What the Hart Wants - Fiona Davenport Page 0,31

a moment before she changed her expression into indifference. “I care not,” she said. “I’ve no intention of giving my heart or body to anyone. Tonight was an experiment. I wanted to understand the pleasure which you seem to think is the key to my literary prowess.”

“And was the experiment satisfactory?” he asked. “Did I perform as expected?”

A smile curled along her mouth, and she looked away. “My appraisal of your skills has been favorable so far.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Of course, in order to test a hypothesis appropriately, one must take a sufficient sample size.”

He reached out and touched her neckline, and she drew in a sharp breath. He could almost imagine those needy little peaks beading against the material of her gown. He only had to lower her bodice, and they would be his, ripe and ready for him to taste.

“The discerning diner must sample the meal at least five times,” he said. “Anything less, and he’d fail to reach a credible conclusion as to whether it’s the finest thing he’s ever tasted.”

“Five times?” her voice came out in a squeak.

“Aye, lass,” he breathed. “At least five times.”

“I applaud the thoroughness of your research.”

“And would you consider adopting a similar degree of diligence?”

“Perhaps.”

He traced a line across the front of her gown until he reached the valley between her breasts. Their gazes locked, and he hooked his finger round the material and pulled her toward him. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers, suppressing the need to tear her dress off. Then he withdrew his hand, and a low whimper escaped her lips.

Were he to throw her to the ground and rut her, she’d be willing and ready. But his little terrier deserved to be worshipped like a queen.

Or a duchess.

“Miss Hart,” he said, his voice tight, “I must return you before your sister comes out and shoots me.”

Disappointment glowered in her expression, but she nodded.

“Perhaps, if it’s not too forward of me to suggest it,” he said, “you may wish to continue your research? Without pleasure, you’re in danger of becoming staid and dull.”

She bristled at his words. “And you, sir, are too frivolous. Your objective in the world is to make money and seek physical gratification. You should care more about the world in which we live.”

“Very well,” he said. “Shall we make a deal? How about I promise to do more to further the cause of good in the world if you promise to indulge in the pleasures it has to offer. There’s much we can teach each other.”

“And how might we achieve that?” she asked.

“Come to Scotland with me,” he said. “Come and see what the beauty of the Highlands has to offer.”

A smile crept across her face, and she nodded. “I’ll agree, but on two conditions.”

“Which are?”

“The first is you must persuade Dexter to permit it, without sustaining a bullet to the chest.”

“Fair enough,” he laughed. “And the second?”

“You must volunteer your services for my charitable activities. Mrs. Forbes is always in need of resources.”

“I’ll make a donation if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh no,” she said, a wicked glint in her eyes. “You must attend the shelter and provide your services.”

“That seems easy.”

She shook her head. “Mrs. Forbes has very strict rules about men. No man is allowed abovestairs. You’d be confined to the scullery, though if she’s feeling generous, you might be permitted in the coal cellar. I daresay a day of being under the direct order of a woman, confined to the servant’s quarters, will either prove your mettle or break you.”

“Very well,” he said. “Consider your challenge accepted. In fact, if you are free, shall we call on Mrs. Forbes tomorrow?”

She hesitated as if she’d expected him to decline.

Teaching his little terrier about pleasure?

This was going to be fun.

Chapter Twelve

As Lilah entered the breakfast room the next morning, Dexter was already there. His dark gaze followed her as she approached the buffet. The hour was late for Dexter, who was usually at his business premises by now.

She spooned scrambled eggs onto her plate, then sat at the table.

“Brother, do you have a particular reason for being here at this hour?” she asked.

“I wish to speak to you regarding Molineux.”

Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny.

“Why?”

“I think you know,” he said. “Why else do you bear the expression of a child with its fingers caught in the sweetmeats?”

Her heart sank. Had someone heard her last night? Or had Thea betrayed her?

She pushed her plate aside. The