Page 71 of The Language of Love

“Well, it has belonged to his family for hundreds of years. There is probably much of their history wrapped up in it. It seems sadthat it will pass out of his hands.” It was difficult to remember that he was the one selling his family’s property.

Henry merely grunted, not looking convinced. Annis couldn’t help noticing that his eyelids were drooping, and not with passion this time.

“Why don’t you take a nap?”

His eyes flew open. “I’m not tired.” He ruined that assertion by smothering another yawn.

“I can see that,” she said dryly.

“You must think I’m horribly rude?”

“No, just tired.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What will you do?”

Annis gestured to the satchel she’d brought along. “I have a book and a sketchpad to keep me busy.”

“Well, if you’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Nap.” She could use the time to collect her still scattered wits.

One of his slow, lazy smiles spread across his face. “If that’s an order…”

“It is.”

He reached for the buttons on his coat and then paused. “Will you excuse my shirtsleeves?”

Annis choked on a laugh. Considering that she’d just been rubbing her sex against his hand…

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, digging through her bag but watching from the corner of her eye as he unbuttoned his coat, folded it into a neat square, and then placed it on the ground to use as a pillow. Within moments, he’d positioned himself on his back, his powerful arms crossed over his chest, his enormous body laid out before her like a masculine buffet.

The urge to climb on top of him and feast was so strong it left her light-headed.

Get control of yourself!

That was excellent advice. She took out a sketchpad and pretended to search for a clean page while stealing glances at him. She might as well just have openly gawked since he was breathing evenly and deeply within less than a minute.

With her sketchpad in hand, she positioned herself at such an angle that she could see all of him, intending to take advantage of the rare opportunity to capture him for posterity in her sketchbook. The only way that she’d ever be able to have him.

But instead of sketching, she just stared, her mind combing over the events of the day, her brain naturally lingering on the part where she’d used him for her sexual pleasure.

If she were a decent, upstanding woman, she would burn with shame at the memory.

But, after those first few mortifying moments, she’d felt startlingly shame-free.

Why should her lack of morality surprise her? After all, she’d lain repeatedly with a man who’d robbed both her and her beloved grandmother.

But you were not almost betrothed to another man when you rolled around in the grass with Mr. Leech.

That was true.

Still, she didn’t feel shame.

Today with Henry was an experience that would likely never have again. Maybe she was doing Mr. Norburg a terrible injustice, but she had not seen even a glimmer of interest—not to mention passion—in his gaze when he looked at her. Annis was a business acquisition to him—and not even a very exciting one. She’d seen more passion on his face when he’d spoken of his bank.

Henry, however, had looked at her as if he’d wanted to consume her.

Annis wasn’t entirely naïve; she knew it wasn’t love he felt for her. If it was, he’d tell her the truth about his identity and end this foolish façade.