Read Online I Love the Earl by Caroline Linden - Free Book Online Page A

through the Grove. Dowling seemed content to let her lead, and she searched carefully for the right spot. She took care not to wander too far from the path, mindful of being pursued by Miss Cuthbert, but wanted some privacy for what she had to ask of him.
    Finally they reached a darkened turn of the path. This far from the orchestra and main walks, the cooing of thrushes and a pair of nightingales murmured around them. She stopped and faced Lord Dowling, suddenly nervous but trying to hide it. They had spent a great deal of time together, but never truly alone. “If you intend to marry me,” she said, “you’d better kiss me first.”
    His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Now?” he murmured in his dark, raspy voice.
    “Yes.” She swallowed. “Please do.”
    He continued to look at her mouth. “You haven’t answered my question yet, about your intentions. I hope you don’t plan to tease me and seduce me, only to refuse me later, madam.”
    The notion of her seducing him was so—so— tempting —no, not tempting, ridiculous — She took an unsteady breath. “You claim we suit each other. Prove it.”
    Rhys took a step closer. Prove it. He longed to prove it to her, to kiss her until she moaned in his arms, to carry her deeper into the woods and show her just how much he wanted her and how well he could satisfy all her longings. His blood was coursing hot and fast in anticipation, but he kept a tight leash on his visceral reaction to her bold demand. “Is this the last question in your mind? Your last doubt?”
    Her expressive lips parted. The silver pendant on her choker winked at him, fluttering ever-so-slightly on the rapid throb of her pulse. “No, not quite the very last,” she said. “But it is an important one.”
    Dimly he supposed the last one was still about the money, that damned dowry that cast every suitor in a shady, avaricious light. Courtesy of Miss Stacpoole’s wagging tongue, he knew three other men had already proposed marriage to Margaret, and she had turned them all down. Two were acknowledged fortune hunters, but one was a decent fellow with expectations. He had steadfastly resisted the urge to ask her about other suitors, but that third refusal gave him hope. He could tell she liked his attentions. His strategy of charming her friends had done wonders to thaw her opinion of him. He even found he liked Miss Stacpoole and her Freddie, which was fortunate; it seemed clear they would be part of his life for as long as Margaret was.
    But best of all was that the lady herself only improved on closer acquaintance. The sharp tongue and undaunted spirit that flayed him so mercilessly when they first met were scintillating, when not turned on him. Even when she did turn on him a little, he still found it more exhilarating than shrewish. One evening they had a vigorous disagreement over the American colonies, where his fortune had gone to wither in the hot Carolina sun. Rhys was all in favor of letting those benighted lands go and good riddance, while she strongly felt such a valuable possession should be retained if at all possible. Arguing with an intelligent, informed woman was a novel experience for him; she acknowledged his points, but had sound points of her own. When she made him admit he would support sending British troops to protect private British property and investments, despite his disgust for anything to do with the Americas, he knew he was hers. Wanting a woman was one thing. Finding her fascinating was another.
    Now he stared down at her upturned face, pale and unearthly in the moonlight. Kiss her, she asked. He’d dreamed of nothing else for weeks. He raised his hand to her jaw, letting his fingers brush over the exposed swells of her breasts, pushed high by her stomacher. She inhaled sharply at his touch, and he took advantage of the motion to draw her to him. Her waist felt small and slender under his hand, nipped in under her corset and the folds of her mulberry silk gown, but