“Not much, one would presume, as you’ve never been married.” She rubbed her elbows and peered at him. “Why haven’t you? You said you want to, and you’re only a touch older than I am. Your salary isn’t large, true, but you aren’t unattractive and clearly have a brain in your head.”
His cheeks warmed. Had she just complimented him? He goggled at her. Not just complimented him, but said that he was handsome? Him? Covered with grime and dust thanks to his broom? She must have something wrong with her eyes.
“High praise indeed.” But he suppressed any pleasure her faint praise stirred. Nothing good could come from dwelling on it. “‘Not large’ is an understatement. Most of my pay goes to my room and board, which, as you’ve seen, isn’t a place most women would aspire to live.”
Nor would it be right of him to even ask someone he loved to share such a life.
Her brow furrowed, a speculative look in her eyes. “With the right furniture, though . . . or if you married someone with a decent dowry or a family with extra space, that wouldn’t matter. Besides, you’re hardworking and considerate and can tell stories that enthrall. I think quite a few women would enjoy that.” She ran a gloved hand over the banister, stroking the wood absently. “I mean, I presume one would . . .”
An image rose in his mind of her having exactly that reaction. Which was a ridiculous wish, for it would never happen.
“Good marriages require both parties to come as equals, and I . . . I would always be someone’s charity project.” Aaron ducked his head. Now. But with the money she’d promised . . . He opened his mouth to remind her of it, but she flashed him another one of her dazzling smiles, stopping him short.
“Not if you find the right leverage,” she said with a wink before wagging a finger in a delightfully teasing manner.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure I have your skills at manipulation.”
“I’m manipulating for survival.” She puffed her chest, the smile gone, her eyes glowing with firm determination. “For my own and my family’s and our business and my father’s legacy.” She stared up at him, so close now his worn boots near grazed the toes of her silk-covered slippers.
“What would you do if you weren’t?” The question popped from his mouth of its own accord, but the moment it burst through, the greedy desire for its answer enveloped his senses, despite how unnecessary it was to what either of them wanted or needed.
“What do you mean?” She stepped back and tipped her chin, appraising him.
“What would you want in a husband if you didn’t need him to be your business-saving puppet?” he asked. “What would you choose? Besides being handsome, of course.”
“Rebecca is the one who harps on handsomeness. I’m focused more on general attraction, which is necessary for any marriage,” she told him. “But your question requires the impossible: for me to have somehow acquired all the access and opportunity afforded our men as well as the immediate trust of the community so I could truly fill my father’s shoes all by myself.” Her chest rose with each impassioned word.
“Well then, imagine you did have all that.” He nodded, leaning into her, suddenly desperate to know her answer. “If you didn’t have to worry about your future, what would you want in a partner?”
“I’d want to laugh,” she said, with not a moment of hesitation.
“To laugh?” He repeated the word. That was what the graceful, mannered, intelligent, wealthy, cultured, beautiful Isabelle Lira wanted? A man who would make her laugh? That was it?
“I’d want someone kind as well. Not someone who’s merely nice, but truly kind. Who cares about others whether they’re of use or not and perhaps influences me to do the same, if I’m capable.” Both her hands clenched her bonnet now, crushing the expensive thing. “And I’d want someone to tease me and tell me wonderful stories and make me forget to be serious and responsible and careful and obedient and mindful of all the rules.”
“Many people would find those good qualities.” Even if she made them seem like a horrible yoke. Aaron’s fingers twitched to touch her once more, but he forced his hands to his sides.
“They’re tiresome when you can’t remove them, even in private.” A bitterness choked through her voice.
“What else?” His brain felt heavy, a drumbeat resounding in his skull as he drew ever closer to her.
“I’d want someone to make me shiver and heat at the same time.” She tilted her face toward his, her deep dark eyes hooded by her thick lashes.
“What do you—oh.” Realization engulfed Aaron like a gust of wind. “You want lust.”
A feeling with which he himself was now becoming quite acquainted. Even if he couldn’t act upon it.
Still, his body prickled with the memories: of the prior evening, when he’d caressed her arm and almost forgotten himself. In her garden, when she’d been so near and he’d felt such temptation. In the men’s smoking room, where he’d reached out and stroked her impossibly soft skin.
And now he was feeling her again. Except this time, his hands were around her waist, her breasts skimming his chest.
“Have you ever felt lust?” His words seemed to boom through his empty room.
“Oh yes,” she said in a throaty whisper, her dark eyes twinkling up at him. “Rather frequently as of late.”
“Really?” he nearly stammered.
“Yes. Very much so.” And, wonder of wonders, she drew closer, pressing herself against him, a mischievous smile spreading over her face. “I’m just not sure what to do about it.” Except she clearly was, tilting up her chin as she rose just enough on her toes so her lips were a breath away from his, tempting him.
