The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(28)

Anna opened her eyes wide. “I did offer three different options, my lord.”

“And all of them were out of the question, as you well know.” He smiled evilly. “I think I’ve given you quite enough time to come up with a name. You shall produce one now.”

She was amused by his obvious intention to put her on the spot. “Stripe?”

“Too juvenile.”

“Tiberius?”

“Too imperial.”

“Othello?”

“Too murderous.” Lord Swartingham folded his arms across his chest. “Come, come, Mrs. Wren. A woman of your wit can do better than this.”

“How about ‘Jock,’ then?”

“That won’t do.”

“Why not?” Anna retorted saucily. “I like the name Jock.”

“Jock.” The earl seemed to roll the name on his tongue.

“I wager the dog will come if I call him by that name.”

“Ha.” He stared down his nose in the superior manner of males the world over when dealing with silly females. “You are welcome to try.”

“Very well, I shall.” She tilted her chin. “And if he comes, you must show me around the Abbey’s gardens.”

Lord Swartingham raised his eyebrows. “And if he doesn’t come?”

“I don’t know.” She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Name your prize.”

He pursed his lips and contemplated the ground at his feet. “I believe it is traditional in wagers between a woman and a man for the gentleman to ask for a favor from the lady.”

Anna drew in a breath and then had trouble releasing it.

The earl’s black eyes glittered at her from beneath his brows. “Perhaps a kiss?”

Oh, dear. Possibly she had been precipitous. Anna let out her breath in a puff and straightened her shoulders. “Very well.”

He waved a languid hand. “Proceed.”

Anna cleared her throat. “Jock!”

Nothing.

“Jock!”

Lord Swartingham began to smirk.

Anna drew a deep breath and let loose a most unladylike shriek. “JOCK!”

They both listened for the dog. Nothing.

The earl slowly pivoted to face her, the crunching of his boots in the gravel drive loud in the stillness. They stood only a few feet distant. He took a step, his beautiful, heavy-lidded eyes intent on her face.

Anna could feel the blood pounding in her chest. She licked her lips.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his nostrils flared. He took another step, and they were now only a foot apart. As if in a dream, she saw his hands rise and grip her arms, felt the pressure of his big fingers through her mantle and gown.

Anna began to tremble.

He bent his dark head toward hers, and his warm breath caressed her lips. She closed her eyes.

And heard the dog clatter into the yard.

Anna opened her eyes. Lord Swartingham was frozen. Slowly, he turned his head, still only inches from hers, to stare at the canine. The dog grinned back, tongue hanging from his mouth, panting.

“Shit,” the earl breathed.

Quite, Anna thought.

He let go of her suddenly, stepped away, and turned his back. He ran both hands through his hair and shook his shoulders. She heard him take a deep breath, but his voice was still husky when he spoke. “It appears you have won the wager.”

“Yes, my lord.” She hoped she sounded sufficiently nonchalant, as if she was used to having gentlemen nearly kiss her in their driveways. As if she wasn’t having trouble catching her breath. As if she didn’t desperately wish the dog had stayed far, far away.

“I’ll be pleased to show you the gardens,” the earl muttered, “such as they are, after luncheon. Perhaps you can work in the library until then?”

“Won’t you be coming to the library as well?” She tried to conceal her disappointment.

He still hadn’t turned to face her. “I find that there are matters that need my attention around the estate.”

“Of course,” Anna murmured.

He finally looked at her. She noticed his eyes were still heavy lidded, and she rather fancied he glanced at her bosom. “I’ll see you at luncheon.”

She nodded, and the earl snapped his fingers at the dog. As he passed her, she thought she heard him mutter something to the beast. It sounded more like idiot than Jock.

JESUS GOD, WHAT was I thinking? Edward strode angrily around the Abbey.

He’d deliberately maneuvered Mrs. Wren into an untenable position. There was no way she could have denied his crude advances. As if a woman of her fine sensibilities would have welcomed a kiss from a pox-scarred man such as he. But he hadn’t thought of his scars when he drew her into his arms. He hadn’t thought of anything. He’d acted on pure instinct: the lust to touch that beautiful, erotic mouth. His cock had been full, achingly erect, in seconds at the mere thought. He’d nearly been unable to let go of Mrs. Wren when the dog had showed up, and then he’d been forced to turn his back to keep her from getting an eyeful. He still hadn’t relaxed.

“And what were you doing, Jock?” Edward growled down at the happily oblivious mastiff. “Your timing needs work, lad, if you want to continue devouring the bounty of the Abbey’s kitchen.”