What You Promised (Anything for Love 4)

This time his honesty stole her breath. “Well! Heavens!” She swallowed. “Now I know why you rattled the door fifteen times or more last night.” One had to find amusement in the situation.

He narrowed his gaze. “Damn. So you were awake. Do you know what it's like to lie in bed all night with a throbbing erection?”

“Thankfully, no.”

He was silent for a moment. “Do you think me disrespectful for speaking so crudely? I fear it stems from spending too much time with reprobates.”

“Thankfully, no. While your words lack sentiment I appreciate there is a compliment within them somewhere.”

Slapping a hand to his chest, he laughed. “So now it is clear we share a mutual appreciation, it would be nice if we could be a little more at ease when together.”

The conversation had helped to clear the air.

“Perhaps we should work backwards—”

“It’s my favourite position.”

“Must every conversation revert to your antics in the bedchamber?”

“Forgive me, please continue.”

“I meant we should get to know one another, learn what the other likes and dislikes. For instance, I like picnics and feeling the wind blow my hair. I enjoy sucking the juice from strawberries, laughing until my stomach hurts. Now, what about you?”

“For fear of the conversation following the usual thread, I shall refrain from telling you what I like. Perhaps at some point in the future, I may be lucky enough to demonstrate.”

Priscilla brought the glass to her lips and gave a coy smile. “You might.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Not quite.”

Matthew drained what was left of the brandy in his glass. “I have an idea how to please you.”

“Just one? Are you not known for your prowess in the bedchamber? Has your appetite for carnal pleasures been exaggerated?”

“There is only one way to find out.” He arched a brow. “Put me to the test.”

No doubt he would always have the upper hand when it came to banter. “You can start by telling me your idea.”

“To prove you right, and support the theory that I’m not entirely selfish, I shall tailor the evening around the things you like.”

She liked a great many things she’d not mentioned. The taste of brandy on his lips. The way his tongue danced with hers to send shocks shooting to her core.

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but isn’t it rather late for a picnic?”

“Not at all. It’s only late if one wants to sit in the park.” A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Thrusting the empty glass into her hand, he marched from the room.

While waiting, Priscilla placed the empty glasses on the table. She contemplated refilling them though it would not be wise for her to drink much more. Her husband possessed a charismatic charm she found highly addictive. It took a tremendous effort not to strip to her chemise and surrender her body. She was heading into dangerous territory. The desire to place his needs above her own was fast becoming a priority.

The sudden commotion in the hall diverted her attention. Matthew entered the drawing room, held open the door for two footmen carrying a low table.

“Place it in the centre of the room, on top of the rug.” Matthew pointed to the exact position. “Bring a cloth, cutlery, and serve the dishes on smaller platters.”

Numerous servants bustled in and out, set about laying the table and transporting their meal from the kitchen.

Hopkins appeared at the door. “Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?”