Page 98 of To Catch a Viscount

“We don’t play the same kind of card games, Marcia,” he said gently, recalling the times they’d plunked themselves upon the floor and played vingt-et-un.

Marcia scoffed. “Why, we played vingt-et-un just last night.”

“Valid point,” he muttered.

Marcia pressed ahead, ticking off all the ways she’d decided a match between them made sense.

“We both hate kippers and enjoy billiards.”

“That’s true,” he concurred. A memory slipped in of Marcia sneaking into the billiards room when she’d been a small girl and he’d been playing at her family’s annual summer house party with Wakefield. The oversized table for her then small frame, cue stick in hand as she’d attempted to position it at the felt table… and he and Wakefield giving her tips on how to play. A wistful smile played at his lips.

“Are you attending me, Andrew?” she asked impatiently, snapping him back to the moment. “We both enjoy rising early.”

“Only in the country. I’m not so much of a fan of it anymore,” he said, feeling inclined to correct her of that supposition.

“Because you’re so busy carousing these days.”

“That is true.”

“Our families get on. We both like children, and rainstorms, and lawn bowling. We’re rubbish at singing.”

He bristled. “Speak for yourself,” he said in mock indignation that pulled a laugh from her.

Marcia smoothed her palms down the front of his jacket the way a devoted, loving wife might do for her husband, and he stared on, fascinated at the glide of her long, delicate fingers.

Friends.

They were friends.

That much was true.

In fact, she’d spoken only truths.

There’d been one, however, that she’d neglected to mention in her innocence.

“We are also compatible in other ways, Marcia,” he murmured, touching his lips briefly to the place where her pulse hammered in her neck.

“Y-you are teasing,” she whispered, her voice catching, her tone breathless.

“Not at all.” Many times with this woman he did tease. Not now, however.

He kissed her briefly, and the minute he covered her mouth with his, Marcia melted against him. Twining her arms about his neck, she lifted herself up and pressed herself close, as if searching for a way to climb inside him.

She opened her mouth for him, and Andrew swept his tongue inside, tasting her sweet flavor of honey, and he drank deeply.

Before he managed to recall where they were, and the reason for his visit, and this discussion.

He shifted back and moved his gaze over her face.

“Are you saying yes, then?”

She remained motionless with her arms still twisted about him, her already enormous brown eyes going all the wider. “I… Why, I rather think I am.”

His mind was too tired and sluggish from a lack of sleep.

That was all that accounted for his slow, wry grin.

Except, on the heel of that lightness, reality came rushing in.

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