Page 43 of To Break the Rules

She drew in a slow breath, daring to look back at him.

“I will have you,” he said, his voice soft. “You know it as well as I do.”

“Never.”

Indignation forced the word from her lips with rather more passion than she ought to have allowed and she glanced about to see if anyone had noticed. Impossible, arrogant man.

How dare he?

Though she was forced to admit to herself alone that there was some strange and indefinable attraction that pulled her towards him, she would never allow it to overrule good sense.

She gave a laugh, a surprisingly bitter sound. “For a moment I almost allowed myself to believe there was something resembling a heart beating behind that icy façade. I am grateful to you for reminding me of the truth.”

“You’d be foolish indeed to believe that,” he murmured. “Almost as foolish as believing what is between us can end anywhere else but in my bed.”

Matilda gasped, staring at him as her blood surged in her veins, fury and desire all in a tangle. She was giddy and angry, and she wanted to slap him so badly her palm burned with the need to do it.

Why, though?

Because he was utterly wrong?

Or because he was right?

“Sooner or later,” he said, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was a question or a statement.

A slow smile curved over his mouth, and Matilda could not help but stare at it. Such a sensuous, sweet, vicious mouth, capable of both crucifying with words and kissing away the sting. The promise of wicked pleasure burned in his eyes and she looked away, before the blush at her cheeks became too vivid.

She felt of the heat of him beside her, the faint whisper of his warm breath against her skin as he leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“The clock is ticking, Miss Hunt.”

Anything she might have said in return became impossible then, however, as Lady Culpepper commandeered his attention, and Matilda was left seething and unsettled at his side.

Chapter 12

Green Park, with Montagu?

What on earth was I thinking?

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Her Grace, Prunella Adolphus, Duchess of Bedwin.

14th July 1814. The home of Mrs Edwina Manning, Old Burlington Street, London.

After dinner, the ladies left the men to their drinks and gathered to make small talk.

“I’m so sorry,” Lucia said, taking Matilda’s arm. She’d felt wretched ever since she’d allowed Montagu his lie. “I panicked. I could hardly deny the arrangement without calling him a liar and making a scene, and changing it would have made me look rude and… and I just—”

“It’s all right,” Matilda said, giving her a warm smile Lucia did not feel she deserved. “Montagu knew damn well he’d put us in an impossible situation, and manipulating people is what he does best. Damn, but he looked smug when he asked me if I should like to change my mind. I wanted to stab him with my fork.”

Lucia couldn’t help but notice the odd note in Matilda’s voice, however, and wondered if she was as annoyed as she pretended. Lucia still felt bad, though. Montagu was obviously set on having Matilda for himself, and marriage was not likely to be a part of the deal. That Matilda was drawn to the man despite her better judgement was not something to which Lucia was blind.

Mr Burton, was another matter, an honourable man who’d already made his interest clear. Matilda could be happy with a man like that, surely? He would offer her security and a home, family, he could make her happy. Perhaps she would lose her place in society, but the ton had already made their feelings clear about her tarnished reputation. In Lucia’s view, there was little to lose and a great deal to gain.

If only her own situation was so cut and dry.

“What just happened?” Kitty demanded, hurrying to stand beside them.

“Don’t ask me,” Matilda asked, smiling. “Montagu is no doubt pulling all our strings, if we but knew it.”