Belle’s room.
When he arrived at her door, he reached for the handle, but then hesitated. Up until this point, he’d forced himself into her life. Maybe she would appreciate the opportunity to invite him into it.
He knocked.
****
Annabelle tugged on fresh petticoats and tied the tapes. Men were horrid creatures. Well, maybe not all men. William had always acted in her best interest, whether she’d wanted to admit it or not.
She tossed her skirts back down and smoothed them. A few wrinkles, but nothing to be remarked upon.
She sighed. William thought she should marry Gareth. Shouldn’t that tell her something?
She bit her lip as she sat in front of the dressing table. Her bottom still burned slightly from Gareth’s paddling, and every little movement against the hard chair sent tingles to her core. Despite the tender skin between her thighs throbbing a resounding yes, her chest ached, and it wasn’t in a pleasant way.
She didn’t care one whit if Gareth needed her fortune. William had ensured she had more than a passing education on managing money. Estates weren’t run through the charitable nature of servants and field hands. On the contrary, it was a landowner’s responsibility to take care of those dependent on the efficient running of the property.
She wanted a man who took pride in his responsibilities, and judging by the understated nature of Gareth’s dress and his modest address, his money was not spent on himself.
No. What she didn’t want was to be married to a man who only saw to her pleasure when it suited him. When he needed to control her.
Not that she minded Gareth’s form of control. She shifted and gasped when a tiny spasm of pleasurable pain shot through the swollen flesh between her legs.
A knock on the door sounded. Marie had finally answered her call. “Come.”
The mirror reflected the door opening, and Gareth’s head poking through the expanding crack. “May I come in?”
She pursed her lips. “That’s highly improper, Your Grace.”
His brow drew down when he frowned. “I don’t care about whether it’s proper or not. However, I do care about whether you’ll allow me in your room or not.”
She chewed on her lower lip. No one besides Minerva had ever asked her permission for anything. She straightened, flinching at a twinge in her lower back.
Gareth took a step into the room, closed the door, and halted. “Are you all right?”
She offered a half smile. Now there was a complex question. “It was nothing of import, just a twinge.” She twisted in her seat, careful to keep her expression neutral despite the darts of pleasure and pain whipping through her body. With a deep breath, she stood and crossed to the two chairs placed before the fire.
She perched on the edge of one and waved a hand at the other. “Have a seat, please.” While Gareth settled himself in the other, she smoothed her skirts. “Was there something particular you wanted to discuss, Your Grace?” She raised a hand to her hair. “I’m still waiting on Marie to fix my hair, but if you’d like to wait, you can pass the final verdict on whether my appearances meet your high standards.”
Gareth sighed and sagged into the seat. “Don’t be a goose, Belle. You look fine.”
She dropped her hand into her lap. “Thank you for the kind words, Your Grace.”
Gareth shot out of the chair to kneel at her feet. He pried her clenched hands apart and cradled one between his palms. “I didn’t mean anything unkind by the words, Belle,” he huffed. “And please stop calling me Your Grace.”
She sought his gaze. Its earnest plea was a contrast to the gruffness of his tone. With her free hand, she reached to stroke the hair above his ear before she remembered she was as yet angry with him and snatched the hand back. “Then what did you mean?”
“Belle, I’m not marrying you for your money or because I compromised you.”
Her heart clenched, but wouldn’t any fortune hunter deny being one?
When he arrived at her door, he reached for the handle, but then hesitated. Up until this point, he’d forced himself into her life. Maybe she would appreciate the opportunity to invite him into it.
He knocked.
****
Annabelle tugged on fresh petticoats and tied the tapes. Men were horrid creatures. Well, maybe not all men. William had always acted in her best interest, whether she’d wanted to admit it or not.
She tossed her skirts back down and smoothed them. A few wrinkles, but nothing to be remarked upon.
She sighed. William thought she should marry Gareth. Shouldn’t that tell her something?
She bit her lip as she sat in front of the dressing table. Her bottom still burned slightly from Gareth’s paddling, and every little movement against the hard chair sent tingles to her core. Despite the tender skin between her thighs throbbing a resounding yes, her chest ached, and it wasn’t in a pleasant way.
She didn’t care one whit if Gareth needed her fortune. William had ensured she had more than a passing education on managing money. Estates weren’t run through the charitable nature of servants and field hands. On the contrary, it was a landowner’s responsibility to take care of those dependent on the efficient running of the property.
She wanted a man who took pride in his responsibilities, and judging by the understated nature of Gareth’s dress and his modest address, his money was not spent on himself.
No. What she didn’t want was to be married to a man who only saw to her pleasure when it suited him. When he needed to control her.
Not that she minded Gareth’s form of control. She shifted and gasped when a tiny spasm of pleasurable pain shot through the swollen flesh between her legs.
A knock on the door sounded. Marie had finally answered her call. “Come.”
The mirror reflected the door opening, and Gareth’s head poking through the expanding crack. “May I come in?”
She pursed her lips. “That’s highly improper, Your Grace.”
His brow drew down when he frowned. “I don’t care about whether it’s proper or not. However, I do care about whether you’ll allow me in your room or not.”
She chewed on her lower lip. No one besides Minerva had ever asked her permission for anything. She straightened, flinching at a twinge in her lower back.
Gareth took a step into the room, closed the door, and halted. “Are you all right?”
She offered a half smile. Now there was a complex question. “It was nothing of import, just a twinge.” She twisted in her seat, careful to keep her expression neutral despite the darts of pleasure and pain whipping through her body. With a deep breath, she stood and crossed to the two chairs placed before the fire.
She perched on the edge of one and waved a hand at the other. “Have a seat, please.” While Gareth settled himself in the other, she smoothed her skirts. “Was there something particular you wanted to discuss, Your Grace?” She raised a hand to her hair. “I’m still waiting on Marie to fix my hair, but if you’d like to wait, you can pass the final verdict on whether my appearances meet your high standards.”
Gareth sighed and sagged into the seat. “Don’t be a goose, Belle. You look fine.”
She dropped her hand into her lap. “Thank you for the kind words, Your Grace.”
Gareth shot out of the chair to kneel at her feet. He pried her clenched hands apart and cradled one between his palms. “I didn’t mean anything unkind by the words, Belle,” he huffed. “And please stop calling me Your Grace.”
She sought his gaze. Its earnest plea was a contrast to the gruffness of his tone. With her free hand, she reached to stroke the hair above his ear before she remembered she was as yet angry with him and snatched the hand back. “Then what did you mean?”
“Belle, I’m not marrying you for your money or because I compromised you.”
Her heart clenched, but wouldn’t any fortune hunter deny being one?
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