Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance) (22 page)

He did kiss well, didn’t he? She couldn’t forget that about him. Their position was intimate. When had he moved so close to her? Her stomach dove when she understood he meant to kiss her. Again. Without them being in the heat of mad passion.

“Ginny.” His hand slid around her waist and settled into the small of her back.

“My lord?”

“Mm?”
His fingers angled downward. “If you’re not going to call me the Incorrigible, then call me Fox.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing?” His palm pressed against her, and she swayed toward him.

“In the main,” he said with that infuriating calm of his, “I am wondering what you would do if I stripped naked right now.”

She blinked. “Why would you do that?”

“For a quick fuck.”

“Oh yes. I remember that.”

“And then a long, hard one.”

“Incorrigible.”

“You said you’d not seen me naked. I said I’d remedy that.” He shrugged in a way that belied the subject. “What would you do with me if I were naked?” He lowered his head and kissed the top of her shoulder. “What about desire?” he murmured. “And the heat of your dislike of me?”

She pressed her hands on his shoulders and managed to put a few scant inches between them, and then she wondered why she’d done that when his lips on her skin felt so lovely.

His mouth left her shoulder, and he lifted his head just enough to look at her. Her skin tingled where his lips had been. He’d managed to bring her closer again. This time he kissed the side of her throat. And she let him. She wasn’t dizzy, not exactly, but she wasn’t entirely herself. The whisky had relaxed her, but she did not feel in the least addled. Merely that the world was a very pleasant place. He nipped her earlobe, then drew back to look into her eyes. The backs of her legs went a bit wobbly. How did he do that?

“Shall I tell you another secret?”

She laughed. “Do, please.”

“I’ve never been intimate with a woman who professes to dislike me.”

“Well. Why would you be?”

“Indeed. It occurs, however, that there is much to say for strong passions in the bedroom.” He curled a lock of her hair around
his finger. “What would happen, Ginny, if we did this deliberately? No blaming the heat of the moment. We simply decide that we will enjoy each other? Physically. And learn where your dislike of me takes us.”

Once again, he’d snatched the world out from under her. “We are in your study. Not your bedroom.”

“Ginny, my dearest, we can indulge anywhere we find a few moments of privacy.” He dipped his head again and pressed his mouth to the top of her shoulder. “I assure you, we are very private here. But would it not be novel for us to do this here?”

“Strictly speaking, it would be novel for us to do this anywhere but the Turkish room at Bouverie.”

“You’re right, of course. My excuse is that I am drunk.”

“You are not.”

“Not with drink. With desire. For you.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake.” She turned toward him, sitting so she could put her folded arms atop the sofa and her chin atop her arms. “Not even a turnip would believe that.”

“Mm. My delectable little root vegetable.” He mirrored her position on the sofa, except that he had only one arm on the sofa. The other was on her hip. “Let’s formalize our serendipitous and mutual physical lusts.”

She squinted at him. He looked perfectly serious. “Formalize.”

“Yes.”

“Are you asking me to become your mistress?”

“I can’t keep you. Not in the usual sense. Your brother would have my head. We’d agree to exclusivity, naturally.” He slid his hand over the curve of her hip and then to her flank. It felt lovely and wicked all at the same time. She gave him a lazy smile, but at the edges of everything, she smoldered.

“Are you teasing me?”

“No.” His hand wandered again, this time along the neckline of her gown where it showed above her folded arms. “There seems little point in offering you a house, though I will buy you one if you like. You could tell your brother you
leased the house from a fool who didn’t ask a decent rent of you. But I’d have the deed made over to your name. I’d keep a key for as long as you and I last. You could change the locks whenever you like.”

“You’re serious.” She felt she was mentally three steps behind him, but she was floating, rather deliciously, and so decided she didn’t care.

His eyes snapped to hers, alert instead of that lovely, sleepy honey brown. “If all I can have from you is an affair, I would certainly agree to a formal arrangement, yes.” He touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “And if all I may have is the shameful advantage I take of you tonight, I’ll have that, too.”

She smiled again. “There’s something wrong with that. I just can’t think what. Aside from my not liking you, I mean.”

“Understood. I’m not sure I understand entirely, either. Whatever happens, I hope you know it doesn’t mean you don’t love Robert anymore.” He trailed his index finger downward over the curve of her breast. A shiver followed in the wake of his moving finger.

“I’ll always love him.”

“As you should.” He reached for the whisky and their glasses again and poured them both more. When she’d taken hers from him, he lifted his glass. “To Robert. The best man I never knew.”

She tapped her glass to his and drank. Afterward, his gaze locked with hers and for a moment all the air vanished. She’d been a married woman and she knew full well what that look meant. Her body responded.

He put down his glass. “Come to bed with me, Ginny. For the night. A week. A year. For as long as it takes you to decide if you really do hate me.”

“What possible reason would I have to accept such a proposition from you, of all men?”

“I can think of several.” His hand was back at her hip, then lower, to her calf.

She could scarcely breathe and tried to cover by taking
a sip of whisky. She must be drunk, she thought. Why else would she enjoy this state of arousal? Why else would she flirt with him like this, not anywhere near safe. And yet with him, she could be whatever she wanted. “Name one.”

“Revenge.” There was no other description for his smile but silky. “Imagine, my dear Ginny, bringing me to my knees. Using me as well or as badly as you wish. Breaking my heart, even.”

She snorted and with the hand holding her tumbler tapped his chest where his heart ought to be. “There’s a block of ice in there, Fenris. Not a heart.”

“Melting what chip of ice resides in its place, then.” He leaned away from her long enough to pick up his glass. He took two swallows then regarded her with a look that sent a chill down her spine. “You might find sex, deliberate sex, I mean, with a man you hate to be…stimulating.”

