A Gentleman Never Tells by Eloisa James Page A

eyes that she instinctively responded to.
    â€œDo you consider me a woman of—­of ill repute?” she whispered. She meant to scold him by the question, but it came out a simple inquiry.
    â€œAbsolutely not.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t tell anyone?”
    â€œA gentleman never tells.” Oliver said that fiercely.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to insult you.” Adrian always told. Adrian had told the whole kingdom that he adored Sadie Sprinkle.
    His eyes searched hers and he answered the questions she couldn’t put in words. “I don’t have a mistress. I haven’t slept with a woman in months. I’ve never asked anyone to marry me before. I don’t have any diseases. And I don’t need your money.”
    â€œOh,” Lizzie breathed.
    â€œI want to marry you,” he said, offering the sentence as if it were merely a clarification. “But I can understand that you might not be ready to marry someone you’ve known two days. I can give you time. A week, perhaps.”
    â€œI hardly think that coaching needs to take this long,” Cat called.
    Oliver turned and jerked his head at Joshua in some sort of silent male exchange.
    â€œThey’re forfeiting a turn,” Joshua said. “Look, darling, that puts us one stroke ahead of Lizzie.”
    â€œWe can’t allow them to win,” Lizzie whispered, but she didn’t really care.
    Oliver’s hungry smile had nothing to do with the game. “We can afford to give up a stroke or two.” He bent his head and kissed her again, kissed her until she felt stupid and slow, and fast and alive, all at the same time. Her pulse was galloping.
    â€œYour turn again, Uncle Oliver,” Hattie shrieked, some time later.
    There was laughter in the girl’s voice; obviously, they’d all seen what was happening. It was monstrously improper . . . and in front of children!
    This time when Lizzie turned away, Oliver allowed it. She felt as if her brain had fried, like a cracked egg left in the sun on a hot day. She couldn’t think of anything other than the fact that her cheeks must be bright red.
    But no one said anything. She took her turn, followed by Cat. The girls’ ball had rolled into a corner and they lost four strokes trying to get it out. Joshua was hovering, watching like a hawk to make certain that Hattie didn’t cheat again.
    They began begging for help and in the end, Oliver strode over and played their ball.
    The mallet hung loosely from his hand as he bent slightly, showing the girls the proper form to play a game that he’d never even tried before that evening. He was wearing dove gray trousers, fashionable without being overly tight.
    They were extremely flattering when he bent over. Lizzie discovered that she was fascinated by his legs—­he had pushed a muscular thigh between her legs when they were kissing and the feeling . . .
    Her pulse was thrumming in her throat, and she could tell that her hands were shaking, just slightly. She felt hot and restless, as if she wanted to throw the mallet to the floor.
    When it was her turn again, Lizzie announced that she would play her turn alone. She was afraid that if Oliver wrapped himself around her, everyone would see her trembling.
    There was a smile in the depths of Oliver’s eyes that gave her a feeling of heating from the inside out. But he guided her through the next few strokes without touching her. They were within one stroke of winning and she was waiting for the girls to finish their turn when a horrid thought occurred to her.
    Oliver knew she was a widow and of course he would think she was experienced in the bedroom. She swallowed hard, a familiar wash of shame coming over her like a warm blanket.
    How could she explain that her husband had had no interest? That even when he attempted, he couldn’t do the deed with her? What if—­what if the same