Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(46)

Then her gloved hand rose to her lips, caressing them, brushing at their fullness.

Would she put a finger in and suck?

“Do I have something on my face?” She brushed her hands across her mouth again. “You are staring at me as if I still had jam and toast crumbs on my lips.”

He turned away quickly. “No. Sorry, I fear I had become lost in thought. I was wondering whether it would rain enough now that the fields are plowed and planted.” Although it was certainly not fields he’d been thinking about plowing. He’d have to be more careful. Never before had he felt so at risk of exposing his desires.

And perhaps that was the problem with her as a wife. He did not wish a wife who would threaten his control, not in any way.

He would have to think carefully before taking any further action.

He turned, caught her smile, and … “If the weather is still fine tomorrow are you free to accompany me again? Or perhaps a drive? I had promised you one, and my curricle is fine.”



Another day. Another ball. It was becoming hard to tell one from the last. And if one more man trounced on her toes she was going to scream. Louisa looked about the Sweets’ crowded ballroom and sighed. Husband hunting was harder than she had imagined. It wasn’t that she wasn’t meeting men, it wasn’t even that she wasn’t meeting the right men, it was simply that none of them were the right man. She hadn’t thought she was going to be picky. She’d made a simple list—responsible, attractive enough, caring, would make a good father. She hadn’t thought she wanted more than that. And yet …

And yet, she found some problem with each of them.

Lord Peter always made her feel that she was doing something wrong. And, to be quite frank, he was not that smart and was a little too fond of his dogs. She liked pets, but not in a carriage or dining room. And from Lord Peter’s words, she thought they might even join him in the bedroom.

Lord Browning was impossible to talk to. The man never answered in words of more than one syllable.

Swanston could be quiet, but he did answer if spoken to.

Lord Temple had snake hands. She didn’t need more reason than that.

Mr. Simpkins presented possibility, but he already had five children from his first wife.

Lord Samson was much too clearly only after her purse. She accepted that it was one of her finer features in most men’s eyes, but she did wish they would at least occasionally glance at the rest of her. She did not like the feeling that once the bills were paid she might be left on her own.

Lord Walton left her feeling like she had dirt on her face and crumbs on her dress. He seemed to be too busy thinking about his own superiority to notice anything interesting about her—and when he did notice her, it was to correct her.

Had she missed anyone? Aah, there was Mr. Jacks. There was nothing she could think of wrong with him. He had a steady income, was tall and attractive, and frequently mentioned playing with his nephews. He would be a good choice—only he didn’t interest her.

She held in another sigh. No, this was definitely not easy.

“Would you care to dance?” Swanston’s voice echoed over her shoulder.

She turned with a smile. The man was so easy to be with. She didn’t have to think about every response when she was with him; he wanted nothing but her company. “I would enjoy that very much.” She held out her hand and allowed him to sweep her onto the dance floor.

It was a country dance and there was little possibility of conversation, but that was fine. Each gentle touch of hands conveyed thought and care. She wasn’t sure why she felt so comfortable with him, but she did—and she wasn’t going to waste time worrying about it.

Not when she had a husband to find.

The dance ended and Swanston gestured to the balcony. “Would you care for some air?”

She nodded. That was another nice thing about the man: She didn’t have to worry about whether each invitation for a turn outside would become a game of avoiding hands and kisses. If anything, she wished that he’d show a little more interest in those matters. It didn’t do much for her sense of attractiveness to be invited out to look at the stars—and then to actually look at the stars.

The gardens were cooler than the heated ballroom, and Louisa drew in a deep breath of the clean air. “I do love the scent of a garden.”

“Of flowers?” Swanston moved to stand behind her, and she was immediately aware of his size and strength.

“No, just of plants—of life. Even when nothing is blooming I think you can smell the potential, sense what will grow with care and time. Do I sound ridiculous?”

“No.” He reached out and brushed a curl from her cheek. “I’ve always liked looking for potential and then nurturing it.”

She shivered.

“You are cold?”

“No.” She looked up and met his gaze—and for a moment, thought she saw something, felt something. His gaze swept from her eyes down to her lips and settled there. Was he going to kiss her? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought, and her thighs tightened in anticipation.

Abruptly, he turned away, then stepped away. “We should go back in. I hear the orchestra starting to play again. I am sure you have many eager suitors waiting for your hand.”

She wanted to stay, to linger a moment more, to enjoy the garden, the quiet, to enjoy him.