“Is … is that an offer, sir?” She batted her long lashes more times than he cared to count.
From her flirtatious tone, he knew he had captured her interest. Perhaps the evening would not be a complete disaster after all. And from what he knew, the lady had a decent enough dowry to ease his financial burden somewhat.
“It is,” he replied with an air of confidence.
Tristan inhaled deeply. “I can’t let you do that.”
Matthew shrugged. “It is not your decision to make.” Indeed, he had a sudden desire to be rid of his friend, to be left alone with the delightful Miss Smythe and to give the ravenous gossips something utterly scandalous to devour.
He heard the matrons approaching. Tristan had but a minute if he planned to make his escape through the shrubbery. The guests wandering about at the top of the garden would not suspect a solitary gentleman of any impropriety.
“You must decide what you want to do, Miss Smythe,” Tristan said with some impatience.
Miss Smythe pursed her luscious lips, glanced down at her slippers. He could almost hear the cogs turning as she desperately tried to consider her options.
“Are you able to provide for me, sir?”
He struggled to suppress an arrogant smirk. The lady would have no complaints. Of that he was certain. “Have no fear. I shall ensure all your needs are met.”
A pretty pink blush touched Miss Smythe’s cheeks, and she inclined her head. “Then I accept.”
Tristan muttered a curse.
A frisson of excitement raced through Matthew’s body.
How odd.
The pleasurable sensation soothed his bruised pride. It made him forget that, a mere thirty minutes before, he had played in the most notorious card game of the Season, and lost far more than he had intended.
“You need to leave, Tristan.” A sudden urgency to taste Miss Smythe’s soft lips took hold. “You need to leave now.” He held Miss Smythe's gaze as he gestured to the topiary archway. “Call on me tomorrow.”
Tristan crept towards the exit, hesitated every third step or so before finally disappearing into the shadows.
With no time to waste, Matthew pulled Miss Smythe into his arms. The gasp that left her lips contained a hint of excitement. Her dainty hand came to rest on his chest, her fingers fluttering over his heart.
It felt strangely reassuring, though he resisted the urge to
inform her that the organ was nothing but a cold, hard lump of stone.
“When people are gossiping about our tryst, what is it you want them to say about us?” he asked. She shivered as his words breezed across her cheek. Her sensitivity to his touch would bode well for their coupling. “Is this to be a ravishing? Do you wish to be portrayed as a naive woman lured into a trap by a rogue?”
Miss Smythe swallowed deeply as her gaze lingered on his mouth. “I do not want anyone to think me so foolish.” She shook her head. “No,” she added with some determination. “If I have a choice, I would like people to say it is a lo-love match. I want people to think we were so consumed with passion we simply lost our heads.”
Convincing others he was in love was far beyond the realms of his capabilities. Love was a word foreign to him. It was a word that made the muscles in his shoulders feel tight, tense. The mere thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth, a foul flavour only superseded by the word ‘trust’.
Passion, on the other hand, came as easy to him as breathing air. If the lady wanted to experience pure carnal lust, he would gladly give it to her.
“That is what I hoped you would say.” His tone conveyed the lascivious nature of his thoughts. “From the moment we are discovered that is how we will play this game.” A frisson of excitement raced through him. He needed a distraction, something sweet and untainted to cleanse his mind. “You have my word, as a gentleman, that I will ask for your hand. But for now, I am going to kiss you with such ardent vigour and passion that I believe we truly will lose our heads.”
Miss Smythe pursed her trembling lips. “You … you should know that I have never kissed a gentleman.”
For some obscure reason, he found her comment pleasing. “Then you must forgive my abrupt approach as I am afraid there is no time for gentle tutoring. Do I have your permission to continue?”
Good Lord!
Never in his life had he asked such a question.
The lady nodded, raised her chin and closed her eyes. She looked serene, angelic, and he feared he was about to taste a little piece of heaven.