Page 36 of The Marquess and the Maiden

His features darkened, and he gripped his cane tightly, his knuckles whitened. “What you think of as love is nothing more than fantasy. People mistake desire and lust for love. That sort of love only exists within the pages of poetry and fiction.”

“Please stop sending me gifts,” she said.

“It is customary for a man to buy presents for the woman he is wooing. Tokens of his affection, as it were.”

She shouldn’t ask. She knew she shouldn’t, but the words would not stop. “The flowers?”

His nostrils flared slightly. “You understood their meaning?”

“I wasn’t sure you did,” she said. “In any case, you should spend your money on something far more worthwhile. Like orphans and the like. Not purchasing me baubles I have no use for.” She winced at her own words. “My apologies, my lord, I do not mean to sound ungrateful. I am truly flattered by your attention. But it is unnecessary.”

“The country house party is this weekend,” he said.

“It is. I shall find you a wife.”

He nodded, then turned his back to her and walked to the window. “I shall see you there, Harriet.”

And with that he effectively dismissed her. She knew if she went to him, pressed her face to his broad back the way she truly desired, he’d take her. Give her all the passion her body so desperately ached for, likely right there on that plush rug before the fireplace. Good heavens, he was turning her into a complete wanton.

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