence wasn’t accustomed to visitors.
After Hart asked to speak with the baron, the butler ushered him into the same sadly worn drawing room he’d been ushered to the last time. He sat staring at a crack in the stained ceiling for several minutes beforehis father-in-law came hurrying in. The man’s face was red and he looked as if he’d come running. Probably not the best idea, given the man’s health concerns.
“My lord,” Tifton said, bowing to Hart. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Despite the nicety of the words, Hart heard the unmistakable snideness in the man’s tone.
Hart stood to shake Tifton’s hand. It was a rough shake, over quickly, and the two men took seats opposite each other.
“I’m here to make you an offer,” Hart said. He might as well get right to this odious business.
The baron’s green-and-gold eyes, which reminded Hart of Meg’s, narrowed on him. “What sort of an offer?”
Hart opened his coat and pulled a bank draft from his inner pocket. “I’ve been doing some investigating into your affairs.”
The baron opened his mouth to protest but Hart shot up a hand to stop him. “Allow me to finish.”
The baron pressed his lips together and nodded curtly. “Fine. Proceed.”
“My solicitor has paid off all of your debts. Every last one of them. I personally owe every single debt you’re responsible for at the cost of a small bloody fortune.”
The baron tugged at the lapels to his coat. He cleared his throat. “I highly doubt—”
“To the tune of nearly fifty thousand pounds. Does that sound about right to you?”
The baron snapped his mouth shut and hung his head. “What do you want in return?” His voice was low.
“This.” Hart waved the bank draft in the air. “Is moremoney than you’ve probably seen in your lifetime. I’m prepared to give it to you on three conditions.”
Tifton lifted his head again to look at the draft. He pressed his tongue against his cheek. “What conditions?”
“The first is that you use this money to restore your household and live in a manner more befitting your station.” Hart glanced around at the worn room.
The baron nodded slowly. “And the second?”
“If I ever hear of you gambling or ringing up debts again, you willnotlike the consequences.”
The man opened his mouth to speak, but Hart wouldn’t let him. “You are no longer welcome in any of the gentlemen’s gaming hells in the city and I promise you I will hear about it if you attempt to go to less desirable places to game. I have friendseverywhere. Do I make myself clear?”
The baron gave Hart a tight nod. “Perfectly. And the third condition?”
