“What do you mean?”
“The entire afternoon, you engaged in tactics that would guarantee we were never alone.”
She batted her lashes in a teasing way. “I can’t believe you noticed.”
“Now, when I finally have you all to myself, you’re so weary you can’t keep your eyes open.”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t look sorry.
She leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her chin in her hand. They stared for a long while, a hundred unvoiced remarks swirling. He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking, but when she spoke up, he had to laugh.
“When you marry Lady Penny,” she said, “I’ll hate you for all eternity.”
“We’ve previously agreed that we’re not talking about Penny Pendleton.”
“We’re not talking about her. I simply thought I should clarify my position—so you’ll always remember what it is.”
He could have launched into a diatribe about how he hadn’t settled on Penny, but it would probably be a lie. He’d been a guest at Roland for several days, and nothing about the visit had dissuaded him from his goal of marrying her.
If he didn’t pick her, he’d have to stagger to town and find another aristocratic girl, and the prospect of beginning a new search was too grueling to consider. It was the sort of chore his mother or some elderly aunties should have dealt with for him, but he was on his own and having to forge ahead with very little guidance as to how he could achieve the best ending.
Wasn’t Penny the best ending?
If he had to select a facet of the process that appealed the most, it was that the whole mess could be accomplished with scant effort on his part. He was willing. She and her father were willing. She had the attributes required of a countess, and she’d been raised to embrace that exact kind of life. Why not marry her?
But he wasn’t about to discuss the situation with Libby.
“Would you be terribly disappointed if I went to bed?” she asked.
“You could never disappoint me.” He offered the comment with much more affection than he should have displayed.
“I’m glad.”
“A maid has been assigned to tend you. Actually, three have been assigned. They were arguing so vehemently over who would have the privilege that the housekeeper told them they could all pitch in—just so they’d stop bickering.”
“I’m shaking up your staid existence.”
“I didn’t need it shaken.”
“Yes, you did.”
He stood and lifted her to her feet.
“I’ll let the maids put you to bed,” he said, “then I’ll sneak in and kiss you goodnight more properly.”
“You can’t come in. I refuse to allow it.”
“Don’t pretend to be virtuous. It’s so irritating.”
“I should at least act as if I have some moral inclinations. If you continue to run roughshod over me, I’ll be crushed by the weight of your inflated ego.”
“Am I gaining that much ground on you?”
“I’m serious,” she said. “You can’t come to my room.”
“I won’t. I promise, but will you join me for breakfast?”
“Yes, if we can meet down in the dining room like civilized people.”
“I suppose we can manage it. How about nine o’clock.”
“That sounds fine.”
He walked her out to the hall and around the corner to her room. It was just two doors down from his own. The trio of housemaids was waiting for her to arrive. They avidly observed every detail of his parting from her, so he couldn’t even squeeze her hand. He simply bid her good evening—as if they were casual acquaintances—then he returned to his own bedchamber.
He left his door open though so he could hear when they departed. Then he headed over again. He’d promised her he wouldn’t slither in, but she was mad to imagine he’d been telling the truth. She was a female and a very stubborn one at that. She harbored completely skewed ideas about what should happen, so why would he listen to her on any topic?
He knocked, spun the knob, and went inside.
Libby was about to crawl under the blankets when Luke snuck into the sitting room. She sighed with exasperation. Why would she have assumed he’d heed her request to stay away? Deep down, had she been hoping he’d ignore it?
Her day had been spent avoiding him, with her being unclear how to impose distance between them except to use others as a barrier. It hadn’t been so much that she needed to keep him at bay. No, she’d erected obstacles that would force her to behave.
She wanted to be closer to him—in ways that were wrong, in ways that were dangerous, in ways that were sins. Her yearning had escalated to such a fevered pitch that she suspected she’d try whatever he suggested for the sole reason that it would make him happy.
She feared she might have lost the ability to say no, and she might have reached a spot where she would stop fighting the inevitable. But if she succumbed to his advance, where would she be in the end?
The answer to that question was very frightening indeed.
He appeared in the doorway, and for a charged moment, they stared at each other. There were words on the tip of her tongue—words to scold him, words to order him out—but she couldn’t speak them aloud.
The maids hadn’t been able to find a nightgown for her, but they’d provided a thick, warm robe instead. She’d blithely donned it, having them strip her so she was wearing it and nothing else. Her hair was down and brushed out, and she felt like a young bride about to greet her husband for the first time.
Or maybe she was like a wanton paramour whose favorite rake had just strolled in after an evening of revelry. She wasn’t nervous in the slightest, and the notion was terrifying and thrilling.
“I told you not to visit me,” she said.
“How could you think I’d listen to a comment that silly?”
With that, he came over to her. He pulled her into his arms and tumbled them onto the mattress so, in a fleet move, they were
