Page 20 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

“You’re a refreshingly honest rogue. Few men outside my family would speak in such frank language. I suppose it’s fortunate that I’m not as innocent as I once was.”

“But you are. And self-possessed.”

She wasn’t. She was disordered inside and overcome with an urge to lean in a little closer and beg him to kiss her again. He was a man made for pleasure, too. She was already succumbing to his extravagant sexuality.

“You’re calm for a bachelor in your predicament,” she said softly.

“I’m grateful that I’m not lying dead in the gardens.” His voice deepened. “And even more so that you weren’t harmed.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this. You were a dark and brooding boy.”

“Then perhaps that’s why I was so -- ” He shook his head. “Your family wants us to wed.”

She was still too entangled in the aftermath of the evening, of his potent kiss, in particular, to raise an argument. “No one held a second gun to you to make you agree?”

He smiled fleetingly. “It’s the right decision.”

“Who would want to kill you, Simon?”

“I’ll explain everything I know in the morning. Grayson intends to announce our engagement before breakfast. The repercussions will take our combined strength to manage. Prepare yourself.”

She shook her head, feeling as if she’d dreamt the entire evening.

He smoothed his fingertip over a small abrasion on her cheek. “I trust I didn’t do this. Did you scratch yourself outside?” he asked with a frown.

“I must have. I don’t remember. It seems as if I’m in more danger now than I was at the party.”

“So am I.”

He tipped his head to hers. His mouth teased hers again, tentatively at first. She closed her eyes to hide her excitement, shivered as his tongue curled around hers. His hand brushed aside the curls on her nape. She recalled the imprint of his body melded to hers in the garden, his glorious power. She felt a hollowness inside her far stronger than hunger.

“I accept your proposal,” she whispered as they drew apart. “Don’t ask me why. It has nothing to do with your excessive charm, vast wealth, or even our friendship.”

He grinned. “Was that flattery or insult?”

“You know how appealing you are,” she said.

“I’m glad you think so.”

She bit her bottom lip. “To other women.”

“Talk about flattery.” He rested his shoulders back against the couch. “Then it’s settled.”

She nodded vaguely, looking up from his face to the statue of the vestal virgin that stood in the wall niche.

What had she thought earlier?

That it had been night made for love, betrayal, and now -- for Simon, whom she had never been able to fathom. She had best get some understanding soon if she was to be his wife. What Ravenna knew of romantic matters she had learned from her brothers, and she was afraid to speculate how that illicit knowledge would arm her against Simon after they wed.

The virgin standing against the wall understood more of love then Ravenna did.

He bentto the carpet to retrieve one of the delicate blue rosettes that had apparently come unstitched from her gown. Ravenna might want a seamstress to restore the bodice to its original condition.

Or she might tuck the flower away as a keepsake of their betrothal. Some women were like that, saving tokens, preserving memories. But then so were some men.

He slipped the silk rosette into his waistcoat pocket, smiled at the vestal virgin, and left the gallery. He was in a ridiculously fine temper for a man who had almost met his end. But then again he had seized the night. The time had come for him to not only gather rosebuds but to marry.