The Bedding Proposal Part 20

Turning away, he picked up a leftover jam tart from one of the serving plates and ate it as he settled into the side chair Thalia had pointed out to him earlier. "So? How shall we entertain ourselves this afternoon?"

"We are not doing anything. You can drink your tea, then leave me to read and rest."

Not at all as I'd imagined, he thought once again. She had such spirit, whatever she may or may not have done in the past. He liked women with spirit.

He liked her.

"I thought after last night you'd be less p.r.i.c.kly," he said with an idle tilt of his head. "I see I shall have to find ways to loosen you up again."

She sighed, then looked down, her fingers picking absently at her shawl fringe. She did that when she was nervous, he'd noticed.

Do I make her nervous?

"Leo?"

"Yes?" he drawled.

"About what happened between us. I know you may now presume that we are lovers-"

"We are lovers," he said softly.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean we must continue to be. I am not certain . . . that is, I do not know-"

"Did you not enjoy my touch?"

Her eyes met his, their color very brown. "You know I did."

"Then I do not see a problem. So long as we give each other pleasure, then how is it hurting anyone? You are unenc.u.mbered and so am I. Or is that what you're trying to tell me? That there is someone else?"

"No," she said with obvious surprise. "There is no one."

A tension he hadn't known he felt eased inside him, followed by a surge of satisfaction. "Good. When I take a lover, I like to keep her all to myself, exclusively. I will expect the same from you. No other men."

"I told you, there's no one." She took a deep breath. "As for the rest, I haven't decided whether I want to be with you-or rather continue to be with you. I need time."

"And you may have it, within reason. There is still our original two weeks-less three days, of course. I won't hurry you. Well, not too much," he amended with a smile. "Besides, I want you fully healed and back on your feet the next time we make love. That way, I can safely tumble you off of them again."

Tiny lines formed between her brows. "Leo, I-"

A faint rattling of china sounded in the hallway. "If I'm not mistaken, our tea is arriving," he said. "You stay where you are. I'll take care of everything."

"Just a small cup for me," Thalia told Leo once Fletcher and the housemaid who had accompanied him laid the fresh service, then departed. "This is the second tea for me today, if you will remember. I already dined with Tilly."

"Then I shall have to do my best to eat heartily from the delicious selection Mrs. Grove prepared," he said. "Her fare is too good to be wasted."

True to his word, he filled his plate, then resumed his seat so he could make inroads.

Slowly, she sipped her hot tea and took pleasure watching him enjoy his own. He ate with the enthusiasm of a boy, yet the refined manners and appet.i.te of a man. And he was all man, whatever his chronological age might be.

At that thought, the nagging question returned, the one she'd been wondering about in the back of her head since the first night they'd met. "How old are you, Leo?"

He stopped eating and met her gaze. "Now, where did that come from?"

"I don't know," she hedged. "I am just curious, I suppose."

Taking up his napkin, he wiped his mouth, then laid his plate aside. "How old do you think I am?"

She regarded him, letting her gaze move over his long masculine frame and the chiseled planes of his handsome face, his green-gold eyes glinting with amused interest as he awaited her p.r.o.nouncement.

"Eight-and-twenty?" she said, trying for what she hoped was a guess on the younger side. That way she would be pleased when he told her he was older.

"Not a bad estimation. I am five-and-twenty."

Her eyes widened, rounding for a few seconds while she absorbed his unnerving statement.

"How old are you?" he inquired quietly.

She stared at him for a long moment, then set her cup and saucer onto a nearby table. "That is a very rude question to ask a woman."

"You asked me."

"Yes, and you are not a woman."

"I fail to see what difference that makes."

"Well, it does." She tugged at her shawl, abruptly disgruntled.

"I know you are older than I," he said. "I've always known and I like that. Girls just out of the schoolroom bore me. Mature women don't."

"Mature women," she repeated in a lowering tone. "So I am mature, am I? You make me sound like an elderly matron. You are not helping your case, Lord Leopold."

"And you are not listening to the fact that I find you alluring and beautiful and far from matronly. Your years, whatever they may be-and I do not believe they are much greater than my own-serve only to increase my interest. What are you? Eight-and-twenty? Nine-and-twenty?"

Seconds ticked past while she debated whether to answer. Yet, as he said, what difference did it really make? Their ages were their ages and could not be altered. And it wasn't as if this tenuous relationship they were forming had the least chance of lasting. He would be gone from her life before he turned another year older, so why should she care if he knew her age?

"I am one-and-thirty, nearly two-and-thirty. My birthday is next month."

"One-and-thirty, hmm? Well, you are ancient," he teased.

Her lips tightened. "That is not funny."

"No. It's absurd, that's what it is. You are a vibrant, healthy young woman, Thalia, who is only now coming into the fullest part of her life. I think you're magnificent. You are magnificent. Why else would I have been chasing after you all these weeks?"

"Yes, but-"

"But what?" He stood and came close enough to lean over her, bracing one arm on the back of the sofa and the other next to her head. "You're always looking for an excuse to keep me at bay, but a small difference in our ages doesn't matter, not to me."

