Page 70 of Harpy of the Ton
“It’s my home as well as yours, is it not?”
In response, he stretched out his legs. She kneeled at his feet, grasped one boot at the ankle, and tugged until it worked free. Then she removed the second boot and placed them on the floor beside the range.
“Bella?”
She glanced up, and his body surged at the image of her at his feet, eyes wide, mouth parted, as if in readiness to serve him.
Was there ever a sight more arousing? He squeezed his thighs together to temper his rising cock. Then she lowered her gaze to his groin and, blushing, drew in a sharp breath. Her tongue flicked out and moistened her lower lip.
Like it or not, she was aroused.
“Like what you see?” he asked.
She scrambled to her feet, almost losing her balance. He reached toward her, and she fended him off. “Don’t touch me!”
“Why the sudden coyness, Bella?” he teased. “Most nights you’re beggin’ me to touch you—and more besides.”
“You’re a boor!”
“I’myourboor,” he said. “Come here.”
She backed away. “I’m tired,” she said. “All I want to do is sleep.”
“Then ask permission to retire and I’ll grant it.”
“I shouldn’t have to…” she began. Then she let out a huff. “I’m too tired to care,” she said. “Very well—please may I retire, oh lord and master?”
“You may.” He gestured to the table. “I’ll excuse you from clearing up the supper things.”
“Thank you.” Her mouth twitched into a smile.
“You’ll just have to add them to your list of chores for tomorrow.”
“I’llwhat? After what I’ve had to do today—you expect me to do it all over again?”
“What—throw a few pieces of pork into a pot and bake a pie? Hardly a day’s hard toil.”
“What would you know of hard toil?” she sneered. “And to think—we made the pie special. With cinnamon, as a treat, to—”
“Cinnamon?” So that explained the exotic taste. Exotic andexpensive—the foolish, spoiled madam! “What the devil have you done?” he asked. “Do you have any idea how much that costs?”
“It was a gift,” she said. “I—”
“Nothingis a gift, Bella,” he said. “Everything must be paid for. Though I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”
“Someone like me? What do you mean?”
Bugger—he’d almost betrayed himself.
“I-I mean someone incapable of keeping house.”
“Incapable?” she said. “Do you have any idea what I’ve endured today? No—I suppose not, because I’m a woman, and women don’t matter in your eyes. Neither do children, from what I can see.”
“You’re criticizing my children?”
“There you go again!Yourchildren—as if I had no role to play. Am I just a broodmare? An unpaid cook and housemaid?”
“That’s marriage, Bella, love.”
