What You Propose (Anything for Love 2)

Pushing the papers off his desk onto the floor, he settled his hands on her waist and lifted her up to sit on the uncluttered surface. "I am following your advice. When we met, you said one must make the most of any opportunity presented."

"Yes, and I remember you received a slap for your rather salacious reply."

Marcus placed his hands on her ankles, ran them up under her dress and over her bare thighs. "Then I shall make another proposal."

"Yes." The word was accompanied by a soft sigh as his fingers brushed against the spot that ached for his touch.

"I propose you slap me now, as I can promise you my salacious intentions will leave you exhausted and incapable of moving a muscle."

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What You Deserve

Anything for Love

Book 3

Chapter 1

Tristan Wells, seventh Viscount Morford, stood alone in the drawing room of Lord Mottlesborough's townhouse, watching the musicians unpack their instruments in preparation for the concert.

Lady Mottlesborough came scuttling into the room, her hand flying to her chest when she discovered him loitering behind the door. "Good heavens, my lord. You gave me a fright. What on earth are you doing hiding back there?"

Tristan blinked rapidly. Judging by the sight of the excessively large turban enveloping the matron's head, he should be the one clutching his chest. Beneath the voluminous folds of exotic silk, he imagined she was as bald as the day she was born.

"I'm just taking a moment to gather my thoughts." Under present circumstances, she could hardly question his motives. While mourning the loss of one's brother rarely affected a gentleman's social calendar, a more subdued countenance was only to be expected.

The lady gave a rueful smile. "I assume your mother has pestered you to leave the house again this evening." She nodded to the musicians and whispered, "I doubt their skill has dragged you here as they are hardly the talk of the Season."

He snorted. "As you are aware, my mother makes no secret of the fact she is keen for me to find a bride."

With Tristan being the only other male member of the family, his mother's eagerness for him to produce an heir bordered on desperation.

"I have heard she has a particular lady in mind."

"She has many ladies in mind," Tristan said with a derisive chuckle, "as long as they're from good breeding stock." In truth, he was beginning to feel like a Hereford bull being herded into a pasture full of heifers.

"I understand your mother's urgency to see you wed," Lady Mottlesborough said. "Despite her mourning period, no one would cast aspersions on the decision to protect one's heritage. Indeed, we are all aware that one's duty and responsibility must come before everything else."

Tristan knew better than anyone the sacrifices one must make for the sake of patrimony. But with his mother still in full mourning, it prevented her from attending functions, and as such, he found it more preferable to wander the corridors of other people's houses than remain in his own. He also came in hope of finding more stimulating conversation, something that did not involve talk of flounces and other such fripperies.

"For the moment, I have been granted a reprieve," he said with a weary sigh.

Lady Mottlesborough nodded. "And so you linger in the shadows in the hope the ladies won't find you." She raised a curious brow. "Or perhaps it is one particular lady you wish to avoid. Where is the lovely Miss Smythe this evening?"

Miss Priscilla Smythe was lovely. She possessed a sweet, kind disposition, a generous heart, and a pretty countenance. Whenever he thought of kissing her, he thought of summer meadows, birds chirping merrily, and chocolate macaroons. On the whole, he imagined the experience would be pleasant, if not particularly memorable.

"I believe you will find her surrounded by a host of other ladies just as eager to discuss the merits of ribbon over lace."

Lady Mottlesborough nodded despite the hint of contempt in his tone. "I am afraid we ladies tend to take the topic of haberdashery extremely seriously." She chuckled. "Sewing and embroidery are subjects dear to my heart."