Page 41 of How to Tempt an Earl

“Why would you think that?”

“I suspect many women would be willing to overlook that trait as long as the first two fingers you held up are met. I suspect you have someone in mind that meets all three requirements.”

She raised her hand and yawned. “Perhaps.”

“Who? You’re not thinking of the Viscount Newton’s youngest son, are you? After all, he’s who your father prefers for you.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. The viscount’s fifth son didn’t possess the first trait: wealth. He needed a woman with a dowry.

“What about you? Are you looking for a wife?” she asked.

“No. I’ll never marry.”

“Never? Or do you mean not until you enjoy your bachelorhood for a few more years?”

“I mean never. I’m already married to the Raven Club.”

“That’s ludicrous. You can’t be married to a gambling club. It’s nothing but an object…a place…a thing. And not a moral one, if you ask me.”

“What I mean to say is that I’m committed to it.”

She felt a bit lightheaded and blamed the alcohol for her loose tongue. “You believe that means there is no room for a wife or for love?”

“I suppose that’s what I’m suggesting.”

She leaned on the table. “Hmm. Well, I dislike gambling halls. I wouldn’t want a husband who owned one.”

Ian pushed back his chair and stood. “We should end for the night.”

Grace blinked at his abrupt tone. She’d always been the one to end their lessons. Had the topic of marriage upset him? Or had he grown weary of their time together tonight already? And why did that thought distress her?

Chapter Twelve

Ian stared at the incredibly appealing woman before him.

Incredibly appealing and intoxicated.

At first, the wine had helped to relax her. She hadn’t been tense around him and seemed to enjoy their conversation. He’d enjoyed it, too. The library offered a charming and calming setting as well. But she’d imbibed a bit too much, and now he was intent on seeing her safely home.

He stood behind her as she pushed back her chair. “You’re foxed. I will see you home.”

She turned to glare at him. “I am not foxed.”

He held her arm as she stood. “If you say so.”

She leaned on him, and he lowered his head until her hair tickled his chin. She smelled like lavender. His hold on her arm tightened as they left the library and descended the stairs. The side of her breast brushed his arm, and his heart thundered in his chest. He clenched his teeth to maintain his control.

Once they reached the bottom step, Ian didn’t bother to call for Jenkins but left Grace briefly to fetch her cloak himself. When he returned, she was leaning on the bannister, a bemused expression on her face. He quickly wrapped the cloak around her shoulders.

Grace giggled. “You don’t have to hold me so tightly, Ian. I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.” She pulled away and immediately swayed.

He was back by her side in a flash and hauled her to his side.

She hiccupped. “That’s even tighter and—”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Enticing enough to tempt any red-blooded male.” She was distracting him, and he realized too late that he’d cracked open the front door rather than leave through the servant’s entrance through the kitchen.

“That’s not the way a gentleman speaks to a lady.”