her sisters from the salon. Now that he’d set his mind on the
course of marriage, he hungered for the feel of her mouth on his. He was a man
accustomed to going after what he wanted. Denying himself was no doubt his problem.
Once he had a marriage settlement, life would return to normal. Almost normal.
After the sisters were out of the house.
“Don’t think your list worked, old boy,” Fitz said
cheerfully after the ladies had departed. “Bell sounded just a wee bit peeved,
not the smoothest way to courtship.”
“If I sent her flowers, she’d dump them over my head,” Quent
said unrepentantly. “She’s not your pleasant-natured Abby.”
“So, let her dump them over your head. At least you will
have indicated you’re still interested,” Penrose argued.
“You’re just interested in the sisters and want me to give
you better access to them,” Quent countered. His aide’s blush confirmed his
guess. “What was that about Bell not wanting her own mount?”
“Nothing. She simply said she didn’t need one and that her
grooms would be riding with her sisters.” Fitz shrugged. “She has a carriage.
She doesn’t need a mount for showing off in the park.”
That wasn’t quite right. Quent had been watching Bell’s
expression, and there had been something there . . . But she
wasn’t apt to tell him if he questioned. Damned hard trying to court a woman
who didn’t want to be courted. Harder still when he didn’t entirely understand
his own motivation.
“The remark about there not being a perfect woman was an
error,” Penrose informed him. “A proper suitor would have said there was only
one perfect woman and let her wonder.”
“Bell has spent these last years hearing all the pretty
phrases. She won’t believe flattery,” Quent scoffed. “If I’m to go forward with
this, I have to be frank and not pretend I’m the kind of man she knows I’m
not.”
“She rejected the man she thinks you are,” Fitz said with a
laugh at Quent’s expense. “Did you ever consider that you might have to change
a lot if you give up the bachelor state?”
He had. And he didn’t like it—except for the part about
having Bell in his bed. He growled irascibly and looked for the decanter.
“Perhaps we could keep separate households. We’re both set in our ways.”
“Then you want a mistress, not a wife. It’s a good thing
both of you will be together here for a few days. You’ll discover whether you
can tolerate each other’s company in the long hours where you aren’t being
entertained by business or parties. Anyone for billiards?” Fitz asked, rising.
“If not, I’m off to join Abby.”
Quent declined a game and took his glass up to his chambers.
He could hear feminine chatter around the corner but knew better than to join
them.
He’d brought work with him. He wouldn’t be bored.
Although . . . His step picked up as he
considered an even better, time-honored, and traditional method of relieving house
party boredom.
***
“I’m bored.”
After opening her chamber door, Bell stepped away in
startlement. Her visitor took advantage by crossing his arms and leaning
against the jamb in all his glorious dishabille, preventing her from slamming
the panel in his face.
Quent divested of neckcloth and coat, with his waistcoat
open to reveal the breadth of his manly . . . she took a deep
breath . . . his shirt, was a sight to behold. His thick dark hair
had fallen over his forehead as if he’d been running his fingers through it.
The open neck of his shirt, even in this dim light, revealed a few crisp curls.
She had never mistaken him for a weak clerk type despite his
business pursuits, but she had never fully comprehended the extent of his raw
masculinity. She kept her gaze firmly on his . . . shirt . . .
which was embarrassing enough without looking lower. Without a coat to distract
from his tight trousers, she would have far too much to view.
“You’re bored and you came to me
course of marriage, he hungered for the feel of her mouth on his. He was a man
accustomed to going after what he wanted. Denying himself was no doubt his problem.
Once he had a marriage settlement, life would return to normal. Almost normal.
After the sisters were out of the house.
“Don’t think your list worked, old boy,” Fitz said
cheerfully after the ladies had departed. “Bell sounded just a wee bit peeved,
not the smoothest way to courtship.”
“If I sent her flowers, she’d dump them over my head,” Quent
said unrepentantly. “She’s not your pleasant-natured Abby.”
“So, let her dump them over your head. At least you will
have indicated you’re still interested,” Penrose argued.
“You’re just interested in the sisters and want me to give
you better access to them,” Quent countered. His aide’s blush confirmed his
guess. “What was that about Bell not wanting her own mount?”
“Nothing. She simply said she didn’t need one and that her
grooms would be riding with her sisters.” Fitz shrugged. “She has a carriage.
She doesn’t need a mount for showing off in the park.”
That wasn’t quite right. Quent had been watching Bell’s
expression, and there had been something there . . . But she
wasn’t apt to tell him if he questioned. Damned hard trying to court a woman
who didn’t want to be courted. Harder still when he didn’t entirely understand
his own motivation.
“The remark about there not being a perfect woman was an
error,” Penrose informed him. “A proper suitor would have said there was only
one perfect woman and let her wonder.”
“Bell has spent these last years hearing all the pretty
phrases. She won’t believe flattery,” Quent scoffed. “If I’m to go forward with
this, I have to be frank and not pretend I’m the kind of man she knows I’m
not.”
“She rejected the man she thinks you are,” Fitz said with a
laugh at Quent’s expense. “Did you ever consider that you might have to change
a lot if you give up the bachelor state?”
He had. And he didn’t like it—except for the part about
having Bell in his bed. He growled irascibly and looked for the decanter.
“Perhaps we could keep separate households. We’re both set in our ways.”
“Then you want a mistress, not a wife. It’s a good thing
both of you will be together here for a few days. You’ll discover whether you
can tolerate each other’s company in the long hours where you aren’t being
entertained by business or parties. Anyone for billiards?” Fitz asked, rising.
“If not, I’m off to join Abby.”
Quent declined a game and took his glass up to his chambers.
He could hear feminine chatter around the corner but knew better than to join
them.
He’d brought work with him. He wouldn’t be bored.
Although . . . His step picked up as he
considered an even better, time-honored, and traditional method of relieving house
party boredom.
***
“I’m bored.”
After opening her chamber door, Bell stepped away in
startlement. Her visitor took advantage by crossing his arms and leaning
against the jamb in all his glorious dishabille, preventing her from slamming
the panel in his face.
Quent divested of neckcloth and coat, with his waistcoat
open to reveal the breadth of his manly . . . she took a deep
breath . . . his shirt, was a sight to behold. His thick dark hair
had fallen over his forehead as if he’d been running his fingers through it.
The open neck of his shirt, even in this dim light, revealed a few crisp curls.
She had never mistaken him for a weak clerk type despite his
business pursuits, but she had never fully comprehended the extent of his raw
masculinity. She kept her gaze firmly on his . . . shirt . . .
which was embarrassing enough without looking lower. Without a coat to distract
from his tight trousers, she would have far too much to view.
“You’re bored and you came to me
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