you have singled out for your attentions are not all as dull-witted as poor Vinson, you know.” His blue eyes pinned her like a butterfly on a board. “Have you considered what marriage to one of these men will mean? What it will be like after you get your coveted access to your father’s journals?”
His voice lowered, and he reached out a gloved hand to touch her lower lip with his thumb. “What it will be like in his bed?”
To her annoyance, she felt a blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. Damn him for pressing her this way, she fumed, even as her heart beat faster from his touch. “I have considered it,” she said finally, her words clipped as she worked to control her voice. Retreating behind a mask of hauteur, she continued, “And I am prepared to do my duty.”
Winterson shook his head, and took her hand in his. “You deserve more than a lifetime of dutiful beddings, Cecily.”
Cecily was horrified to feel herself tear up at his words. But though she could not control her blushes, tears were another matter, and she ruthlessly suppressed the urge to bury her face in his strong shoulder.
“I’m afraid the intimate details of my married life, however hypothetical they may be, are not up for discussion,” she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp. “Nor,” she continued, “is any part of my plans as they relate to obtaining my father’s journals.”
Lucas cursed himself for frightening her with his frank talk. But the idea of this vibrant Amazon married to some dried-up scholar, or worse, a bacon-brained idiot like Vinson, who lacked the skills or appreciation to handle her, was unthinkable. And there was the matter of that kiss, but he could not think about that now, no matter how much certain of his organs wished to think about it and more. He needed to find a way to dissuade her from her scheme. Or better yet, offer her an alternative one.
“Come down from the boughs, my dear,” he said easily, knowing that she’d appreciate friendship over soft words just now. “I have no intention of managing your scheme. It is, of course, entirely up to you to choose a husband, be he a member of the Egyptian Club or not. But it occurs to me that we both have need of the same thing: your father’s diaries.”
He saw suspicion in her eyes, but at least she was looking at him again rather than staring off into the distance.
“I’m listening,” she prompted.
“It may have escaped your notice,” he said, giving her the little half smile that he knew would showcase his dimple. “But I am a gentleman.”
She raised one dark brow. “I have, perhaps, noted that fact.”
“And as a gentleman, I am in a better position than you are to assess the men on your list.”
“How so?” Her expression was still wary, but he could see he’d caught her interest.
“When you see men, gentlemen, in the rarefied setting of the ballroom, or Almack’s, or”—he gestured to the crowd of people seeing and being seen along Rotten Row—“the park, you are not seeing them in their natural element. As a lady, you are, in fact, shielded from those places.”
He watched with satisfaction as a little frown line appeared between her eyes.
“As a gentleman,” he went on, “I have knowledge of these fellows that you, as a lady, are not privy to.
“Did you know, for instance, that Vinson, whom you just allowed to take you up in his curricle, is in a considerable amount of debt? So much so that his father is within a hairbreadth of stopping his allowance and cutting him off altogether? And, since Vinson owes his membership at the Egyptian Club to his father, their estrangement would remove any incentive you might have to marry him.”
“That is hardly uncommon knowledge, sir.”
But the furrow between her brows told Lucas that his strategy was working.
“Then by all means,” he said, “let us continue to the uncommon knowledge. Lord Carrington, with whom you were so eager to dance last evening, has
His voice lowered, and he reached out a gloved hand to touch her lower lip with his thumb. “What it will be like in his bed?”
To her annoyance, she felt a blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. Damn him for pressing her this way, she fumed, even as her heart beat faster from his touch. “I have considered it,” she said finally, her words clipped as she worked to control her voice. Retreating behind a mask of hauteur, she continued, “And I am prepared to do my duty.”
Winterson shook his head, and took her hand in his. “You deserve more than a lifetime of dutiful beddings, Cecily.”
Cecily was horrified to feel herself tear up at his words. But though she could not control her blushes, tears were another matter, and she ruthlessly suppressed the urge to bury her face in his strong shoulder.
“I’m afraid the intimate details of my married life, however hypothetical they may be, are not up for discussion,” she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp. “Nor,” she continued, “is any part of my plans as they relate to obtaining my father’s journals.”
Lucas cursed himself for frightening her with his frank talk. But the idea of this vibrant Amazon married to some dried-up scholar, or worse, a bacon-brained idiot like Vinson, who lacked the skills or appreciation to handle her, was unthinkable. And there was the matter of that kiss, but he could not think about that now, no matter how much certain of his organs wished to think about it and more. He needed to find a way to dissuade her from her scheme. Or better yet, offer her an alternative one.
“Come down from the boughs, my dear,” he said easily, knowing that she’d appreciate friendship over soft words just now. “I have no intention of managing your scheme. It is, of course, entirely up to you to choose a husband, be he a member of the Egyptian Club or not. But it occurs to me that we both have need of the same thing: your father’s diaries.”
He saw suspicion in her eyes, but at least she was looking at him again rather than staring off into the distance.
“I’m listening,” she prompted.
“It may have escaped your notice,” he said, giving her the little half smile that he knew would showcase his dimple. “But I am a gentleman.”
She raised one dark brow. “I have, perhaps, noted that fact.”
“And as a gentleman, I am in a better position than you are to assess the men on your list.”
“How so?” Her expression was still wary, but he could see he’d caught her interest.
“When you see men, gentlemen, in the rarefied setting of the ballroom, or Almack’s, or”—he gestured to the crowd of people seeing and being seen along Rotten Row—“the park, you are not seeing them in their natural element. As a lady, you are, in fact, shielded from those places.”
He watched with satisfaction as a little frown line appeared between her eyes.
“As a gentleman,” he went on, “I have knowledge of these fellows that you, as a lady, are not privy to.
“Did you know, for instance, that Vinson, whom you just allowed to take you up in his curricle, is in a considerable amount of debt? So much so that his father is within a hairbreadth of stopping his allowance and cutting him off altogether? And, since Vinson owes his membership at the Egyptian Club to his father, their estrangement would remove any incentive you might have to marry him.”
“That is hardly uncommon knowledge, sir.”
But the furrow between her brows told Lucas that his strategy was working.
“Then by all means,” he said, “let us continue to the uncommon knowledge. Lord Carrington, with whom you were so eager to dance last evening, has
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