The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(59)

“Yes. Not entirely drunken but not quite sober, either.”

She patted herself atop her head. “I like my fuzzy head. Quite a lot. And I quite like brandy as well.” She stretched and splayed her legs and arms across the bed like an X.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied with another throaty laugh.

Daphne snapped her fingers. “Let’s play a game.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. “Cards?”

“No. No. Let’s play that game we played the other night but without the cards. I cannot concentrate on maths with my fuzzy head.”

“What game?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

She waved a hand in the air. “You know. The question game.”

“Pardon?”

She turned to face him. “I’ll ask you a question and you must tell the truth and then you ask me a question and I must tell the truth.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s not precisely how it went.”

“Don’t be so stuffy. I’ll even allow you to go first.”

“Stuffy?” His voice was full of effrontery. “Me?”

“Yes, now go on. Ask me something, anything. I promise to answer truthfully.”

“Very well.” He paused for a few moments. “Why did you pick Lord Fitzwell? From your list?”

Daphne blinked dumbly. Her head was fuzzy indeed. “Why would you ask something like that?”

Rafe’s grin was downright devilish. “That’s not an answer, and you promised to answer truthfully.”

She sighed and stretched again. Better not to look at him. Yes. Much better. Er, safer. “So I did. Let’s see…” She tapped a finger along the tip of her nose. “I picked him because he met all my requirements.”

“Your requirements?”

“Yes. On my list.”

“And what requirements were those?” Rafe leaned against one of the posts and crossed his stockinged feet at the ankles.

“You know, titled, rich, handsome, loyal.”

“So, it’s safe to say, I’m not on your list. I only have two of those four requirements.”

She shrugged one shoulder, steadfastly ignoring his claim and vowing not to guess which two he thought he had. “It’s the type of list a lady must make when looking for a suitable husband.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes on her. “But you don’t even know Lord Fitzwell.”

“I knew him as well as most ladies know their future husbands. I knew his family. I saw him from time to time at various events about town. We even went riding in the park once or twice.” She punctuated her sentence with a firm nod.

“Once?” Rafe’s voice dripped with skepticism.

“Or twice. With the promise to do it again sometime.”

“How exciting.” This time Rafe’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I knew enough about him. I knew he doesn’t drink much. He doesn’t gamble to excess. And he would never be found with a blond in his bed.”

“He sounds like a dead bore.” Rafe unbuttoned his shirt.

Daphne swallowed. Why was he unbuttoning his shirt? Had he done that the other nights? Slept shirtless and she hadn’t noticed? How had she failed to notice that? “That’s exactly the sort of thing I’d expect someone like you to say,” she replied.

“Someone like me?” He pulled his shirt over his head.

Daphne nearly gulped audibly. “Yes,” she managed to answer him, but her eyes were devouring his muscled chest. Good God. How had she missed this little nightly ritual? Or was she only imagining it due to her fuzzy head? “Do you have your shirt off?” she asked, clearing her throat.

He chuckled. “Yes. My apologies if I am offending your ladylike sensibilities. But I need a fresh one.”

“I shouldn’t be looking.”

His gaze met hers. Sparks leaped between them. “Then why are you?”

Her face heated. Her cheeks boiled. She turned away toward the wall.

“Please do explain,” Rafe continued.

“Explain what?” Daphne’s voice was muffled against the wooden wall.

“Who ‘someone like me’ is? What did you mean by that?”

She wiggled under the sheets and forced herself to turn back to face him. He was standing directly next to the bed. Daphne’s head swam. Her eyes locked to his bare chest. Fuzzy brain, indeed. She took a deep breath. “I only meant that you’re everything he’s not. You drink. You gamble. You—”

“Kiss you?” He captured her wrist, brought it to his lips and kissed it. Daphne couldn’t stop her shudder.

She snatched her hand away. “Don’t.”

“Why?” he said, looking down at her, his voice growing louder, laced with a bit of anger. “Afraid you might actually feel something? You’re right. I’m everything he’s not and I’m also much more. Do you think your Lord Fitzwell has an adventurous bone in his body? By God, the most excitement the man has had is an unexpected nosebleed. Do you think your Lord Fitzwell has fought for his country? Watched men die for his country? He hasn’t. The most he’s done is read about it in the papers and shake his head. You say I don’t know you, Daphne, but I do. I know you pretend to want to plan everything, and maybe you do, but deep down you’re adventurous, just like I am. Drawing rooms are too stuffy for you. A man like Fitzwell would bore you to tears in the space of six months. But if you want to waste your beauty and intelligence and talents on him or someone like him, by all means, don’t let me stop you.”