“So, where do I rank among those kisses?” he asked with an impish gleam in his eye.
At the very top. Dorothea’s hand flew to cover her mouth and then thankfully she realized she had possessed the presence of mind to keep that particular thought to herself. “This is not a contest, my lord,” she said primly. “I do not rate the content or quality of a gentleman’s kiss.”
“I thought that was the more polite way to phrase it.”
Dorothea’s body went still as heated embarrassment flooded her cheeks. He said that deliberately, to taunt her. Annoyed, she pulled a leaf from a nearby plant and crumbled it in her fingers.
“If you must know, I only kiss a man I am strongly considering for marriage.”
His gaze remained puzzled and then his eyes lit as the revelation struck. “After you kiss him, you decide if you will marry?”
“’Tis not as ridiculous as you are making it sound,” Dorothea insisted. “Many other factors about the gentleman have been carefully considered before that point.”
“The kiss is the final test?”
“In a manner of speaking, though I would hardly phrase it in that particular way,” she remarked in rising embarrassment, for it was precisely as the marquess described it. “I think a kiss says a great deal about the potential success of a marriage.”
“Spoken like a starry-eyed virgin.” Lord Atwood’s handsome face brimmed with knowing superiority. “A passionate kiss will not ensure a happy marriage. Over time, lust fades. Sometimes quickly, other times gradually, but it does eventually disappear.”
“Spoken like an experienced rake,” Dorothea countered. “I am not a green girl from the country, my lord. I know something of love and lust and the lack of it in marriage.”
“From experience?” he mocked.
“From observation.”
“And yet you are still eager to embrace marriage?”
“I am,” she replied. “I am willing to make sacrifices, to do my part to make my marriage a success. When necessary, I can put all my efforts into making my husband’s life easier. I will run his household efficiently, plan his social life accordingly, and be an asset in any and every way. I will not, however, be referred to as the burdensome wife by a husband who is dutifully and miserably tied to me.”
He offered her a sly smile. “How can you avoid it?”
“By ensuring there is passion in the beginning. By marrying a man whose kiss excites me beyond measure.”
He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “And you claimed not to be a romantic, Miss Ellingham.”
“That is true. I am not. I do not pine to find my soul mate, my one true love. What I require in a mate goes beyond the basics of good character, sensible temperament, and compatibility. I know I must marry a man I find attractive, exciting. Equally, he should feel an attraction for me. With that firmly in place, I believe anything is possible.”
“What happens if it does not go beyond that stage? If you and your husband never fall in love?”
“I will be content. ’Tis far more than many other couples achieve.” Dorothea glanced up at him, her face open and honest. “I do not have an overly inflated expectation of marriage. I expect my opinion to be respected, my feelings considered, my worth to be appreciated by my husband.”
“Passion will fade, and if love does not exist, why would you remain faithful?”
“A vow is a vow, Lord Atwood. There are no exceptions or codicils.”
“Even under the most trying of circumstances?”
Dorothea bit back a grimace. “I will honor the fidelity of my marriage vows and expect my husband to do the same, even though some might consider that naïve and unfashionable.”
He nodded as if he understood, even agreed with her answer. That was unexpected. Many wealthy aristocrats kept mistresses while their wives kept silent.
Dorothea’s heart started beating hard. She caught the scent of his warm skin mingled with the sweet aroma of the spring blooms. It was erotic, intoxicating. His handsome face was contemplative as he stared intently down at her. What was he thinking? Feeling?
“You know, Miss Ellingham, you never did answer my question. About my kiss?” Reaching out, he lifted a stray wisp of hair and brushed it behind her ear.
Dorothea’s eyes widened. She held herself very still, concentrating on retaining her composure and ignoring the riot of emotions that claimed her at his touch. “On the contrary, my lord, I have answered a great many of your questions. Far too many questions that were far too personal.”
His eyes narrowed as he smiled. “What about my kiss, Miss Ellingham? Do you decree it worthy enough to be your husband? Or do you require a second sample?”
Dorothea swallowed the squeak that rose in her throat. He could not possibly be serious. Marriage between them? She did not dare to believe it could really happen. Lord Atwood was a man who liked to flirt and tease. Surely he was teasing her now. Still, she could not deny the thrill she felt at the thought of actually winning his regard, of becoming his wife now that she had experienced his kiss.
“A second kiss?” She tossed her head, striving to look offended. “Impossible.”
“Afraid?” he taunted in a soft voice.
“Not at all.” She lifted her chin and attempted to look calm. Yet deep inside, she feared if he kissed her again, she might very well swoon. “I am merely being practical, my lord. I have never kissed a gentleman a second time and I vowed the only occasion I ever would do so was after I agreed to be his wife.”
Chapter Eight
Carter smiled. It was precisely the type of challenging remark he had hoped she would make. Hearing it solidified in his mind the thought that had been swirling in his head ever since he had spoken with her at the Duke of Warwick’s ball and learned her progressive ideas about marriage. She would be an excellent wife. For him.
Oh, his father would not be entirely thrilled with her, given her lack of fortune and family prestige, and her limited connections. Not to mention the fact that she was not on the duke’s infernal list of potential daughters-in-law.