"It's more than small," she insisted. "It's almost seven years. You were still a little boy being tutored at home when I was saying my wedding vows."

"True," he agreed, his voice smooth and even. "But just as those vows you took no longer apply, I am no longer a child. I am a man. A grown man, who desires you, a grown woman. Now, I have a question."

"Yes?" she asked warily.

"If our ages were reversed, would it matter?"

Her brows drew together. "What?"

"If I were one-and-thirty and you were five-and-twenty, would you think our age difference to be an impediment?"

She hesitated, considering his fictional query.

Men entered into unions with women younger than themselves all the time. Society even encouraged it-older men being seen as wiser and more capable of caring for a younger partner. She'd even known men old enough to be a young woman's grandfather cheerfully invited by the family to wed their daughter. Many might find that much of an age difference distasteful, but it wasn't disallowed. Men always paired off with women their own age or younger; it's how things were done.

"No," she said, "I would see no impediment."

He met her eyes. "Then why should there be one for us? Why does it matter that you are a few years older than I am?"

When Leo phrased the question that way, a difference based solely on gender seemed ridiculous. And yet it went against everything society deemed right and proper.

She sighed. "Because it does. Because it is the way of the world."

"Then perhaps the world is wrong. Does it feel wrong when I do this?"

Bending near, he claimed her mouth in a slow, sultry kiss that scattered her thoughts in an instant. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensation, knowing it felt too wonderful to stop.

"What about this?" he murmured, feathering his lips across her cheeks and eyelids and forehead before nuzzling the delicate skin at the base of her ear. He traced his tongue around the edge, then blew gently inside.

A shudder rippled through her. "It feels sinful."

He chuckled. "Perhaps. But not because of our ages. I think we're uniquely compatible." He pressed his mouth to hers again, then caught her lower lip between his teeth for a quick, playful nip. "I think we're perfect. You're perfect. Besides, I've heard younger men and older women make the best lovers. Do you want to know why?"

He is wicked, she thought, unable to break the spell he'd cast over her.

"Why?" she asked dreamily.

"Because a woman in her prime knows exactly what kind of pleasure she wants to receive and a healthy young man has the stamina and enthusiasm to give it to her." He teased her ear again. "Let me give it to you, Thalia."

She turned her head away, not sure where she found the strength. "You said you were going to wait until my ankle is better."

"To make pa.s.sionate, full-bodied love to you, yes. But I didn't say I wouldn't kiss you. I didn't say I wouldn't do everything in my power to remind you of the fact that you are already mine."

Before she had time to think of an argument, his mouth found hers again. He drew her down fast, taking her into a realm of dark pleasure and unquenchable need. A raw quiver went through her as she reached up a hand and stroked his smooth-shaven cheek.

What strange power does he have over me? And why do I no longer seem to possess the will to stop him?

It had been so clear in the beginning, so simple. He had been no one to her, easy to refuse. But now he was Leo-a man she liked. A man she had no choice but to admit she desired.

Without even realizing her intention, she twined her fingers through his thick, silky hair to pull him closer. He hummed his approval low in his throat as their kiss went from lazy to intense, each new caress more fervid than the last.

Suddenly, he groaned and broke away, resting his forehead against hers. "If you want me to keep my word, I'd better stop. Otherwise I'm going to carry you into your bedroom and take you, sprained ankle or not."

His words yanked her out of her haze. She trembled, sorely tempted to wrap her arms around him and let him sweep her away. But then she saw the afternoon sunlight flooding into the room, noticed the tea tray and her open sitting room door.

She angled her head away. "Yes. We need to stop."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

But he wasn't angry, she noticed, accepting her refusal with a good humor that she found surprising. He pressed one last kiss on her forehead, then went to reclaim his seat.

"This is fun," he remarked as he refilled his cup from the still warm contents in the urn. "I like having tea with you."

Instead of replying, she straightened her shawl.

She and Leo were playing dominoes an hour later-Hera curled up in her favorite chair by the unlit fire-when Thalia remembered her promise to Mathilda.

"Leo?"

"Yes?" He laid a tile on the board.

It was a double six; she didn't have a six.

"I was just wondering," she said, "if you might by any chance be acquainted with Lord Cathcart?"

She reached into the boneyard-the ma.s.s of facedown dominoes laid off to one side-and picked one up.

A four. She couldn't play that either.

"Pa.s.s," she said.

"Lord Cathcart? You mean Lady Cathcart's husband, your friend who I met earlier today?"

"Exactly."

She waited for him to play.

Of course, he had a six and a three, the wretch.

"No," he said. "I've seen him at Brooks's on occasion, but we do not know one another. Why?"

She frowned and drew another tile. "No reason. It's not important."

His eyes met hers over the board. "I thought we'd agreed not to lie to each other. So, once again, why do you want to know about Lord Cathcart?"

She played the tile she'd just drawn-a three. "Before I do, I want your a.s.surance that you will keep this in strictest confidence."