Her Christmas Earl
“A girl brave enough to break into a rake’s room is brave enough to approach our marriage as a grand adventure.”
She studied him, her brown eyes troubled. “I think…I think it would help if you kissed me.”
He regarded her with surprised admiration, even as heat stirred in his loins. She was indeed brave, his little sparrow. “Did you like it when I kissed you?”
“Yes,” she confessed on a thread of sound.
“I’m glad.” The urge to sweep her into his arms was nigh irresistible, but some strain of strategy in his compromised soul made him pause.
He couldn’t blame her for hesitating to trust him. As she said, they were strangers. But if they were to make a success of life together, he needed to engage her interest on more than a physical level. “At least I was an improvement on Prescott Wayne.”
Her eyes widened. “You remember?”
He should laugh, tease, treat her lightly, keep her guessing. But instead his words rang with unstrategic truth. “I remember everything you’ve ever said to me.”
As reward for his unprecedented sincerity, cynicism shadowed her eyes. “I’m sure.” She tilted her face in unmistakable invitation. “Will you kiss me?”
He placed a finger beneath her chin, keeping her turned toward him. She looked adorably earnest and remarkably tempting. They sat at a decorous distance. Anything more would test fate—and his barely maintained principles. “Will you marry me?”
Her marked dark brows drew together. There was so much character in her face, she made conventionally pretty girls look dull in comparison. “It’s a mistake.”
“It’s an opportunity.” He released her, knowing he had her attention.
“You’re a gambler.”
He smiled down at her, feeling as if he played to gain a magnificent treasure. “Only when I know I’ll win.”
Her lips flattened. “You can’t think I’m much of a prize.”
“And there you’d be wrong.”
She still looked troubled. “You’re just saying nice things to get your way.”
“I definitely intend to get my way. Especially when it’s wicked.”
Another surge of sweet color to her cheeks. “But I don’t know anything about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
He braced for questions about his affairs. He could imagine the gossip she’d heard. And for the first time in his chaotic, self-indulgent life, he was ashamed of those careless amours. Something about this pure, forthright girl made him examine the man he was and regret the dreams he’d forsaken as he became the notorious Earl of Erskine.
“Do you have a family?”
He drew a relieved breath. She wasn’t calling him to account for his decadent life. Yet. “An older married sister with two daughters. A younger brother, still a bachelor, in the church. My mother lives in London.”
He saw that his prosaic answer surprised her. “And where do you live?”
“Until now, mostly Erskine House in Berkley Square. When I become a respectable married man, I suspect I’ll spend more time on my estates in the Borders.” He paused. “Although I’ll have my wife’s wishes to consider. Do you like the country?”
“Yes.”
“Then I look forward to showing you my lands.”
“You won’t mind leaving London?”
Would he? Only a few days ago, he’d have sworn he’d never willingly abandon the capital’s amusements. Call him a romantic fool, but at this moment, a cozy country idyll with his capable and kissable wife beckoned like paradise. “We can visit.”
Impatience tightened her lips. “You’re taking my consent for granted again.”