Page 29 of Indecent
“Natural,” she said. “Pleasant.”
What was she saying? He shouldn’t hope… Hadn’t he avoided kissing her yesterday? And hadn’t he struggled to keep his hands to himself in bed last night?
“I wonder if we might pretend to be a betrothed couple—for real.” Now she looked down at her plate.
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” His throat had gone dry, his words sounding as if he’d swallowed glass. He took a swift drink of wine.
“I didn’t mean pretend. Wearepretending. For tonight, let us be betrothed. Let us be…together.” She plucked up her wineglass and took a longer drink, her cheeks flushing.
He told himself the color could be from the wine, but he knew better. He knew what she was saying. Still, he had to be sure. “You want to remove the blanket between us?” That’s what he asked? Couldn’t he be more specific?
She nodded.
“Pru, I want to be very clear about what you’re asking. You want me to take you to bed, to—” Crude and vulgar words sprang to his mind along with a host of visions of the things he would do to her and she to him. But she was innocent. He couldn’t take that from her. He’d already taken far too much.
“Yes.”
The single word from her lips stoked his desire, weakening his resolve. He gripped the edge of the table. “I can’t. Then I really would be a villain.”
She frowned. “How do you come to that conclusion? I want you to bed me. Very much.”
He groaned, then finished his wine and quickly refilled his glass so he could take another drink. “You’re innocent, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what that has to do with anything. I have no plans to wed. Ever. I’ve never considered a romantic entanglement, and it’s possible I never will again. I want to spend this night, this last night that we have, with you. As your future wife.”
“But you are not my future wife,” he whispered, disliking the sound of that for some ridiculous reason.
“We’ve shown a great aptitude for pretend,” she said coyly. “One night. And I’ve no wish for a child.”
He recalled that—no husband, no children. She was perfect, and in that moment, he would have sworn he’d fallen in love with her. “I can manage that,” he said. Did that mean he’d agreed? His cock hardened, proof that it seemed he had.
“That’s a yes, then?” she asked, her gaze sultry and seductive.
“Yes.” Sexual tension spun through him. He gripped the table even harder, then abruptly let it go, willing himself to relax. He couldn’t throw her across the table and ravage her. How delightful that would be, though.
Hell, they still had the trifle to get through.
Plenty of time to come to his senses and change his mind. Or for her to do so.
Mrs. Logan came in a few minutes later and removed their dishes.
“Dinner was delicious,” Prudence said with a warm smile.
“Mr. Logan is quite enamored of your bread,” Mrs. Logan replied. “He’s going to miss it. He hopes he can persuade you to make it next time you come through—as Lady Glastonbury.” She looked from Prudence to Bennet, her expression one of great pleasure, before turning. “I’ll be back with the trifle!”
When she was gone, Prudence pinned him with a probing stare. “What will you tell her when I don’t accompany you again?”
Bennet exhaled. “That you came to your senses and realized you could do better?”
“Stop that,” she said softly. “You’re much too hard on yourself.”
“Shouldn’t I be?” Bennet picked up his wineglass.
“It’s too much. I think you should tell them I prefer to stay at Aberforth Place. Then, when you do have a wife along, you’ll have to tell them I died.”
Having just taken a sip of wine, Bennet choked on it.
Distress creased her features. “Oh dear, I’m sorry.”
