Miss Winters Proposes by Frances Fowlkes

off his lap and positioned her to his side.
    “You already are my wife.”
    Juliet brushed a curl out of her eyes and gave a small huff. “Not yet in the intimate sense. I want to consummate the marriage.”
    Before her courage failed, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against the first thing they touched, which happened to be the side of his mouth. He tasted of her father’s liquor, fruity and sweet with a hint of salt.
    He grunted and pulled away. “You do not know what you ask.”
    On the contrary, she was fairly certain she did. She knew where this path led. Ignoring his protest, she leaned toward him, kissing her way down his throat, the rough stubble of his fresh beard tickling her lips.
    “You can’t possibly know or you would not be doing this.” He lifted her arms and once again placed her at his side.
    “But I do. I want you to consummate our union,” she said, doing her best not to sound perturbed at his rejection. “I am fully ready to endure the experience.”
    Het let out a low chuckle. “Which proves my point. This is not something you endure. It is something you enjoy.”
    “Then prove me wrong.” She lunged toward him and kissed his jaw. “Show me.”
    With one deft twist, he had her against the pillows. “No.”
    He rolled to the side, his back facing her. “Remove yourself from my chambers before you regret you stayed.”
    Tears pricked the back of her eyes. She choked on a sob, only adding to the churn in her stomach threatening to climb up her throat. The question she couldn’t stop, wavered out of her quivering lips. “I know I am not Amelia, but could I not be a substitute?”
    His silence drew out for an eternity. He let out a sigh and shifted, his hands coming to rest atop of hers at the moment when she thought she might vomit. “This has nothing to do with Amelia. You and she are two different women from entirely two different worlds. You will never be a substitute for her, Juliet, nor do I want you to be one. You are unique. Different. And in my bed at a very late hour.”
    His words hung heavy in the silence, his gentle tone a small comfort to his rejection. She lifted her shoulder to her cheek, the soft cotton of her shift absorbing her tears. Was it truly possible he thought her unique? As a separate entity from his previous wife? She couldn’t stop her heart from fluttering at the possibility he might hold her in regard—despite her previous crimes against him.
    With a shaky breath she said, “I see.”
    His thumb trailed over her knuckles. “The hour draws late, Juliet.”
    She bit her lip but could not prevent herself from asking, “Does my uniqueness warrant your unwillingness to consummate our marriage?”
    Benjamin drew back his hand and snorted. “That is not the question. What is, dear wife, is whether you are able to face the consequences of your actions. As a gentleman, I must ask you to quit this room before any regrets can be made.” He swiveled his body around and leaned over her, his voice lowering, his tone roughening when he added, “As your husband, I insist you stay and allow me to show you precisely how much I wish for this consummation to occur.” He brought her wrist to his mouth and pressed his lips against the flutter of her pulse.
    She swallowed, her mouth dry. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to carry through with her scheme.
    Did she want this?
    His lips trailed up her arm to her shoulder, his kisses igniting a flame in the pit of her stomach that sputtered to life and spread through her limbs.
    “I want to stay,” she squeaked.
    He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers, his arms wrapping around her, and nestling her against the pillows. Clasping her hands together, he lifted them above her head.
    Her heart pounded, near escaping its skeletal cage with its erratic and rapid exertion. He no doubt felt its harried pace beneath him. Did his beat as hers?
    Wiggling a hand free from his clutch, she placed it on his chest, her