Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(41)

But he had a belly.

Perhaps all else could have been hidden by dim candles and firelight, but she’d admired that body, thought of it as a gift of the gods.

This could not be him.

Even a month of Christmas dinners could not result in this great a change.

She was wrong again, had allowed herself to wander down a foolish path again.

Disappointment welled within her.

A tear rose to her eye.

She’d been so sure. So confident that this time she was right. Her eyes might have deceived her, her own desires fooled her, but her ears? Surely, she could not have been so mistaken?

Only she was.

And the worst was that she knew this man, had talked to him in the past, laughed at his strangely piercing sense of humor.

She didn’t know him well. Her place had been well removed from his, but she knew him.

Mirth.

The Duke of Mirth.

A man old enough to be her father.





Chapter Thirteen





Geoffrey could only stare at the woman as he watched the warmth slip from her face, as he watched those plump lips tighten and then relax.

It seemed impossible that his body had responded in such a way to her.

Lady Brookingston was the wife of one of his school friends.

The first time he’d seen her had been at a ball similar to this one. She’d been standing next to John, shoulders straight, head perfectly poised, her face slightly defiant as she gazed about the room. But she’d greeted him graciously, her gentle smile seeming to evoke in him a quiet peaceful feeling the likes of which he’d never known.

He’d thought at the time that Brookingston had found a perfect wife, a wife who would help bring tranquillity into the chaotic world in which they all lived.

He’d found her attractive, in a well-bred sort of way—quite young, with refined features, sleek but unremarkable hair bound tight to her head, and a good enough figure, though nothing that would make a man turn his head and follow her with his eyes.

He’d been drawn to her, he could not deny that, but it’d had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the soft grace that seemed to surround her.

Or had he been lying to himself—had she always possessed that something that called to his body, that made him wish to nibble at her neck, and then lower?

There was no denying that a few moments ago he would have been ready to take her into the gardens, find some hidden spot, and plunge into her without further preliminaries. His mind had filled with images of her pressed against a low stone wall, her skirts up, her white thighs parted, her moisture glistening beneath the night sky.

But, damn, that was not what he saw now. All he saw now was his friend’s wife, a woman he’d thought was all a wife should be: proper, restrained, controlled, a woman who would never cause a man doubt, never cause his blood to boil—for any reason.

And yet there were those succulent lips, lips that spoke of anything but restraint. How had he never noticed them before?

Why was he noticing them now?

His body cooled and fired at once. He could not lust after Brookingston’s wife—or should he say widow? His friend was long in the grave.

He tried to remember if he’d seen her since the death, and couldn’t.

Well, what did it matter? He’d pay his respects to her and that would be it. There was no reason to let his mind dwell on her, even if his body had its own ideas.

“She does have something about her, doesn’t she?” The voice came from behind.

Geoffrey turned and observed his friend and neighbor, Stephan Perth, the Earl of Duldon. “I am not sure to whom you refer,” he replied.

“Lady Brookingston,” Duldon answered with a nod of his head. “It’s the first affair she’s been to in years, since long before Brookingston’s death. She’s always been one to prefer the quiet and the country—or so rumor goes. But now she’s back, and you know what that means.”

“No, I can’t say that I do.” Geoffrey felt his back stiffen at his friend’s informal tone.

“She’s husband hunting. It’s the only thing that brings that type back to Town once they escape. She’s looking for a man to warm her bed. I’d be interested myself if it was just that, but she’s the type to think the vicar needs to be involved. Still, if what I hear about her income and estates is correct, it’s no wonder that half the men here are looking her over.”

Squelching the anger that erupted at his friend’s words, Geoffrey calmly focused his attention on Duldon’s face, ignoring the strangely tempting Lady Brookingston. “Income?”

“Apparently she brought quite a portion into her marriage, a portion that remained hers after Brookingston’s death. And then she inherited more from a maiden aunt or some such. Plus, Brookingston’s estates were largely unentailed and rumor has it he left all he could to her. The lady may be worth a bloody fortune—or so rumor says.” Duldon leaned back against the wall, crossing one booted foot over the other. “Not that it matters to you.”

“Rumor? Since when have you listened to rumor?”

“I listen all the time—particularly to the financial ones. They may not always be completely true, but they normally give an indication of what is happening or what is about to happen. It’s amazing how much a man can learn simply by keeping his ears open and his face still.”