A Rakes Guide to Pleasure (Somerhart 2)

His crossed arms relaxed and fell to his sides. Emma shook her head and looked away from him, down to her scuffed shoes that had once been pale ivory and butter-soft. Now they were as worn and hardened as she felt.

She started when his fingers brushed her hair. "You look so young all of a sudden, saying those lovely things to me."

No, she wasn't young. She was as old as the earth, and determined to be just as unknowable.

"Why are you so resolved not to have me, Emma?" The pads of his fingers were touching her again, spreading that warmth over her cheek, her chin. She jerked away.

"We cannot manage a quarter hour together without argu­ing. We more often exchange barbs than compliments. So why are you so determined to be had?"

His lips quirked into a half smile. "There is passion be­tween us. Irrational passion. If we'd only acknowledge it, I daresay we wouldn't argue half as much."

"If we didn't see each other, we wouldn't argue at all."

His smile didn't budge. "Speaking of arguments, you start one every time I ask you about your stubborn position. Had you noticed that? And I would truly like to know what ridiculous idea you have stuck in your head. You say you will not take a lover, but it's clearly nothing to do with morals. Or your reputation. Both are tattered or at least worn to a sheen."

"How dare—"

"And you've said several times that you won't marry, so it's nothing to do with some future, honorable gentleman. And you want this, want it enough to do wicked things with me in public places. Perhaps I am dim-witted—no, don't say anything—but I cannot fathom your reasoning."

Emma refused to answer. She strolled toward the small front window and stared blindly out.

"I'll have an answer," Hart insisted. "And I don't think it's arrogance to say you cannot resist me forever. You want this. You want me. And I won't go away until you tell me."

No, she could not resist forever. She was hardly resisting at all anymore, vaguely hoping that he would overwhelm her and she would mindlessly give in. Emma pressed her hand to the co

ld glass. Perhaps she should tell him that she had the pox. That would cool his blood. But, no, her cheeks were reddening at the mere thought. She wasn't quite that desper­ate yet, though she might be in the future.

Then the perfect answer occurred to her. Unconventional as he was, he was still the young man who'd come to her rescue as a child. The man who'd raised his younger sister. Despite his cold veneer, he wouldn't find a heartless, selfish woman attractive.

"My mother was ruined by childbirth," she whispered. The words fogged the glass.

"What?"

Emma whirled toward him and made her mouth smirk. "My mother. She ruined herself having children for my father. Only two, mind you, but both were a tragedy. The first one ruined her looks, as my father pointed out often enough. She grew fat, you see. But it was the second that did her in. It took her almost a year to die, and I wished every day that she had died during the birth. She was made useless and ugly and sick. A foul embarrassment to the family. So I do not wish to risk having children, Your Grace, and therefore I will not engage in intercourse with you or anyone else."

His face was wiped blank with shock. "There are ways to—but you were married."

Emma lunged in with the final blow. "Well, I did my best, you understand, between prayer and resistance. I was deter­mined not to become a fat matron saddled with a passel of sniveling brats." She smiled brightly. As she watched, his eyes grew incrementally more distant.

"You are young. You—"

"Yes, I am. And I mean to make the most of it."

"By living as a nun?"

"As you've pointed out, I'm hardly living as a nun." His body grew stiffer and straighter as each second passed. "There are many ways to prevent conception."

"None of them reliable enough for me. It is not that I want to wait to have children, Somerhart. I do not ever want them. Apparently you are willing to take the occasional risk. I am not."

"I would support—"

"Oh, and would you carry the child for me as well? Grow fat and bloated? Would you go through the blood and pain and gore of childbirth? Turn your chest into a pair of swollen cow's teats? Become a slave to every clinging need of an idiot child?" She forced a little shudder. "No, thank you."

"I see," he said simply. He studied her again, as he had so many times before. Studied her and found her wanting if the downward curve of his mouth was any indication. He gave her a slow nod. "Well, thank you for the explanation. You must be tired after your disturbing morning. I'll honor my promise and leave you to rest."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

His carriage had not returned, but she did not inquire how he would travel. She couldn't speak. The door opened and closed in a rush of freezing air, cooling the tears that only now pooled in her eyes.