When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,23
her head in inquiry.
“I might have your dowry”—or he would have it in any case—“but I married you, and it’s you I shall bed, not your moneys.”
The color rose in her cheeks again, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked a little shy—not a word he’d normally use for Messalina—and at the same time completely alluring.
One month, he reminded himself, shifting discreetly to accommodate his swelling cock.
She let her poor abused lip go and said, “No, but you can spend it.”
He tore his gaze away from her glistening mouth and tried to remember what they were talking about.
He frowned. “What?”
She sighed as if trying to find her patience. “Hawthorne, you may enjoy living in a house without furniture or books or enough servants, but I do not. My sister will be coming to live with us, and there isn’t even a bed for her.”
He sat forward, reining in his wandering attention. “Very well. You may furnish a room for Lucretia and purchase whatever you need to house your vast collection of clothing.”
“And books for your empty library?”
He shook his head. “A waste of money.”
“Of course you’d think so,” she muttered under her breath.
He breathed in and out. “Messalina.”
Her eyes widened when she looked at his face.
“You do not want to bait me,” he said softly. “I’m not one of your aristocrats. I don’t play gently.”
“I beg your pardon.” She cleared her throat. “If you can assure me of how much I can spend, then I’ll take the carriage tomorrow—”
“No,” he said with rather more relish than was wise. “You aren’t shopping alone tomorrow.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Naturally Bartlett will accompany me…”
“If you must, but I think there’s no need.” He took a bite of the pie, watching her and trying not to smile. “I shall be going with you.”
She said in a very level voice, “You’re inflicting your presence on my shopping trip.”
He tilted his head, considering. “Is ‘inflicting’ a word that a devoted wife would use about her husband?”
“I thought we had agreed on merely content,” she snapped back.
He felt a corner of his mouth tilt up. “I shall be very happy to escort my content wife to the shops, then.” His voice lowered. “And I expect you to adhere to our agreement while we are out.”
She looked a bit as if she’d just bitten into a lime. “Naturally.”
He helped himself to another slice of the pie. “And whilst we’re on the subject, I’ve procured theater tickets for tomorrow night.”
That caught her interest.
She leaned forward. “What is the play?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Her lips parted as if she couldn’t believe his words.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, glistening, warm, and receptive.
“You purchased tickets for the theater and didn’t bother to discover what play you’re seeing?” She interrupted his lusty thoughts.
“We’re seeing,” he said with emphasis.
She waved the point aside impatiently. “Yes, yes.”
“The play doesn’t matter,” he said. “The point of attending the theater is to be seen by the aristocracy. Isn’t that what your sort does, after all?”
My sort, she mouthed, and then said aloud, “I suppose that’s what many people do.” She pursed her lips. “This is how you want to enter society?”
“I want to do much more than simply enter society.” He sneered on the last word. “I intend to be accepted as an equal, to become the confidant of dukes and princes, and of course to find rich aristocrats to invest in my business.”
“But…” She stared at him as if he were a dog performing a trick.
He emptied his wineglass and set it down firmly. “That is why we’ll go to the theater.”
“Very well.” She sat with her brows knitted for several seconds. Then she shook her head and abruptly rose from the table. “I’m tired. If you don’t mind, I’d like to retire to bed.”
He looked pointedly at his half-full plate. “I haven’t finished my supper.”
A small frown crimped those distracting lips. “I have.”
He looked at her. “Humor me.”
She scowled. “Why should I?”
He sighed. She was the most argumentative woman. “I wanted to surprise you, but you’ve forced my hand.” He raised his voice and called to the shut door. “Sam!”
The door opened and Sam entered, carefully cradling a puppy in his arms.
Messalina sat abruptly.
“What is this?” She sounded confused as she glanced between the boy and the dog, her eyes wide.
Gideon stood and walked to her chair, beckoning Sam over.
“This,” he said as he lifted the wriggling animal from the boy’s arms and placed it in her lap, “is a puppy. For you.”