She gripped the top of the sofa with one hand. When he used that voice, she couldn’t help but think he must be right. “Do you think so?”

“Think of the power you’d have over me. All the ways you might make me pay for my wrongs against you.”

“Fenris. Fox.” One more drink of whisky. Still holding her glass, she stuck out a finger and jabbed him in the center of his chest. Lord, but he felt solid. “Poor, deluded vegetable lover. The only proper formal arrangement you could offer this turnip is marriage. And neither of us want that. Can you imagine?”

He didn’t laugh. Or scowl. Or do any of the things she expected. He returned to his position that was far too close to her, and this time, his hand curled around her ankle. The air went away again. “I disagree. Shall I prove it?”

Which did he mean? Did he disagree there was only one formal arrangement he could offer or was he disagreeing that he didn’t want to marry her? She searched his face for the answer and did not find it. “Proof. Yes, in a case like this, proof is called for.”

His hand glided up her stocking to her garter. She gasped when the tips of his fingers brushed over her skin.

“Good, yes?”

She stared into her glass and saw it was empty. Now how had that happened? “May I have more whisky?”

He took her empty glass and set it aside. He stretched for his glass, looked at what was left, and drank half. “You may have the rest of mine.”

“The world is still pleasant, Fox.”

“I agree.” He gave her a quick smile. “Let’s keep it that way for a while yet.”

She took a sip, a properly small sip from his glass. His hand remained beneath her skirts, and now, his clever, agile fingers were well past her garter.

“Lean back,” he whispered, and she did, settling into the corner of the sofa. He followed so that the distance between them did not change. “Still relaxed?”

She nodded. Lord, his fingers reached her thigh, and she was going to melt.

“Ginny. My turnip. Like so.” He nudged her, and she parted her legs in response. He cupped the back of her neck, and his other hand slid along the folds of her sex, stroking so she could barely think or breathe. She could feel, though. Every shiver. It had been so long since she’d been touched like this, brought to the very edge of orgasm. He drew his other hand down her arm. He took away her glass and she was glad to have it gone from her hands. “Spend the night with me, Eugenia.”

“Will I see you naked?”

He smiled that secret, dark, and wicked grin. “Yes.”

F
OX DID NOT ENTIRELY RELAX UNTIL HE CLOSED THE
door to his private apartments with Eugenia still at his side. Not entirely sober, but not drunk, thank God. He lit the candles in the girandole while they waited for Golde to arrive with the repast he’d ordered. He kept an eye on Eugenia, who walked around the anteroom to his bedchamber. On the walls were several of the paintings he’d bought over the years, by artists who were not necessarily well-known but whose work he liked. She paused by each one.

He’d hardly put away the flint when Golde tapped on the door. Since Fox did not think it proper to have female servants, given this was a bachelor establishment, Golde presided over a staff of men. There weren’t many. His personal chef and two footmen, one of whom doubled as a groom, a kitchen boy. His valet, of course, would be summoned from Bouverie. In the morning, he’d see about sending for a girl who could do for Eugenia.

“Milord,” Golde said with a bow. He gestured, and both footmen entered with the various parts of their meal. His butler had found somewhere a vase of white roses, just
moments, it seemed, from being too old, and these he placed in the center of the table once the tablecloth was laid. While the two footmen arranged the table, Golde went about the business of preparing the room, lighting more candles, bringing up the fire here. The butler disappeared into the bedroom where he would turn down the bed, ensure the linens would be warm, and light a few more candles than when Fox came here without a companion. These days, that was always the case.

Fox stayed by the fireplace while she inspected the room and his servants laid out the table. He’d always admired the way she moved, and even with the whisky she’d consumed, she moved gracefully.

Golde came back from the bedroom to put the finishing touches on the arrangement of the food. He opened the wine, a ’75 Burgundy, to let it breathe. On his way out, he drew the curtains. Shadows deepened with the silence.

He and Eugenia were alone. In his private quarters. He locked the door, and when he turned around from that, Eugenia faced him. She held one end of her shawl, a fringed silk that draped over her arm and dangled to the floor. “I take it,” she said with a sideways look at him, “that this is where you come when you wish to be improper.”

He returned to the fire and set one foot on the grate. “This is the place to which I retire when I wish to be private.”

“With a woman.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Rarely. And not since before my visit to your brother’s house.” He was capable of charm, he knew that. He had learned to be charming in order to counter his father’s brusqueness. He’d spent years mending fences and rebuilding bridges destroyed by his father’s vitriol once he’d become man enough to understand the damage Camber had done all those years and days past when he’d been so angry at his sister marrying Lily’s father. No more the damage he himself had done during the time he’d slavishly adopted his father’s prejudices.

“Did you bring Lady Tyghe here?”

“I did not then have this house, so no.” He moved away
from the fireplace. “I’ve brought relatively few women here. There are other locations that accommodate one’s fleeting interest in a woman. If I were to be interested in pursuing someone for more than an evening, there are arrangements that can be made that do not involve my home.”

“I’m sure.” She looked around one more time. “It’s a very nice home,” she said. “It suits you.” She cocked her head at the painting she’d stopped before, then at him. “And reveals you.”

He nodded. He did like the way she looked at him with such an assessing glance. She saw him. The man, not Fenris, the heir to a dukedom. “The monstrosity that is Bouverie represents my family honor.”

“I like Bouverie. You don’t?”

“It is my father’s home. My grandfather’s home, the home of all men who have been Camber.”

“I don’t find it monstrous.”

“Though one day that frigid set of bones will be mine, I cannot look forward to it. But here?” He gestured. “Here you may find my heart.”