Did the woman think he planned to consummate this arrangement immediately? Within two hours? Not a chance. Clare had yet to agree to anything beyond another meeting, and even if she accepted his offer he would not rush her to bed in the middle of the day.
Tonight, with wine and candlelight and slow seduction, he would draw her willingly into his arms.
The palms of his hands were damp with sweat. He’d not felt this apprehensive since the night he huddled under a leaking tent in the pouring rain, just outside a flyspeck on the map called Waterloo.
At precisely eleven o’clock, the knocker sounded and Bryn hurried to open the door. Once again Clare was swathed in veils, wearing the same blue dress as before. They stood awkwardly for a moment, and then he backed up to let her enter, unable to summon even a casual welcome.
Offering his arm, he led her to the parlor and gestured to the sofa. She sat, gracefully, and removed her hat, placing it beside her.
His memory had not failed him. She was regal as a princess, demure as a nun—quietly, enchantingly beautiful. He mustered a smile. “Thank you for coming, Miss Easton. I was afraid you would not.”
“Indeed?” Her head tilted. “I rather thought you expected it.”
“Not after the way I behaved yesterday.” He regarded her moodily. “If I apologize, will you forgive me?”
“If?”
“Very well,” he said, shifting on his feet. “I was a boor and a snob.”
“Not at all,” she responded in a cool voice.
He understood exactly. He’d been much worse. “Shall I grovel?” he asked, heat rising to his ears. “Offer my cheek for you to smack?” Take off my clothes, he thought, and let you stare at me the way I stared at you? The notion was wonderfully exciting.
“I would like some coffee,” she said, pouring herself a cup. “And you?”
He shook his head and lowered himself onto the chair across from her, so tense that a muscle in his left calf cramped painfully. Longing to shake it out, he stretched his legs across the Axminster carpet, determined to appear at ease. “Miss Easton—Clare—I know this is impossible, but could we pretend we’d never met before? I very much want to start over, without the events of yesterday looming between us.”
“Pray, think no more about it. You had every right to examine your purchase.” She lifted a square of shortcake, studied it intently, and set it down again. “Shall we discuss terms? You indicated requirements, other than those I’d been given to expect. May I hear them?”
“Dammit, I want us to be friends!” His exclamation surprised them both. At least it broke her awesome composure for a bare, nearly imperceptible moment.
Her brows lifted. “Friendship, my lord, cannot be bought. At least, not at any price I am aware of. I had thought our arrangement to be more . . . straightforward. If we are to speak frankly, more exclusively carnal.”
“The one,” he said between clenched teeth, “does not rule out the other.”
She must have sensed his dry mouth, because she poured a helping of coffee, added a generous dollop of honey, and held out the cup. He took it gratefully, wincing as the hot liquid seared his tongue. The pain, coupled with that in his leg and groin, brought an edge to his voice.
“If you insist on a ledger of terms, I shall provide them. In writing, should you wish it.”
“That will not be necessary. But this is a matter of business, and I should like a clear explanation of what you expect from me.”
Business? Despite his overheated body and whirling mind, that word sent a chill down his spine. He tried to match her matter-of-fact tone. “Very well, Miss Easton. I require a mistress, preferably one who will remain with me for a considerable time. She will live in this house, be available to me when I send word, and remain exclusively mine. She must— you must—take precautions, at least until I have married and sired an heir.”
His gaze lowered. “In your case,
Tonight, with wine and candlelight and slow seduction, he would draw her willingly into his arms.
The palms of his hands were damp with sweat. He’d not felt this apprehensive since the night he huddled under a leaking tent in the pouring rain, just outside a flyspeck on the map called Waterloo.
At precisely eleven o’clock, the knocker sounded and Bryn hurried to open the door. Once again Clare was swathed in veils, wearing the same blue dress as before. They stood awkwardly for a moment, and then he backed up to let her enter, unable to summon even a casual welcome.
Offering his arm, he led her to the parlor and gestured to the sofa. She sat, gracefully, and removed her hat, placing it beside her.
His memory had not failed him. She was regal as a princess, demure as a nun—quietly, enchantingly beautiful. He mustered a smile. “Thank you for coming, Miss Easton. I was afraid you would not.”
“Indeed?” Her head tilted. “I rather thought you expected it.”
“Not after the way I behaved yesterday.” He regarded her moodily. “If I apologize, will you forgive me?”
“If?”
“Very well,” he said, shifting on his feet. “I was a boor and a snob.”
“Not at all,” she responded in a cool voice.
He understood exactly. He’d been much worse. “Shall I grovel?” he asked, heat rising to his ears. “Offer my cheek for you to smack?” Take off my clothes, he thought, and let you stare at me the way I stared at you? The notion was wonderfully exciting.
“I would like some coffee,” she said, pouring herself a cup. “And you?”
He shook his head and lowered himself onto the chair across from her, so tense that a muscle in his left calf cramped painfully. Longing to shake it out, he stretched his legs across the Axminster carpet, determined to appear at ease. “Miss Easton—Clare—I know this is impossible, but could we pretend we’d never met before? I very much want to start over, without the events of yesterday looming between us.”
“Pray, think no more about it. You had every right to examine your purchase.” She lifted a square of shortcake, studied it intently, and set it down again. “Shall we discuss terms? You indicated requirements, other than those I’d been given to expect. May I hear them?”
“Dammit, I want us to be friends!” His exclamation surprised them both. At least it broke her awesome composure for a bare, nearly imperceptible moment.
Her brows lifted. “Friendship, my lord, cannot be bought. At least, not at any price I am aware of. I had thought our arrangement to be more . . . straightforward. If we are to speak frankly, more exclusively carnal.”
“The one,” he said between clenched teeth, “does not rule out the other.”
She must have sensed his dry mouth, because she poured a helping of coffee, added a generous dollop of honey, and held out the cup. He took it gratefully, wincing as the hot liquid seared his tongue. The pain, coupled with that in his leg and groin, brought an edge to his voice.
“If you insist on a ledger of terms, I shall provide them. In writing, should you wish it.”
“That will not be necessary. But this is a matter of business, and I should like a clear explanation of what you expect from me.”
Business? Despite his overheated body and whirling mind, that word sent a chill down his spine. He tried to match her matter-of-fact tone. “Very well, Miss Easton. I require a mistress, preferably one who will remain with me for a considerable time. She will live in this house, be available to me when I send word, and remain exclusively mine. She must— you must—take precautions, at least until I have married and sired an heir.”
His gaze lowered. “In your case,
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