A Marriage Of Rogues. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ It was tentative, tender and tempting. And she had come here to ask this man to marry her.

      Moreover, the man kissing her was Sir Develin Dundrake. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with those dark eyes, fine nose and strong jaw. She also knew a kind heart resided in that manly form, in spite of what had happened with her father.

      Leaning against his body, she parted her lips and let his tongue slid into her mouth, not even moving back when his hand slid up her side and beneath her pelisse to cup her breast. Instead she held him closer still, gliding her hands over his back, feeling the play of his muscles through his broadcloth jacket. This was what she’d dreamed of since she first saw him months ago.

      Nevertheless, reality was far more overwhelming, just as he was even more good-looking up close. She’d only seen him from a distance before. Here, in his impressive house, wearing those fine, well-fitting trousers, shirt, jacket and expertly tied cravat, his thick, dark wavy hair slightly disheveled as if he’d recently awakened, he was the perfect example of the perfect man.

      He broke the kiss and drew back, a strange expression on his remarkably handsome face.

      What was it? Surprise? Confusion?

      Then he smiled, a roguish grin that was both merry and seductive. “I begin to appreciate the merits of your proposal, my lady.”

      She was beginning to appreciate that, in spite of her vivid imagination, she had not been prepared for that kiss, or the desire it created.

      “If I were to agree,” he went on, “when and where shall we marry? I assume you’ve thought that out, as well.”

      It took her a moment to realize he both looked and sounded as if he might be seriously considering her proposal—something she had scarcely dared to hope. Trying to regain her precious self-control, she said, “You should meet me at the village inn early tomorrow morning. From there, we can go to Gretna Green and be married at once.”

      “I see. What explanation do you suggest I give for my sudden elopement with a woman I’ve never met before?”

      She had an answer for that, too. “I was raised in Ireland before my father lost his money. I understand you’ve traveled there in the past, so you can say we met in Dublin. And my family is in DeBrett’s, should anyone care to look.”

      Sir Develin immediately went to a shelf beside the portrait of the stern, cruel-looking man. He pulled out a book and leafed through it before running his finger down a particular page. “Ah yes, there you are, or at least your family.”

      He closed the book and returned it to the shelf. “I confess myself surprised you’re willing to marry a man you’ve never met before.”

      “Naturally I made inquiries before coming here,” she truthfully replied. “No matter how desperate my circumstances, I have no wish to tie myself to an inveterate gambler or a sot or a lecher. You gamble rarely, you don’t drink to excess and while you’ve had several liaisons with a variety of women, you aren’t a seducer of innocents. Nor are you a dandy.”

      And when you stroll down the street, you move like a warrior prince, she thought, but didn’t say.

      “You have made inquiries. But perhaps I have no wish to marry a woman I’ve only just met.”

      “You had only just met my father the night you won all his money.”

      “Marriage is hardly a game of chance.”

      “Is it not?” she returned. “How well do you think most men of your rank know the women they wed—really know them? Don’t they more often marry based on family lineage and the limited acquaintance of shared social gatherings?”

      He studied her for a long moment, then glanced at the portrait before looking back at her. “You seem to have thought of everything.”

      She, too, had believed she had, until she was actually in Sir Develin’s presence and shared a kiss. Now her nerves were strained nearly to the breaking point. If this conversation lasted much longer, they might get the better of her, so she decided to get directly to the heart of the matter. “Are we to wed or not, Sir Develin?”

      He smiled slowly, as if he had all the time in the world to answer. “Surely I may be allowed to think it over. After all, it isn’t every day I get a proposal of marriage. In fact, this is the first.”

      His manner, both amused and condescending, roused her pride and her ire, too.

      “This situation may be vastly amusing to you, Sir Develin,” she retorted, “but I assure you, it’s very serious to me. If you cannot give me your answer today, I shall consider that a refusal.”

      “No need to be so hasty or so angry,” he said, his visage turning as grimly serious as that of the man in the portrait. “You must admit I have a right to take some time to contemplate your offer.”

      She readied herself for his refusal and for what she would say when he did.

      “I agree.”

      Her lips parted and her eyes widened with astonishment. “You do?”

      He nodded, and to her even greater amazement, a look of what could be amusement twinkled in his brown eyes. “I do,” he said with an affirming nod. “I shall meet you tomorrow morning at the Maiden’s Arms in the village of Dundrake as you suggest. Rather appropriate under the circumstances, don’t you think? Now I suppose you ought to stay to dinner.”

      Torn between confusion, delight and relief, afraid he might change his mind if she stayed any longer, Thea rapidly shook her head. “No, thank you. I have to pack my things,” she replied, moving quickly to the French doors.

      “Let me call a carriage for you. It’s a terrible day for walking.”

      Her hand already on the latch, she half turned to answer. “No, thank you. I don’t mind. I enjoy walking. It’s not far and I’ll be halfway to the inn by the time the carriage is ready.”

      Before he could say another word, Thea was out the door and walking across the terrace as fast as her dignity would allow until she reached the steps leading to the garden. Then her dignity gave way to excited relief and she broke into a most unladylike run.

      Once out of the formal garden with its trimmed hedges and into the wilder wood bordering Sir Develin’s estate, she stopped to catch her breath, leaning against an ancient oak where she couldn’t be seen from the manor house. The very large manor house with its stone carving and that paneled room that seemed to embody the ancient and noble family that resided within.

      But it was not of the garden, or the house, or the furnishings or the wood that Thea was thinking.

      “He agreed!” she whispered, not quite able to believe what had just happened. “He agreed!”

      She was going to be married to a rich and titled man. She would never live a life of poverty and want, cold and hunger, ever again. Even better, she didn’t have to resort to the plan she’d prepared if Sir Develin had refused.

      And he’d done more than simply agree. Her fingers went to her lips that he had kissed with such passion. It was as if he actually found her desirable, and when she thought about their wedding night...

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