But those objections would soon disappear when Carter made plain his determination to take her for his wife. His lips curled in an ironic line as he realized selecting Miss Ellingham as his bride was eerily close to Benton’s idiotic plan to thwart the duke by finding an unsuitable woman and insisting she was the only one he would marry.
But Miss Ellingham was not unsuitable. She was a genteel woman, a gentleman’s daughter, raised as a lady. This was the obvious answer. He needed to take a wife. Sooner, rather than later. And thus he was perfectly sincere in his offer, in fact pleased with himself at finding such a brilliant solution.
This was no sham. They would marry. She would belong to him.
“Since it appears the only way I can procure that most desired second kiss, then obviously we must marry. My dear, won’t you say yes to my proposal so that we may kiss again?” He leaned closer, his eyes darkening with purpose. “Kiss and perhaps a bit more.”
It took a few moments for his words to register in her mind. Carter fancied he knew precisely when she had digested them fully, for she pursed her lips, shook her head, then drew a deep breath. “I fear you have drunk too much wine with dinner, my lord.”
“Only two glasses.”
“Then your head must have hit a branch or something when you jumped in the lake yesterday afternoon, for clearly your brain is addled.”
“I am serious.”
“About marrying me? We barely know each other.”
His smile broadened. The more she objected, the more the correctness of his decision was confirmed in his mind. “I have it on very good authority that knowing someone well and planning too much is not a requirement for a successful marriage.”
She was staring up at him with astonishment. No, it was more than astonishment. Disbelief and open skepticism were present, too. “And you dared to disparage my method of engaging in a single kiss to aid in the final choice? For sham
e, my lord.”
“On the contrary. I applaud your rather, hmm, unique ideas of choosing a husband. ’Tis progressive and most effective.” He eyed her from head to toe with deliberate slowness. “And thoroughly enjoyable.”
She rolled her eyes and attempted to step around him. He blocked the way effortlessly. For several seconds they simply stared at each other. The more he gazed into her lovely face, the more aroused he became. Yes, this was the right decision. He would no have difficulties providing the heir his father so keenly craved. No difficulty at all.
“Your proposal is so completely unexpected,” she finally muttered, still unconvinced and distrustful. “I need time to consider my answer.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she sputtered, crossing her arms under her breasts. “Unlike you, my lord, I take the idea of marriage most seriously.”
“But the kiss…” He let his voice trail off suggestively.
Cheeks blushing, she shifted from one foot to the other. “The kiss is but one part of my decision. There are other, equally important considerations.”
“I have taken those into account. My wealth, my lineage, my age, all make me an excellent candidate. My wife will not want for anything. She will eventually take her place among the highest ranks of society when I inherit the dukedom. Most women would be honored at the proposal.”
Her mouth quirked. “I am not most women,” she declared ruefully. “And while I certainly agree that you are considered by many to be the prize of the matrimonial Season, my requirements in a husband extend beyond his wealth and position. Temperament and compatibility are also key elements to be considered, not to mention character.”
“I will gladly compare my character to that of Lord Rosen,” he replied with confidence.
“That is hardly a testimonial. Napoleon would rank higher in character when compared to Lord Rosen,” she said. “Besides, I rejected him.”
Carter scratched his head, mystified by her reaction. This was not precisely how he envisioned his proposal being received. Though honestly, he had not spent much time planning it. Maybe that was the reason it was going so poorly?
“My dear, we both know very well that you have been actively seeking a husband. I, in turn, require a wife and have decided you would make me an excellent one. Even more beneficial, the spark of passion you require is very evident between us.”
The sound of her laughter carried no humor. “Is it really that simple, my lord?”
“It can be.” Carter creased his brow. Perhaps he had miscalculated with his impromptu proposal. Perhaps she wanted, needed more. “Unless you require a more chivalrous, romantic gesture?”
Her face alighted with interest. “If I did, would you provide it?”
“Reluctantly.”
He was surprised to see the flash of disappointment on her lovely face. Carter frowned. Maybe this was not the brilliant idea he thought, proposing so hastily. Perhaps Miss Ellingham was more of a romantic than she knew.
For a moment her expression turned wistful. Then she shook her head, blinked her eyes, and lifted her chin. “You are right, my lord. I deplore pretense, especially between a man and a woman. I would not appreciate any false show of regard or affection from you unless it was sincerely and honestly given.”
Damn! Carter surveyed her silently. While not enamored with the idea, he certainly felt enough genuine passion and regard for her that he could have enacted a more memorable marriage proposal. He simply had not realized it would be necessary.
He glanced at the nearest rose bush, his eyes resting on a single, perfectly formed bloom. It would take little effort to pluck the rose, brush it across his lips, gallantly present it to her and ask again if she would be his bride. Yet instinctively he knew that could be a fatal move. Surely she would regard the gesture as pure artifice.
For a long time she did not move, did not speak. Her lovely blue eyes remained clouded with confusion and mistrust. Carter began to pace about in the small space, the restless movement helping to contain his frustration. He was racking his brain, trying to formulate his next argument, when she let out a long sigh.
