curve. Ironically, she had everything he’d imagined wanting in a wife—strength, courage, a voracious appetite for adventure, a total disregard for propriety. One thing was certain. Miss Hart posed a greater threat to his sanity than the masked fiend.
For the second time this morning, Vivienne found herself alone in a carriage with Mr Sloane. His commanding presence filled the small space, as did the alluring smell of his cologne. The urge to press her nose to his neck and inhale the exotic scent left her shuffling in the seat. But it was the undercurrent of tension in the air, the strange spark of electricity, that held her in its grip and made it hard to breathe.
The ride to West Smithfield wasn’t particularly bumpy, yet her stomach flipped like a skilled acrobat. Staring out of the window served as a distraction but did little to settle her racing pulse. She felt the heat of Mr Sloane’s penetrating stare despite having her nose pressed to the glass.
It all became too much.
“I’m surprised you let Buchanan ride atop the box.” She forced herself to look at him, and her insides fluttered all over again. “I thought you’d insist on a chaperone. What if I did something disreputable and tried to force you to marry me?”
The gentleman moistened his lips. “We’re in a closed carriage, Miss Hart. Should we wish to partake in anything illicit, there is no one here to bear witness.”
Vivienne sucked in a sharp breath to halt the rising blush. “As most men insist on marrying a virgin, it would be unwise to do anything scandalous in a carriage with you, sir.” And certainly not with Buchanan in earshot.
“I’m not most men, Miss Hart.”
No. He was vastly superior on many levels.
“While I’m confident you’re chaste,” he said in a sensual drawl, “I would prefer my wife had experience in the bedchamber.”
The devil enjoyed teasing her, but she was used to bantering with Highlanders. “Bedding a virgin who happens to be your wife might prove highly satisfying.”
“Fondling innocents is not my forte.”
“You surprise me. Surely a man who values honesty would prefer to feel the true touch of a woman’s lips. A passionate kiss must be better than one feigned for pleasure.”
Mr Sloane laughed. “You want to marry me to gain our ancestors’ treasure. What is there to feel from your lips but desperation and greed?”
The comment stung. The sudden constriction of her throat came as a shock. Water welled in her eyes. Heavens, she couldn’t let the gentleman see her sobbing into her handkerchief, but he’d noticed something was amiss.
“I apologise if I’ve upset you.” He’d softened his tone. “We agreed to speak honestly, Miss Hart. If there is another reason you wish to marry me, then simply say so.”
How could she speak? What could she say? Though blunt in delivery, his words rang with truth—not the whole truth. Yes, she needed to marry him to stop the murderous blackguard, to gain financial security. But she wanted to kiss him, had admired him for weeks. She wanted to feel locked in his strong embrace.
“You want the truth, sir?”
“I deserve the truth, madam.”
Vivienne stayed her tears and raised her chin. “My reasons for wanting to abide by the contract stem from desperation, not greed. But I like you, Mr Sloane.” Her skin tingled just being in his presence. “I’m drawn to the elements of your character that fit so perfectly with mine.”
His searing stare fixed her to the seat.
She would give anything to know his thoughts.
“While our kin shared a love for the sea,” she said, “we share a love for adventure. We both long to escape the humdrum of daily life, long to feel the wind whipping our hair. As a woman, my situation is more complicated. I must strive to provide for myself. Marriage to any man brings a loss of liberty.”
“Not if you married me,” he said, though seemed surprised he’d made the comment. “I believe we should appreciate people for who they are, not try to forge them into someone of our own making.”
Mr Sloane was one of those rare men who shared her views.
“Which leads me back to my earlier point. You have many fine qualities to recommend you, sir. But most important of all, you accept my unconventional character.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “I’m far from accepting. I insisted you change out of Monsieur Lamont’s ridiculous clothes.”
“Only out of concern for me.”
His heated gaze journeyed over her blue pelisse, lingered in shocking places. “And because