All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke by Delilah Marvelle, Máire Claremont

friends. “Accepting your proposal is going to change everything between us.”
    “Not everything.”
    “I disagree. You will, after all, wish to kiss me and…and take me into your…bed.” She couldn’t believe she was saying it.
    His brows rose. “Is that what ails you? My bedding you?”
    She nodded, feeling her entire face burn.
    “I see.” He eyed her and eventually gestured toward the study. “Shall we take this into the study, Mrs. Robinson? So we might discuss this in private?” Casually rounding her, he strode down the corridor and disappeared through the doors.
    In heart-pounding disbelief, she turned toward the direction he had gone, bringing her hands together. Why was he calling her Mrs. Robinson? They weren’t actually going to talk about kissing and sex, were they?
    As if wading through knee-high waters, she trailed after him. Coming into the study, she glanced toward him. How was it that she had become the timid one in their relationship?
    He gestured toward a chair and strode toward the doors behind her. Sliding them closed, he turned the key, latching the doors shut to ensure their privacy.
    Her stomach flipped. It was the first time he had ever locked a door behind them in all the years she had known him. Apparently, they were going to do more than talk about kissing and sex.
    She hurried to the seat he had gestured to and sat, clasping her hands together to keep them from fidgeting. What if she disappointed him? What if she didn’t kiss him or touch him in the way he envisioned? Oh, God.
    With long-legged strides, he closed the distance between them and settled into the leather chair opposite her. Leaning back, he eyed her and draped an arm against its side, extending a muscled, trouser-clad leg. “How long have we known each other?”
    She tried to ease the pounding of her heart. “Too many years for a respectable woman to count.”
    “I’ll be a gentleman and won’t make you count.” He hesitated, then asked, “Am I allowed to get personal?”
    An ache overtook her throat. “I suppose.”
    He stared. “You suppose?”
    “Yes. I meant yes. Of course. Ask me anything.”
    “I will.” He tilted his dark head, sending combed strands toward his forehead. “Do you find me attractive?”
    Her eyes widened at the blunt question. She wasn’t expecting that. “Given that the doors are locked, I probably shouldn’t answer.”
    “I’m trying to have a conversation with you.” His voice became strained. “Do you or don’t you find me attractive? Would you consider bedding me a nuisance?”
    She plastered her hands against her gown, willing herself not to faint, knowing she was actually having this conversation with him. Him. Martin. “Uh…it certainly wouldn’t be a nuisance. After all, I do find you…attractive…enough.” She was going to say incredibly attractive but decided against it. Enough sounded more respectable.
    He sat up. “Attractive enough?” he echoed. “And what does that mean?”
    He was clearly annoyed. Something she hadn’t intended. “It means exactly what I intended it to mean. That I find you attractive.”
    “No. You said attractive enough.”
    Oh, dear. “I know. But I didn’t mean to—”
    “Am I attractive to you or not?” he pressed. “That is all I want to know.”
    She wet her lips. “Very.”
    “So you would bed me if given the chance?”
    “Yes.”
    His features softened. “Well, good. Because the sort of attraction I have for you shouldn’t even be named. Whilst I was abroad, three women got to know your first name on a regular basis. And I’m too much of a gentleman to tell you how.”
    She couldn’t believe they were talking about this.
    He hesitated. “I take it our conversation makes you uncomfortable?”
    She nodded and kept right on nodding to ensure there wasn’t any doubt as to how uncomfortable she was.
    “Why? We know each other incredibly well and I proposed and you accepted.”
    “Yes, but…”
    “But what?”