to have his warm large hands on her naked flesh, fondling, caressing, stroking and how far things would have gone when he kissed her in the library if Lord and Lady Grafton had not shown up.
Perhaps she was Lady Trouble after all because she doubted if she would have stopped him.
“Truthfully, I have not given marrying you much thought because I was certain you would never have offered for me unless forced.” She shrugged. “Which, I guess, is exactly what has happened.”
Hunt held out his hand. “Diana. Come here.”
For some reason that soft request had her heart thumping double time. She took his hand, and he drew her into his arms. “I don’t want you to think of this as a forced marriage. It’s a necessity.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes. Marrying Lady Eunice would be forced. Marrying you is a necessity.”
“I don’t think it makes a dif—” Her words were cut off when he covered her mouth with his. A swarm of butterflies entered her stomach, and her knees felt weaker than when she’d first seen Lord and Lady Grafton glaring at the two of them in the library.
No black dots, however.
Those were her last thoughts as Hunt turned the kiss into something feral and greedy. He plunged into her mouth with his tongue and pulled her even closer.
She moved her hands up his arms and encircled his neck, playing with the soft strands of hair curling over his cravat.
“Say yes, Diana,” he mumbled as his mouth swept over her jaw, kissing and nipping. “Say yes.” His lips moved to the soft sensitive skin behind her ear. His warm mint and brandy scented breath added goose flesh to her skin, combining with her already erratic heartbeat and fluttering stomach.
“I can’t.”
“Yes. You can.” He took her mouth again, this time adding all the arrogance and loftiness that was the Earl of Huntington into the kiss.
She was dizzy. Her knees buckled, and she would have slipped to his feet had he not gripped her so powerfully against his hard body. She needed air, she needed time to think, to step away. Her hands came to his chest and she pushed.
Being the gentleman that he was, Hunt released her and moved back, but kept her lightly in his hold. “What’s wrong?”
“I need time to think, Hunt. Marriage is a serious business. I truly don’t believe you would be happy married to me. If you’re not happy, then I won’t be happy. We could spend the rest of our lives making each other miserable.”
He released her and took her hand, moving them to a small table against the balustrade. After pulling out a chair for her and settling across from her, he took her hands and covered them with his, resting them on the table. “I had planned to marry this year.”
She grinned. “Not me.”
“You must marry sometime, Diana. You were not made for spinsterhood. You are a warm, loving woman. You would make a wonderful mother.”
“And a wife?” Her smile dissolved. “That might be so, but I would have favored being courted and escorted to the theater and balls, and museums. I would have preferred to have a man on bended knee asking for my hand.”
He lifted their joint hands. “I have your hand.”
She pulled it back and laughed. “Not yet.”
“Very well. We will continue to have everyone believe we are betrothed. However, I will court you. If after a few weeks you decide we will not suit, we will quietly announce we have changed our minds and go our merry ways.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Do you think that would work?”
“We will make it work. I have no doubt that we will suit, but I want you to be sure.”
She shook her head. “What I am sure about, my lord, is that you must have had way too much brandy before you headed to the library to meet me.” She tilted her head and looked him in the eye. “And I don’t believe it has yet worn off.”
13
“Melrose, eh?” Sir Phillip DuBois-Gifford stood straight, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out the window of his office, facing nothing but a gray sky, drizzles of rain and a near-crumbling building across the way.
“Yes, sir,” Hunt said, sitting on a chair in front of the man’s desk that seemed ready to collapse under his weight. “There is a possibility we were incorrect, but I saw no reason for a footman to be meeting with a lord in a bookstore.”
DuBois-Gifford swung around. “We? Was