quite proficient. You do not kiss like a vicar’s prim daughter. What would the good people of Shropshire ever think of their demure Miss Bates if they knew?”
“And how should a vicar’s prim daughter kiss?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Well, they should all kiss like you, Miss Bates, but I doubt they do.” She gulped. Heaven save her from that deep velvet voice. “More’s the pity.”
More’s the pity.
“Oh.” Her cheeks flamed, and she once again averted her gaze, staring down at the toes of her half boots peeping out from her hem.
“Shall I show you?”
Her gaze snapped to his face at this mildly posed question. “Show me? Show me what?”
That crooked smile of his deepened. “The aforementioned pleasure.”
“Of course not,” she snapped indignantly at his indecent offer. She readjusted her arms around her bent legs and shifted nervously where she sat.
Her mind drifted to Edgar’s attempt to show her pleasure. He had promised to make her feel good. Or some such enticement. A bold lie. It had not hurt precisely, but it had been uncomfortable, and it had certainly not been pleasurable.
For some reason, unlike that time, she suspected there would be pleasure with Mr. Butler.
His eyes narrowed on her thoughtfully. “Because you don’t believe in pleasure?”
“I did not say that.” On the contrary. She believed he could deliver on the pleasure. His voice alone made her feel pleasantly flushed all over.
“Tell me something,” he pressed, ignoring her weak denial. “Is it that you do not believe pleasure exists for a woman? Or that I cannot deliver it?”
She sputtered, her mind a wild tangle. This was a wholly inappropriate conversation, and yet they were having it. It did not help that his proximity sent her pulse racing and her limbs shaking. He smelled of soap and sunshine and freshly pressed linen. Who knew any person could smell so intoxicating?
Her hands clenched tighter in her skirts to keep them from trembling. She was looking at his mouth again, and she forced her gaze away, mentally upbraiding herself. Now that she knew the taste of his lips it was difficult to pretend otherwise.
The former Duke of Penning sat with her in her favorite spot weaving seductive words and staring at her like he could see beneath her clothes—and he liked what he saw. She could not have imagined it.
Him. With her. Like this.
He would not be here with her, if he was still the duke. It was a glaring truth. She could not feign ignorance of that, but right now he was very . . . distracting.
His index finger came to play with the hem of her skirts, ruffling the dirt-smudged fabric. Not touching but close enough to her ankle that her breath constricted in her throat. “I can make a wife very happy.”
“In bed,” she retorted. “You can make a wife happy in bed. There is more to happiness than what happens in the marriage bed.”
He inclined his head. “Perhaps. But it is a very good place to start. It cannot be discounted. You think I can bring nothing to a marriage?” He paused a beat and she felt that silence swell between them like a giant balloon, ready to pop at his first touch. “Let me show you otherwise.”
He inched his body closer, encroaching without touching, and making her wholly aware of just how much larger he was. And warmer. Or was that her body that felt suddenly overly warm in the chilly afternoon?
“Wh-what are you doing?” She could not believe she just asked that question, but as he was propositioning her she might as well be clear on the specifics of what the offer entailed.
Not that she was entertaining the notion. She was not. She was simply curious.
“I’m showing you. There are hundreds of ways to please a woman.”
Hundreds?
Her mind raced. She couldn’t get those words out of her ears. She moistened her lips, both tempted and overwhelmed at the notion of hundreds.
No. She gave her head a small shake. He could not entice her. She would not be taken in so easily. She wouldn’t be duped. Not again.
“‘Hundreds of ways’ is rather vague, I fear.” With an air of disinterest that impressed even herself, she moved to slide off the rock.
He grasped her wrist, stalling her. “What if I said I would begin by slipping my hand under your skirt and placing it upon your leg like this?” His hand dipped beneath her hem, circling her ankle.
She gave a little squeak and froze.
“Is that properly specific for