Page 63 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
How practical of her. He admired that, even as a surge of fierce jealousy burned through his gut. He was sprawled in her chair, his cock ready to thrust inside her, and she was speaking of the husband she would one day wed. It was enough to make him hastily work his falls back up to cover himself.
She moved away to give him room. As he had done, she dumped the water outside the kitchen and set aside the cloth. She restored everything to rights, but damn it, nothing was right. She’d just come for the first time. He’d just released in her hand. He wanted her to look at him sweetly. At least pretend there was warmth between them.
And he did not want it to seem as if nothing had happened. As if she were not changed somehow by her new knowledge.
“Bluebell?” he asked. Damn it, he didn’t even know her Christian name.
She turned to look at him, her skirts swishing about her ankles. She was naked beneath those skirts.Hehad been beneath those skirts. And yet, when she looked at him, there wasnothing of that intimacy in her face. She was relaxed. And the curve to her lips could have been because of a sunny disposition.
“I will take you to Oxfordshire,” he said. “Do not ride the mail coach.”
She lifted her chin. “I will not pay you.”
“Of course not. It is simply a shared ride. Between friends.” They were not friends. In his mind, they were so much more, but it was all she would accept, and so he used it.
“It is not proper. I need to appear a lady.”
Right. “Then hire me. For the price that you would have paid for the mail coach.”
“That is a pittance.”
“Nevertheless, pay me that, and you will be hiring me as your guard and driver.” He hated his next words, but he pushed them out anyway. “I will be your paid servant, nothing more.”
She frowned, and her gaze drifted to the chair they’d used. It was the only thing that suggested she’d been affected by what they’d done.
“We cannot…share again. It’s not proper. Certainly not with a servant.”
He couldn’t argue that, much though he wanted to. “I will come first thing in the morning.”
She frowned and looked out her window. “Everyone will know.”
“We’ll leave early. I’ll take the horse now. Come to the inn yard in the morning, and you can hire me. There is nothing improper in a day’s drive.”
She swallowed. “There is a great deal improper in appearing to do one thing and acting another. And people will still think the worst if I ride away with you.”
Again, he could not argue. Instead, he closed the distance between them. She didn’t shy away, for which he was grateful. And so he took his time, touching her cheek, stroking the curveof her chin, and drawing her face up to look him squarely in the eye.
“I have lived in the demi-monde all my life. The nobles, the upper crust, even the wealthy cits—I have known many of them. Every one focuses on appearance. Actions mean little so long as the appearance is pure.”
“But that is dishonest.”
“Yes.”
She searched his face, reading the truth in his expression—or so he hoped. Perhaps all she saw was his lust. And it was that base emotion that directed his actions now. It insisted that he stay a little longer in her company, however he could manage it.
Meanwhile, she bit her lower lip in thought. White teeth, red flesh. He would never tire of that sight. “You are living proof that people do not act as purely as they pretend,” she said.
He winced. He did not like her bringing up his illegitimacy, but he could not deny it.
“Come with me, Miss Bluebell. I will see that your reputation is not harmed.”
She nodded slowly, reluctantly. And then she looked at his mouth. He felt her gaze there like a brand, his flesh hot and pulsing beneath her regard.
“One last kiss?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He took it. He lingered over it. He burned it in his memory and hers—he hoped. Then he stepped away, feeling as if he were ripping himself away from some essential mooring. It made no sense.
