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He looked anything but penitent.

Clara shook her head. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did what?” he questioned, grinning all the brighter.

“You know I shall do my best to exact my revenge now, do you not?” she stated.

“I am fully aware—and ready for it.”

She hmphed. “Then I shall begin by saying your family are going to be quite disappointed when next Christmas arrives and you are still single.”

He laughed. “You truly think me incapable of finding a wife in a year’s time?”

“Yes.”

He grinned.

“Unless you marry Miss Bowles,” Clara joked, forcing as much solemnity as possible. “I’m sure your sisters would love to be shouted at whilst decorating your home.”

He shook his head. “That is precisely the reason I will not be marrying her—or anyone like her.”

She tipped her head to the side. “Have you an idea of what sort of woman you will marry, then?”

She wondered at the propriety of speaking about such things. But then, she was a supposed maid and he was a supposed rake—did they have to worry about propriety?

Mr. Cole hardly seemed to care that she’d asked such a question, as he answered straightaway. “I do not know if I have ever thought about it seriously.”

“Too busy kissing every woman in England?”

He delivered a sheepish grin. “I suppose you were right about it deadening each woman’s intellect, as it has appeared to deaden mine in the process, as well.”

“I’m certain you can find it again. Just think for a moment. What sort of woman would help you to feel as if you—allow me to phrase it as you would—participated in a hunt and won the prized fox.”

To his credit, his brow appeared a shade of red she’d never seen before.

“I do not believe I have put my foot in it in my entire life as much as I have since knowing you, Clara.”

She grinned and urged him to continue.

“Why do you wish to know?” he asked.

“Because I should like to help your sisters,” she replied swiftly, having already concocted the answer beforehand in case he had a mind to tease her. “I never had any of my own, so I should like to be of service to them. If they wish for you to marry, I shall help you discover what it is you’d like in a wife so you might have a better chance at succeeding.”

He seemed to accept her answer, rubbing his jaw as he replied. “Well, I suppose I would like a wife who gets along with my family. Someone who is humble and not afraid of hard work. Who is kind, but does not hesitate to tell me when I’m wrong.”

“So what you’d like is a mother?”

He laughed. “Perhaps.” A moment later, however, his eyes stared off at nothing in particular, and he sobered. “More than anything, I’d like a woman I can be myself around. Someone I don’t have to hide from. Someone I don’t have to be fearful around. Someone...”

Clara waited for him to continue, wondering what he had been about to say before his eyes met hers.

An intensity was in them that made her shift against the wall with unease. Not born from fear or discomfort, but from unspoken words she could feel emanating from his person.

She looked away, and he did the same, the spell breaking between them.

“That is enough about me,” he said, his voice husky. “What, pray tell, does Clara Hunt wish for in a husband?”

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