“If you’ve... misgivings... about an involvement... neither of us is a virgin, Mrs. Breedlove. Or terribly young. We are at liberty to take pleasure where we find it, so we may as well.”
Her eyes flared wide.
And then her jaw swung open.
She was staring at him in something akin to wonderment.
And then she coughed an astounded laugh, as if she could hardly decide between hilarity or outrage. “Oh,dosay more romantic things to me just like that.”
He was instantly wary. “I was just... Surely you don’t want... don’t you think... That is, courtship and that rot is for...”
Bloody hell. When was the last time anything had made himstammer?
He stopped. Pressed his lips together.
“Virgins?” She was all icy, ironic amusement.
How she must have made her charges sweat when she was a governess. His palms had actually gone cold and it was safe to say his erection would soon be nothing but a fond memory.
Had he misread her entirely? Would he now find himself facing the mythical Captain Hardy over pistols at dawn for the besmirching of her honor? Would he be forced to wed her at pistol point?
No. He wasn’t wrong. And he would go down fighting because apparently going down fighting was his destiny.
“I apologize if I was graceless. But in my experience, every kiss tells a story. This kiss told me at once that you know precisely what kisses lead to, and that not only did you welcome it, you’d been thinking about it, too. You kissed me as though you suspected just how good it would be between us once we found a bed.”
Her eyes flared and her features seemed to tighten against some sudden onslaught of emotion. Her hand went up, briefly, oddly, as if to cover her face.
Angelique Breedlove clearly found it safer when she could not be easily read.
She brought the hand down again.
She was silent.
“Fair enough,” she said quietly. Finally. Wryly.
He closed his eyes briefly and released the breath he hadn’t been certain he was holding.
“I truly meant no insult. Forgive me if you took it as one. I merely meant that as we are no longer children we can speak as adults, a man and a woman who desire each other, and we needn’t indulge in the sort of games and ritual that—”
“Lord Bolt.”
Her voice was quiet and firm. Amused. And now a little exasperated.
“You may cease the self-flagellation. I knew precisely what you meant. You may rest yourself that I’m not interested in acourtship, of all things, either. Courtships in my experience are a means to an end that benefits the man involved but never me. Even if there have been some... compensations... during.”
Lucien went still. He was particularly mesmerized by the plurals: courtships. Compensations. He was not known for his reticence, but oddly, he dared asked none of the thousands of questions that suddenly buffeted him. The answers would unspool stories about other men. Suddenly the specter of unknown men was unwelcome indeed.
And up to the very second before he’d kissed Mrs. Breedlove he could not recall caring very much.
Who courted you? Who failed to win you, or disappointed you? Was it your husband?
“Compensations, is it?” he repeated at last, thoughtfully. “Now who’s the romantic?”
Improbably a reluctant smile began at one corner of her mouth and spread slowly to the other.
Imagine a woman who could shorten his breath and blank his mind with just one curve of her lips.
“From now on, when I hear the word ‘compensations,’ I shall feel aroused, Mrs. Breedlove.”