The sound of it hurt him somewhere deep inside and a swell of disappointment filled his throat. The emotions caught him completely by surprise. She is going to refuse! Without thinking, Carter abruptly went down on one knee and took her hand in his. “Please, Miss Ellingham, accept my offer of marriage. I vow you shall never regret becoming my wife.”
She considered him in silence, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. Then, at long last, her eyes softened and she slowly nodded. “I grant you my permission to speak with Lord Dardington. If he agrees, we shall marry.”
Carter’s heart leapt. Reacting purely on emotion, he stood up, grabbed her forcefully around the waist, and brought his mouth down upon hers.
It happened so quickly, Dorothea had no time to resist. Stunned, she languished in his strong, powerful arms, her body pressed intimately against his heated strength. There were times when she had not liked the press of a man’s lips against hers, had not liked feeling so dominated by a large, powerful male. But this was different. This was magical.
He angled his head to deepen the kiss, then flicked his tongue inside, coaxing her, daring her to respond. Dorothea’s hands tightened into fists on the front of his evening coat as she leaned into him, her emotions rioting.
She needed, wanted, craved. Dorothea rose up on her toes, returning the kiss, her tongue darting and teasing and tasting. Desire, bold and unexpected, roared through her veins. Opening her hands, she released his coat and twined her arms around his strong neck. He made a low noise deep in his throat and the sound seemed to vibrate through her.
It was a soul-searing kiss, a promise of passion and delight that left her body feeling weak, her mind numb. His hands felt strong and warm as they wandered over her back, then lower. Cupping her bottom, he pulled her closer to his hardness.
It was madness. It was passion. It was irresistible. Her body seemed to melt into his, tightening with longing at each kiss, each caress. He kissed her throat, pressing his lips against a sensitive spot right below her ear, and Dorothea forgot everything but the feelings exploding inside her.
“You are so sweet,” he whispered. “So incredibly delightful.”
Dorothea couldn’t catch her breath. She arched forward, kissing him back in growing abandonment. His hand moved from her backside up to her shoulder, then down across her chest. She felt her dress loosen, enough to allow his hand access. His fingers slid inside the garment, moving lightly across the curves of her breasts, caressing the bare flesh.
“Atwood…” she breathed shakily.
“Carter. My name is Carter. Say it.”
“Carter,” she whispered, hardly believing how wildly excited she could become by merely saying his name.
He inhaled sharply. With his fingertips he circled and teased her nipples until they hardened. Dorothea moaned. The shocking pleasure of his touch sent a bolt of passion spiraling through her. Moaning again, she arched herself forward until her breasts were even deeper into his large hands, her body quivering with want and longing.
“Exquisite,” he whispered, lowering his head.
He placed a trail of kisses down her neck and across her bare shoulder, then shockingly put his mouth on her breast. Dorothea cried out. He pulled the nipple fully into his mouth and pleasure shook her with such force she thought she might faint. Her pulse quickened and she wondered whose heart was thundering louder, hers or his.
Awash in a sea of pleasure, Dorothea felt the desire race through every part of her body. All of her awareness and concentration was centered on him and the fire he was creating deep inside her. His kisses, his touch, his strength. Yet when she felt his questing fingers sliding along the inside of her thigh, Dorothea’s addled brain awoke.
“Enough!” With strength she never knew she possessed, she pulled away.
Carter immediately moved toward her, his face dark with passion.
“It’s all right. There’s no need to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I am not afraid,” she lied. Her breath was billowing out in alarming gasps, her chest heaving. She felt raw and restless and so completely unlike herself it was damn near terrifying.
He reached out to brush an errant curl from her cheek. The graze of his knuckle made her skin tingle. “Your passion excites me,” he confessed in a husky voice.
And me. Shivering with yearning, Dorothea closed her eyes. Her complete abandon and lack of control was a startling discovery.
“We are not yet engaged, my lord, much less married,” she declared, opening her eyes and staring into his, wanting to impress upon him her genuine concern.
A slow, sensual smile spread across his face. “I was hoping you would be bold enough to anticipate those vows.”
Hot color washed into her cheeks. How mortifying! Even more so because it was true. With the right approach, Dorothea feared he could get her to do just about anything.
“I will pretend that I did not hear that insulting remark,” she bristled, inhaling deeply to control her mixed emotions. She needed to gain control of the situation, but that was somewhat difficult given her heightened emotions. And her loosened clothing.
Turning away, she began to hastily adjust the front of her gown, tugging her bodice into place. She felt him move closer and her body instinctively went rigid, but the hands at her back merely fastened the hooks of her gown. Which was only fair, she decided, since he had been the one to open them.
“There, all safely covered again,” he announced.
“Thank you.” Gathering up her courage, she turned to face him.
His eyes ran over her in a slow, sensual caress, sending a curl of heat into her midsection. “I will speak with Lord Dardington tomorrow,” he announced.
“Tomorrow,” Dorothea echoed. Her pulse began to thump as the full implication of his words registered in her brain. This was real, this was happening.
She had done it. She had secured a husband, had wrangled a proposal from one of society’s most eligible gentleman. Not only wrangled the proposal, but for all intents and purposes accepted it.
How To Seduce A Sinner Page 12
