Page 44 of How to Wed a Courtesan

‘Should I even answer that?’ she asked, as a smile teased at her lush mouth.

‘You don’t really need to.’ He gave a small shrug, feigning a lack of care. ‘I already know.’

‘Do you?’

She was so beautiful staring at him, pouting with mock indignation, her skin creamy in the golden sunlight. He wanted to kiss her again, as he’d done the day before. Except this time he didn’t want to stop.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, he was learning more about her—not through what she said or shared, but by her reaction. At present, he found himself longing to know if she still made those little humming sounds of pleasure as their kisses deepened.

An image of her being kissed by another man flashed in his mind, sharp as a dagger. Evander jerked his attention to the path, where a couple strode together, concentrating his gaze on their attire, which bordered on matching in similar pale shades of green. It was a better detail to fix his thoughts upon than where they were leading.

‘Pray tell what do you mean?’ asked Lottie flirtatiously.

Damn. What had they been speaking about?

Whatever it was had made him think of kissing her, and then wonder how she had reacted when other men had kissed her.

Had she loved any of those men?

He shook his head to clear those thoughts. After all, she wouldn’t have had to do any of it if he’d remained in England. Or, better yet, remained in contact with her, had been there to help her. Returned when he was supposed to.

But he had abandoned her. And she’d had to forge her own way in life. As a woman, she’d done that the only way she could. And it was no one’s fault but his own.

‘Forgive me, I was wool-gathering,’ he admitted. ‘What do I mean about what?’

‘Why do you think I wanted to be with you this afternoon?’ She leaned forward and slowly lifted her eyes to meet his in such a way it struck him dead in the centre of the chest. The look was sensual. Confident.

Practised.

Damn it.

‘I’ve always known you enjoyed my company,’ he said. His tone was light and playful. Not at all indicative of the heaviness bearing down on him.

‘Do you think you make me happy?’ she asked.

It was a teasing question, but one that he considered more deeply than the query warranted in light of his turbulent mood. ‘I think I did at one time.’

The silence that settled between them seemed to grow thick, the smoothness of their conversation congealing with his honesty.

Lottie tilted her head, turning the pointed white brim of her hat just so, to obscure only one eye. ‘Do you think you will make me happy again?’

Now there was an answer he knew well.

He leaned forward, taking her gloved hands in his, and answered with the utmost certainty. ‘I know I will.’

Lottie had always been attracted to Evander’s sense of confidence. When she was younger she could not imagine possessing such self-assuredness. And even now, as a woman who stood on her own two feet, the way he carried himself held great appeal.

The manner with which he claimed to know she would be happy with him again did wonders to soothe that place in her chest where he had wounded her before. Part of her was still calling his words a mere fantasy. And yet there was another part of her, desperate to revel in life again, that wanted to believe that fantasy was reality. She wanted to be the woman in the story, rescued by the man who loved her.

But how did she open a wounded heart that was so wrapped in on itself?

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

She felt her lips curl up in spite of herself. ‘You used to ask me that all the time.’

He settled back in his seat, his pose relaxed, in an almost arrogant manner. ‘I still want to know.’

‘I’m thinking that I want to be happy.’ She toyed with the fingertips of her gloves in an attempt to fight the urge to twist her fingers.