“Perhaps not. But I dare any man, however well-bred, to forget that glorious moment.”

The awful truth was that the moment had been glorious for her, too. She’d never felt so alive. Or so beautiful. Or so powerful, even as she’d surrendered to the astonishing sensations.

He drew her closer and she, to her shame, curled into him. She was just as mutton-headed as Bill, who sat on the carpet and gazed adoringly up at his new god. “So, marriage, Miss Warren?”

The suspicion that her expression was as vapid as her brainless hound’s sparked a revival of spirit. “Is that a proposal?”

He laughed comfortably and tucked her closer. The delicious scent of clean male enveloped her. “No.”

“Good.”

“When I propose, you’ll be in no doubt of my intentions.”

Even through her contentment—how pleasant on a cold night to nestle in a man’s strong arms—that stirred a prickle of alarm. “I’ll say no.”

“That is your right.”

“Why on earth should I marry?” Charlotte asked, then rushed on before Lyle reminded her that if they married, he could kiss her every day. Right now, in his embrace, that argument had a power she’d never have credited this morning. “I’m in charge of my own destiny. I answer to no man but my father, and he lets me have my way in most things. I have money, and rewarding work, and a place in the world. A husband would never permit such freedom.”

“So fear of a husband curtailing your independence keeps you lonely.”

She winced. “Lonely is such a prejudicial word. I’d rather be lonely than a slave.”

To her chagrin, he laughed. “You underestimate my sex, Miss Warren.”

“Do I? Most men want a conformable wife.”

“I can well imagine a lily-livered coward shying away from taking you on. But don’t try to tell me that you haven’t had your chances. I refuse to believe that every man in Hampshire is blind and stupid. Unless thin English blood is to blame.”

“You forget I’ve got thin English blood.”

He smiled. “There’s nothing thin about your blood, lassie. Perhaps that’s why it takes a proud Scot to see your true worth. I don’t want a milk-and-water miss at my side. I want a woman of strength and fire. A woman like you.”

Shocked, she struggled to sit up. He’d started out with the familiar teasing, but purpose had resonated through that declaration. “Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

“I want a wife to share my joys and troubles.” His Scottish burr deepened with every word. “I want a wife who meets a challenge with a sparkle in her eyes. I want a wife who gives me a run for my money.”

Inside her, something cold and cramped unfurled. “Words are cheap,” she said, as much to quash her yearning, as to dampen the urgency that turned his blue eyes to sapphire.

“Mine aren’t.”

“I don’t want to marry,” she said almost frantically, pushing away and struggling to her feet. “You can’t make me.”

“You mistake me, Charlotte.” He didn’t try to catch her, and his smile was gentle. She had a humiliating feeling that he saw through her belligerence to the confused and frightened girl beneath. “You’re not a woman to be bullied, even if I could stomach playing the autocrat.”

“But you are bullying me,” she said, knowing she was unfair. She backed away on unsteady legs, stretching a shaking hand toward the sideboard behind her.

He shook his dark head. “No, mo chridhe. You mistake me. I’m courting you.”

“I don’t want to be courted.” For pity’s sake, could she sound any more panicked?

“Try it. You might like it.”

She’d like it far too much. “I don’t know you.”

He kept smiling. “That’s the purpose of courtship, my love.”

Oh, he was a devil. A cunning, conniving, Scottish devil. He must know how that soft endearment rippled through her, demolishing all defenses.

Tags: Anna Campbell Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net