Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(47)

No, that last was not right—or was it? She held out her hand and let him lead her back into the ball.



Blast. He should have known better than to take her out into the garden. Walking in the garden at an affair such as this had one purpose—and it was not one he was free to indulge in with Lady Brookingston, no matter what his trousers and his fantasies might tell him. She was a lady, and one did not shove ladies against the wall and hike their skirts to their waists; one did not sink one’s cock into them with no preliminaries beyond a swat on the behind; one did not …

It was useless to think about what one did not do. The only thing that accomplished was to change the drape of his trousers to a considerable degree. He was going to have to excuse himself to smoke a cheroot as soon as he’d escorted Louisa back in. There was no way that he’d be dancing while his cock was fighting its way above his flap.

Louisa stopped and turned, looking up at him, a question in her eyes. “Did I displease you somehow, Lord Swanston? I feel that you are hurrying to be rid of me.”

Was he? Yes. And no.

He stilled, and taking both her hands raised them to his lips. “I am sorry. I suppose I’ve had enough of doing my duty and am eager for the card room.”

He watched her face fall. That was not what he had meant to say—although for the life of him he didn’t know what to say. I am sorry, my dear, you’ve made me most uncomfortable. If you don’t mind dropping to your knees and sucking me off I’d be pleased to continue this conversation. No, he didn’t think that would work.

“I do understand.” She attempted a smile. “A man can take only so much of a woman’s chatter. My father always said that.”

“No, that’s not—”

But Louisa had spun away and slipped back into the dancing crowd.

He stood a moment, staring after her, then turned and walked back to the gardens.

His cock was no longer bursting the seams of his trousers, but he definitely needed a moment to decide what he wanted.



“No, Lord Peter. I am afraid I cannot accept your proposal.” Louisa looked down at her hands as she spoke. Although the words had burst from her lips before she’d even had a chance to think, refusing a marriage proposal was far harder than she had imagined. Knowing she was going to marry John had saved her from this when she’d been a young girl. Now, it was only the thought that it was her entire life that was at stake that allowed the words past her lips.

“Well, that’s that then,” Lord Peter replied. He did not seem particularly put out. “Do you think I could have a brandy? This proposing is tiring stuff.”

No, he was definitely not heartbroken.

He pinched his lips. “Would you have said yes if I’d waited longer? I admit that two weeks is not long, but I didn’t want to let any of the other fellows get the run on me.”

“No, I don’t think time would have made a difference. I am just not sure we would be happy together. I have a kitten, and I know you like hounds.”

“Oh, yes, definitely wouldn’t work then. You are a most sensible woman.” Lord Peter looked more than relieved—both, she thought, by her refusal and by his being presented with a quite reasonable explanation.

“Can I have the maid fetch some sweets? My cook does make the best ginger biscuits, and I am sure that I smelled some baking this morning.”

Lord Peter smiled. “That would be quite delightful.”

Louisa smiled in return. She’d learned far more from Madame Rouge than only what to do in the bedroom. In the future she just might keep a pastry tray and a decanter of brandy at her side when gentlemen came calling.



“Lady Brookingston, would you do me the great honor of accepting my hand,” Lord Walton exclaimed with a flourish.

Why did she feel that he thought he was doing her the honor? And why did he possibly think that she’d accept? He’d only called on her twice. Did that make a courtship?

She certainly didn’t think so. And he’d spent most of both visits pricing the silver and the furniture. He’d even had the effrontery to ask if her house was rented or if it had come to her as part of her settlements.

“No, Lord Walton, I cannot accept your proposal.”

“Well, why ever not? You do know I am quite eligible don’t you?” Lord Walton was looking up at her, his mouth an O of surprise.

“I am quite sure you are, but I do not believe we would suit,” she answered, not sure what one should say under such circumstances.

“Well, I think we’d suit very well. You’re quite attractive and I am handsome myself. I can assure you that you would have nothing to worry about in the bedroom—I’ve been told I am rather accomplished in the matter. If that’s what deters you I’d be pleased to demonstrate.”

What?

Before she could react, he reached out and clamped a hand on each of her breasts and squeezed, rather as if trying to determine if a peach was ripe.

Taking a hurried step back, she freed herself. “I am quite sure that you are most … most distinguished in the bedroom, but—”

“Oh, you like to play shy.” He took a step forward, hands still raised, eyes locked on her breasts. Was that drool in the corner of his mouth?

“No. I do not play anything.” Louisa marched hurriedly to the door and out into the hall. “I truly do not think we’d suit. And I find that I have forgotten an appointment.” She turned and hurried up the stairs. “My porter will see you out.”