Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(19)

He shifted nearer. “Please come out. I don’t know how else to apologize.”

She sniffed, trying to hold back tears.



Bloody hell. He knew that noise. A man with four sisters could not escape knowing what that noise meant. She was going to cry. And not a delicate tear or two, but a good blubber.

He had to do something. He barely tolerated his sisters’ tears—he was certainly not going to deal with hers.

And it was his fault. His chest tightened. He should not have laughed, but there had been no way to stop. If only she could have seen herself, perched on all fours and trying to turn her head to stare at the ceiling. No, it was probably best she had no idea that she’d looked so amusing—although still desirable.

He would have enjoyed positioning her just so—only without the neck turn.

Sheep.

She was modeling her lovemaking on sheep. Had nobody ever bothered to tell her anything, anything besides to look at the ceiling?

It was a wonder the upper class didn’t just die out.

Another sniffle. This one quite loud.

He had to do something. “Come on out, my sweet, and I’ll make you feel all better.”

Another sniffle.

“I’ll let you touch me, taste me.”

A pillow came sailing at him—or at least in his general direction. “Do you think I want to touch any part of you after that?”

Pillow fight. Would a pillow fight distract her? Plenty of fun could be had in the midst of a good tussle.

No. He didn’t think that was the answer now. But there had to be something that would get her out.

“How about if I tell you something embarrassing about myself. Something so bad I would stab my eyes out if another person knew.”

A half-sniff. “Nothing could be that bad.”

“I assure you that it is.”

He could feel her thinking.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she answered after a moment.

That was definite progress. “So should I tell you?”

No response.

“I am only going to tell you if you say yes.”

The pillows shifted. “Yes.” It was so quiet he had to strain to hear.

And that gave him another idea.

He leaned back on his elbows and reclined, staring up at the canopy. It was probably good that Grace could not see. The embroidered nymphs were doing some things definitely not meant for virgin eyes. Although, perhaps if she’d seen it first they wouldn’t be in this mess. None of the nymphs was trying to stare at the ceiling.

“I am waiting.” He could hear an edge of impatience in her voice.

Good. That was far better than tears.

What to tell her? He was tempted to lie, but sensed that only the truth would work.

“My family all think I am a prude,” he began.

“That is impossible.” The pillows shifted a little more and he could see a few stray dark curls peeking out.

“No, it is quite true. My sister has told me so to my face—in fact, more than one of them has. The youngest has even said I am a stick-in-the-mud. They don’t believe I have fun.”

“I still don’t see how …”

“I am not like the rest of my family. I’ve always been the odd one out, and they delight in telling me so, again and again.”

“You don’t seem like a prude to me.” Her toes edged out from beneath a huge white pillow.

“I daresay I don’t, but let us say I have never showed this side of my nature to my family.”

“I should hope not.” A bit of ankle—and over there he could see a full shoulder.

He lowered his voice. “You are right, but they only see me as the man who keeps the accounts, tells them they are spending too much, and tries to counsel them to better behavior.”

“Is your father dead then?”

Again he considered lying. His family was rather unusual and he didn’t want her to know too much. But he kept to the truth. “No, but he is the worst of the bunch. I took over managing the estates when I was thirteen and it took him two years to notice.”

“I can’t believe that.” He could see the top of her head now. He’d be able to see her eyes if it weren’t for the damn blindfold. He wished he could see them, could get a hint of her thoughts.

“It is true. Although the estates are rather large, so perhaps that is the reason.”

Her full face emerged. The blindfold was pushed up on one side and he could see more of her cheek. He would have reached out to stroke it, but was afraid of frightening her off.

He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “He is not a bad man, merely a little scattered, with no conception of consequence. He has always felt above public opinion.”

She edged nearer, one delicious breast appearing from her nest of pillows. “I understand how one would not like to be seen as a prude by one’s family, but that does not sound so embarrassing. And surely others know, and yet you still have your eyes.”

“No, I have not reached the worst of it.”

“Oh.”

“But you must come closer so that I can whisper. I can barely even say the words aloud.”

Some hesitation, but then she wiggled completely out, revealing herself inch by inch—all creamy skin and gentle curves. There was still some space between them, but only a little.