Page 11 of Hush Darling
The wine had placed an unbreakable bubble of amusement in her throat. “Not particularly.” She smiled and slouched back in her chair, studying him with undisguised interest.
While she might not want to marry him, there was something undeniably fascinating about Peter Pangbourne. Perhaps it was his duality. Her father didn’t see the side of him she thought of as his shadowed self, a side of him that intrigued her far more than the façade he adorned in proper company.
When she finished her glass, she decided she liked wine very much. She also decided to unravel the mystery that was Peter Pangbourne.
Lifting her glass, she said, “I think I’d like some more.”
He carried the decanter from the bar. Once wine filled her cup again, he left it on the surface of her father’s desk. How would she replace the stolen contents before her parents returned? The worry disappeared as quickly as it arrived.
Instead of returning to the chair, he casually leaned against the edge of the desk, stretching his legs directly across from her.
She looked up as she sipped her wine, drawn to this darker, reckless side of him. Gentlemen bored her as much as twittering debutantes, but trespassers and thieves… They held an edge of intrigue.
Was that what Peter was at heart? Wicked and immoral? How far would he go to break the rules of society, and how much was he willing to fall out of favor? Perhaps he could help her after all.
“Your lips are red.” His eyes creased in the corners as he watched her over the rim of his glass with that dark emerald stare.
Her fingers rushed to her mouth, and she flushed. Where was that sense of numbness coming from? Her fingers? Her face? She laughed. “I feel a bit like I’m floating on a cloud.” The wine seemed to filter reality as if this were all a dream and the consequence wasn’t real.
“You’re drunk.” He set down his glass.
“After one glass?” Was that even possible?
“I don’t mind a lightweight.” He leaned over her, pressing his hands into the arms of the chair. “I wonder, does your mouth taste sweet like grapes now?”
Her heart skipped a beat as she swept her tongue over her lips. “I think yes.”
“I bet your lips are warm, too, like fresh fruit on the vine.” He stood only a breath away. “Or maybe they’re bitter like tart poison?”
She scowled. “Why would my lips be bitter?”
“Maybe petulance has soured you.” The side of his smile kicked up. “There’s something rigid inside of you, something that doesn’t know how to bend.”
She scoffed. “I’m not petulant.”
“You’re snippy. That’s the exact definition of petulance.”
“Are you suggesting I have a stick up my ass?”
“I’d bet my entire fortune nothing’s ever been near your ass.” His gaze briefly dropped to her chest, then returned to her eyes. “You care too much about what other people think. Stuck between society’s expectations and your desires…It’s why you’re so tense. You’re like a taut rope in a tug-of-war with no give.”
“You think I’m prissy,” she whispered, a pinch of shame nipping through the numbness.
“I know you’re prissy, but that’s not the problem.”
“You think I have a problem?” Her brows drew together.
“A big problem.”
Should she be frightened? The wine had muddled her thinking, and she was a bit confused. “W-what is it?”
“I think, little darling, you’re wound too tight. You need someone to give it to you, just like that guy’s giving it to your housekeeper right now—hard and rough enough to rattle your teeth.” He laughed. “But by the look of shock on your face, I bet you’ve never even been kissed. At least not properly.”
Cold dread crawled through her. Was her naiveté that transparent?
Her gaze dropped, but he caught her chin, forcing her to keep looking at him. “It’s true then.” He cocked his head, a small divot forming between his blond brows. “Is it because you don’t like men?”
“No. I like…men.”
