A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(68)

“Sir Lewis?” He rapped smartly on the doorjamb.

“Not now, please,” her father replied, his voice hazy.

“He’s working,” Susanna whispered. “No one disturbs him when he’s working.”

Bram only raised his voice. “Sir Lewis, it’s Bramwell. I need to speak with you on a matter of some urgency.”

Good God. Susanna urgently needed to knock some sense into this man.

Her father sighed. “Very well, then. Go on to my library. I’ll meet you there in a moment.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Bram turned on his heel without further comment, making his way toward Sir Lewis’s library. Susanna stood there for a moment, dumbstruck, wondering whether her best hopes lay in reasoning with Bram or distracting her father. Perhaps she ought to simply run upstairs, pack a valise, and abscond to a small, uncharted territory. She’d heard the Sandwich Islands were lovely this time of year.

The idea was tempting, but she took her chances with the library. Bram stood grim and monolithic in the center of the Egyptian-themed room, looking like a man awaiting his own funeral.

“Why on earth are you doing this?” she asked, shutting the door. Obviously, not because he wished to.

“Because it’s the honorable thing. The only thing I can do.” He released a curt sigh. “I should not have done what I did last night if I weren’t prepared to do this today.”

“But don’t I enter this question at all? Don’t you have the slightest regard for my feelings in the matter?”

“I have every regard for you and your feelings. That’s the point. You’re a gentlewoman, and last night I took your virtue.”

“You didn’t take it. I gave it. Freely, and with no expectations.”

He shook his head. “Listen, I know you’re full of modern ideas. But my own views on marriage are more traditional. Or medieval, as you’re so fond of saying. If a man deflowers a gently bred virgin in a public square, he ought to marry her. End of story.”

End of story. That was the problem, wasn’t it? She might not be so panicked at the idea of marrying him—in fact, the prospect might make her dizzyingly happy—if he saw their wedding as the beginning of a story. A story that included love and a home and a family, and ended with the words “happily ever after.”

But he didn’t, as his next words made clear.

“It will come out to your advantage, you’ll see. We’ll marry before I go back to war, and then you’ll be free to do as you please. You’ll be Lady Rycliff. You can continue your work, but as a countess. It can only help the village’s reputation.” As an offhand addition, he told the desk blotter, “I have money. A good deal of it. You’ll be well provided for.”

“How very practical,” she muttered. It had been many years since Susanna had daydreamed about receiving marriage offers, but she was certain none of those imagined proposals had sounded quite like this.

She moved into his line of sight, standing in front of her father’s desk. She placed both hands on the desk’s carved wood edge and hoisted herself up so that she sat on the desktop, legs dangling.

“I don’t lack money. Nor do I lack social influence. If you go through with this fool plan this morning, however, you may find yourself lacking a pulse.” She raised her hands to shoulder height. “Every room of this house holds lethal weaponry. You do realize, there’s a solid chance my father could kill you.”

If he doesn’t collapse of an apoplexy first.

He shrugged. “If I were him, I’d want to kill me, too.”

“And even if he doesn’t,” she went on, “he could ruin you. Strip you of all your honors and insignia. Have you demoted to the lowest rank of foot soldier.”

He didn’t reply right away. Aha. So that argument made some impression.

“Think of your commission, Bram. And please stop being so dratted chivalrous, or I’ll . . .” She gestured wildly toward the alabaster sarcophagus. “Or I’ll stuff you in that coffin and close the lid.”

His brow quirked. “When you talk like that, you know you only make me want you more.”

He took a step forward, drawing close. Too close.

“This isn’t just chivalry.” His voice was a low, arousing rumble. His hand brushed her calf, and desire forked through her like lightning. “You must know that. What we shared last night? I want to do it again. And again. And again. Hard and fast. Slow and sweet. Every way in between.”

A long, languid sigh escaped her lips. Just those words had her warm and pink all over. How stupid she’d been, to think one taste of passion would satisfy her for a lifetime. She would hunger for this man as long as she lived.

He leaned in for a kiss, but she put a hand to his chest. Keeping some distance between them, but also maintaining contact. Enjoying the strong, male feel of him under her touch.

“Bram,” she said, swallowing hard, “lust isn’t a good reason to marry.”

He paused to reflect. “I think it’s the reason most people marry.”

“We’re not most people.” She felt herself frowning as she searched for a way to make him understand. “This may be silly to say now, after all that’s happened between us, but I . . . I like you.”