The Earl of Davenport: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club #7)(12)

And she didn’t want to.

He pulled her closer so she was pressed against him fully and the heated intimacy of it made a noise escape her throat, but it wasn’t exactly a cry of protest. It was rather more like a moan or a whimper. It begged him to continue even as a distant part of her brain came awake, telling her this was foolish and incredibly imprudent.

He was to marry Claire. What was she doing kissing her sister’s fiancé?

That sisterly loyalty was what finally gave her the strength to push him away and spin around. Pressing a hand against her lips, she tried to regain control of her senses. Her breathing ragged, she closed her eyes and willed her mind to work once more.

His hands on her shoulders did not help matters. The touch was hardly inappropriate but it sent her mind into chaos as she resisted the impulse to lean back against his hard chest. And now she knew just how hard it was. Hard and muscular in a way she’d never be able to forget.

“Anne.” His voice behind her was low and surprisingly tender. “Please, don’t turn away from me. Rant and rave all you like, but I’d like to see your eyes when I ask you this next question.”

She spun around so quickly his hands fell away. “Are you still pretending you are here to propose to me?” Anger was a welcome refuge. Really, he was taking this too far. The mischievous glint in his eyes did nothing to appease her.

“I am not pretending anything. I realize I ought to speak with your brother first, but I wanted to make sure you were agreeable to the idea.”

Her brow furrowed as she studied his eyes, his expression, trying to find some hint of what sort of game he was playing.

His lips—oh heavens, those lips—twisted up into a lopsided smile that made her heart gallop. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind?”

Her heart squeezed painfully. Beautiful? Her? Did he really think so or was he still teasing? Either way, his words left her breathless, as did that knowing little smile. Oh sweet mercy, she’d thought she’d gotten over her childhood fantasies where this man was concerned, but apparently not. Moving away from him, she struggled to make sense of this new turn of events. “What are you about?” she asked, turning to face him from a safe distance.

His smile grew and she knew without a doubt how he’d earned his nickname. He was too tempting by far, and there was a naughtiness about him, even when he smiled, as though he were forever up to something wicked.

“Might I suggest you have a seat,” he said, motioning toward the settee. “You seem quite perturbed considering I am here to make all of your problems disappear.”

She fell into the seat he’d indicated, not to make him happy but because her legs seemed to have lost the ability to function. He would make all their problems disappear? That meant she’d been right from the start. He was here to marry her sister and save them all.

Too many emotions were coursing through her to name. Relief was the easiest to understand. He would do it. He’d save them from financial ruin.

She stared up at his wicked smile and then whispered, “Oh, please don’t toy with my emotions, my lord. Have you really come to propose to Claire?”

He sat beside her and his soft laughter made her temporarily forget everything except for how nice his laugh sounded when it was genuine.

His hand reached out and stroked a lock of her hair back from her face. “My dear Anne, how many times do I have to tell you that I am here for you, not your sister.”

She shook her head. “But that doesn’t make any sense at all. You cannot marry me—”

“Why not?” he demanded. Oh heavens, when he used that tone it was impossible to forget that he was an earl. He sounded affronted to be told he could not do something, even if it was as ridiculous as marrying her.

“Because you cannot,” she insisted. She could feel heat rushing to her cheeks as she silently begged him to not make her say it aloud.

His jaw was set stubbornly and his brows were low as he fixed her with a glare, demanding that she answer.

“Claire is the one with the dowry,” she started.

He waved a hand. “I have no need for money.”

She swallowed a nervous laugh at that. How nice it must be to be able to wave aside a small fortune as though it was nothing. “But she is the eldest, and—”

“What do I care for her age?” he asked. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he leaned forward, “You are of a marriageable age, are you not?”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Of course she was, as he very well knew. “A gentleman does not ask after a lady’s age.”

His answering grin made her heart thump and her mind blank. What had she been saying?

Cocking his head to the side, he studied her as he trailed one finger down her cheek to her chin. Using that finger, he tipped her chin up so she was forced to meet his gaze. For a moment she couldn’t breathe at what she saw there. Undisguised desire. A fiery heat that made her shiver with its intensity.

No, not just its intensity. She shivered because she recognized it, the same heat coiling low in her belly and making her ache for something she could not name.

“Any further objections or shall I assume you’re amenable to a wedding?”

She blinked rapidly. “You cannot be serious.”

One corner of his mouth hitched up. She saw it and soon found she couldn’t look away. Her eyes were firmly fixed on his lips as he spoke again. “You keep saying that but you have not given me a single reason why my suit would be in jest.”