tattoos could disappoint me, sweetheart." He gazed hotly at her ill-concealed breasts. "And from what I can see, that's not bloody likely."
"Trust me, your lordship, a man of your expertise and experience would most certainly be disappointed." She drew a jerky breath and looked up at him, forcing back the waves of terror pounding at the edge of her awareness.
"You may have noticed… I am not very adept at this 'passion' business. My amorous skills are dismal, at best." His smile lost a degree or two of heat.
"Oh, it's not that my mother hasn't tried to instruct me. The problem seems to be that I haven't shown any particular aptitude for the amorous arts.
That… and I have an abysmal lack of interest in the subject."
"What in hell are you talking about?" he demanded.
Whether it was prudent or not, whether she had thought it through fully or not, the time had come to try out the desperate plan that was still half formed in her head.
"It's something of a story, I'm afraid… but, if you will just be patient…
You may recall, I said I was out on the streets tonight because of my mother
—that we argued fiercely." She saw his impatience rising and backed up to start again. "First you should know… my mother is a very beautiful and elegant woman, and for years she has been the mistress of a wealthy nobleman who—"
"Stop!" He raised a hand, glowering. "What the devil does your mother have to do with any of this?"
"She has everything to do with it… and with the proposition I'm about to make you."
"Proposition?"
He stared at the tousled hair spread around her, at the smooth shoulders and ripe breasts barely hidden by her ruined garments, at the wild jumble of feelings visible in her face. She was the most improbable and exasperating female he had encountered in quite some time. She had squirmed, evaded, and resisted him… protested, dissembled, and avoided him… since the first minute he set eyes on her. Now, with him poised on the brink of making mad, passionate love to her, she lay beneath him apologizing for her ineptness as a woman of passion and dragging out a sordid family history by way of explanation! And as if that weren't enough, she announced that now she intended to make him a proposition.
It was just too much for his jaded sensibilities to resist. Exotic, rapacious, or even rapturous sex he could have anytime. It wasn't every night he was propositioned by a self-confessed lousy lover… who had a noble father, a yet-to-be-chosen fiancé, a flaming courtesan for a mother… and the air of a cranky debutante. She had to be one of the most entertaining street tarts in London. And, for some unfathomable reason, his fingertips itched when he looked at her.
"What sort of proposition?" he demanded, shifting to one side, on his elbow.
"Well, it's a rather unusual one. And I would have you understand that I am compelled only by desperate circumstances to so desperate an act." She paused to gather her courage and announced with great gravity: "You see, I've turned nineteen and my mother thinks it's time I fell madly and passionately in love."
"She does, does she?" He bit his lip. "I wasn't aware there was such a strict timetable for such things. Rather like British Rail, is it? 'Young girls with names beginning with the letter 'G' depart for amorous bliss promptly at seven twenty-three . .
She gasped and pushed violently with both hands, forcing him up onto his arms above her as she tried to wriggle away.
"Whoa—come back, here!" He caught her.
"I assure you this is no laughing matter," she said hotly. "This afternoon, she introduced me to a detestable French count, and I… well, I didn't react favorably to his manner of wooing, and he left in a terrible huff. My mother was furious. You see, she wants me to take a lover and have a grand and glorious romance, like she did. Something for the ages… a fiery, scintillating affair of the heart and body and soul… a love to be immortalized in sonnets and
"Trust me, your lordship, a man of your expertise and experience would most certainly be disappointed." She drew a jerky breath and looked up at him, forcing back the waves of terror pounding at the edge of her awareness.
"You may have noticed… I am not very adept at this 'passion' business. My amorous skills are dismal, at best." His smile lost a degree or two of heat.
"Oh, it's not that my mother hasn't tried to instruct me. The problem seems to be that I haven't shown any particular aptitude for the amorous arts.
That… and I have an abysmal lack of interest in the subject."
"What in hell are you talking about?" he demanded.
Whether it was prudent or not, whether she had thought it through fully or not, the time had come to try out the desperate plan that was still half formed in her head.
"It's something of a story, I'm afraid… but, if you will just be patient…
You may recall, I said I was out on the streets tonight because of my mother
—that we argued fiercely." She saw his impatience rising and backed up to start again. "First you should know… my mother is a very beautiful and elegant woman, and for years she has been the mistress of a wealthy nobleman who—"
"Stop!" He raised a hand, glowering. "What the devil does your mother have to do with any of this?"
"She has everything to do with it… and with the proposition I'm about to make you."
"Proposition?"
He stared at the tousled hair spread around her, at the smooth shoulders and ripe breasts barely hidden by her ruined garments, at the wild jumble of feelings visible in her face. She was the most improbable and exasperating female he had encountered in quite some time. She had squirmed, evaded, and resisted him… protested, dissembled, and avoided him… since the first minute he set eyes on her. Now, with him poised on the brink of making mad, passionate love to her, she lay beneath him apologizing for her ineptness as a woman of passion and dragging out a sordid family history by way of explanation! And as if that weren't enough, she announced that now she intended to make him a proposition.
It was just too much for his jaded sensibilities to resist. Exotic, rapacious, or even rapturous sex he could have anytime. It wasn't every night he was propositioned by a self-confessed lousy lover… who had a noble father, a yet-to-be-chosen fiancé, a flaming courtesan for a mother… and the air of a cranky debutante. She had to be one of the most entertaining street tarts in London. And, for some unfathomable reason, his fingertips itched when he looked at her.
"What sort of proposition?" he demanded, shifting to one side, on his elbow.
"Well, it's a rather unusual one. And I would have you understand that I am compelled only by desperate circumstances to so desperate an act." She paused to gather her courage and announced with great gravity: "You see, I've turned nineteen and my mother thinks it's time I fell madly and passionately in love."
"She does, does she?" He bit his lip. "I wasn't aware there was such a strict timetable for such things. Rather like British Rail, is it? 'Young girls with names beginning with the letter 'G' depart for amorous bliss promptly at seven twenty-three . .
She gasped and pushed violently with both hands, forcing him up onto his arms above her as she tried to wriggle away.
"Whoa—come back, here!" He caught her.
"I assure you this is no laughing matter," she said hotly. "This afternoon, she introduced me to a detestable French count, and I… well, I didn't react favorably to his manner of wooing, and he left in a terrible huff. My mother was furious. You see, she wants me to take a lover and have a grand and glorious romance, like she did. Something for the ages… a fiery, scintillating affair of the heart and body and soul… a love to be immortalized in sonnets and
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