Though his jaw was still tight, the look in his eyes had softened. She faltered and could not stop her voice from quavering as she asked, “What…what would you have considered a proper farewell, my lord?”
His gaze made the space about them intimate without his having to stir. His response was low and husky. “Something I dare not do at present, for I would not cause a scandal in your uncle’s garden.”
She stared at him with her mouth agape. Groaning, he glanced toward the house, then defiantly stepped toward her, placed his finger beneath her chin as he had done that night in the theater, and closed her mouth.
“Your lips will be the death of me, Miss Merrill,” he murmured.
The hammering of her heart moved up into her head, making it difficult for her to think. His touch recalled their night of passion, and her body thrilled to it instantly. In his eyes, she now beheld a smoldering agony. Did she dare hope…?
“My lips?”
“Yes. The vision of which has haunted me day and night.”
She closed her eyes and heard his words echo in her head. Haunted me day and night. Just as he had haunted her thoughts and dreams. The anguish melted from her and with it her calm.
A breeze wafted around them, blowing the scent of the flowers into the air.
As if encouraged by the look in her eyes when she opened them, Sebastian continued, “I came, Miss Merrill, to inform your uncle of my intentions to court you.”
Dumbfounded, she could only stare at him. The words he had uttered sounded almost ludicrous. Court her?
“I intend the courtship to bear all the markings of respectability,” he assured her, unsettled by her silence, “though, damn me, it will be no easy feat when my body burns with desire for you.”
Her mouth fell open again. If her heart could glow, she would be brighter than a beacon. She recovered from the audacity of his statement. “Respectability from you, Lord Blythe?”
“It took me seven days to realize that I have no choice but to attempt respectability if I ever hope to possess you in my arms once more. You deserve no less. But I give you fair warning—you know me for what I am, Miss Merrill.”
“I do not think I do,” she returned. “I thought our affair confined to the château. Your departure made that quite clear, I think.”
“I was appalled,” he explained, “that you might be discovered in a compromising situation.”
She flushed. “You may recall, sir, that you have not the honor of having been the first.”
A muscle rippled along his jaw. “I will not discuss the particulars of that. I thought that you would wake with remorse for what had happened betwixt us and that you would be relieved for me to be gone.”
“Yet here you are,” she pointed out.
“Yes, here am I, for it is the nature of the male sex to pursue, against all odds, until he has been bludgeoned and all recourse dissolved. I want you, Miss Merrill, more than I have ever wanted most other women. If the nature of such feelings should be love, I will not spurn it.”
She contemplated what he said, her gaze raking over him, saying nothing. She felt mastery of the situation, for he had made clear his feelings but she had yet to reveal hers. He was staring at her as if she were prey he meant to devour. Desire lighted his eyes, and the look made her loins warm and a familiar wetness begin to form. But she continued playing the coquette through her silence for well he deserved it.
“You disappointed me, Lord Blythe,” she said at last.
His brows rose.
“I had hoped to stay the full three nights at Lady Follet’s,” she finished.
He beamed.
“As for respectability…” she continued, her eyes bright as she leaned toward him, “that sounds rather boring.”
He groaned. “Miss Merrill, you would make a further rake of me.”
“There is a part of the garden hidden from all view,” she whispered with a sly smile.
“I could not, Miss Merrill,” he said after some hesitation. “I may be a rake, but you will not find it so easy to question my resolve as you had. I will be a gentleman.”
Not for long, she thought to herself. She had no qualms about seducing him. But she gave him her brightest smile and took the arm he offered to escort her back to the house.
“How unfortunate,” she replied lightly, using his words. “Perhaps that can be changed.”
The Earl of Blythe grinned. “My dear Miss Merrill, you are a perfect rake.”
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ABOUT GEORGETTE BROWN
Georgette Brown is the “nice” alter-ego to Em Brown’s “naughtiness.” Her current works include:
Pride, Prejudice & Pleasure
That Wicked Harlot
An Indecent Wager
Surrendering to the Rake
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An Indecent Wager: A Scorching Hot Historical Romance (Super Steamy Regency Collection Book 1) Page 6
