One Night Is Never Enough (38 page)
“Are you truly set against marriage?”
His eyes shuttered. He didn’t respond.
She tried again. “Are you—”
“I would never ask it of you,” he said harshly.
Wild thrill overlaid the coil, thrumming against it, at his tone and his wording. “No? Not Roman Merrick, who takes as he pleases?”
He stepped forward and fingered a lock of her hair. He didn’t respond for a long moment. “I have recently been cursed to find that what I please depends on what pleases you.”
“Oh? What would you say then if I told you I have no wish to marry Trant?”
She could
feel
his body loosen.
“No?”
“No.”
“I will take care of things with him, if you’d like me to.” He tilted her chin. “Break the betrothal for you. You can take your time and marry someone you like better.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said simply. “The breaking part, that is. I didn’t accept.”
He stilled. “Pardon me?”
“I didn’t accept Trant’s proposal. In fact, right now he is likely plotting my downfall.”
“You didn’t accept. Even—”
“Yes.”
“Charlotte—”
“No, it will be well, Roman,” she tried to reassure him because he had the strangest look on his face. “I understand that you aren’t interested in marriage. And I find myself quite intrigued at the possibility of simply being free. Between Emily, Miranda, and me, and strangely enough, I believe Mother too, we will figure out how to keep Father from doing anything drastic to Emily. The bride has to accept a marriage these days, more’s the pity for Father. And I think it will do many wallflowers good to see me as an unrepentant spinster, if I can keep Trant from talking. In fact—”
“Charlotte, stop speaking.”
She blinked at him.
“Charlotte, I’m . . . I’m a selfish man.” His fingers slipped over the curl he was holding, smoothing it down, his eyes tracking his hand’s movements as if entranced—or uncertain. “It was the truth when I first met you and remains the truth now. I played with you unrepentantly.” His eyes met hers and they were serious and shuttered. “I set you up. I—”
“I know.”
“ . . . what?”
“I know. You were actually quite honest with me about it. I just didn’t think far enough around the edges to understand at the time as to
how
you were setting me up. Or perhaps part of me
did
understand. Perhaps that would explain many of my own emotions these past weeks. That I did understand on some level.”
She peered up at him. “You may have played a game with me, but you never did anything that was debilitating to me. In fact, you made events more favorable for me, in a sense. Trant would never have offered so much otherwise. Never given me the assurances that he did.”
“Charlotte—”
“No, please. I need to finish. I don’t understand totally. Not really. For all that you say you are selfish—and believe it—you would let me marry Trant if I should wish it, wouldn’t you? And yet, I feel as if . . .” She had to swallow deeply, for it was a wrenching thing, putting herself forward, even with her confidence riding high. “I feel as if you do care deeply for me. Just as I do you.”
He stared at her for a long moment without responding—so long that she felt her confidence falter, her heart breaking a little. She couldn’t control her involuntary step backward, the rise of her shoulders.
He quickly reached toward her, touching her hand, stilling her.
“Do you remember what I promised? So long ago?” His tone was unreadable, his voice gravelly.
She swallowed, heart pounding, nerves ragged once more. “That you were going to possess me.”
“And?”
“You asked if I would possess you back.”
He smiled, that slow, gorgeous smile, and stepped,
stalked
, the single pace to her. “You realize, Charlotte, that I would have carried on an affair with you for years.” His fingers wrapped into the back of her hair, tipping her head back, voice whispering. “But you possessing me back? You will be mine for eternity.”
“My looks will fade,” she blurted, heart beating from her chest, emotions pushing against the clog in her throat. “I’ll grow weathered. Old.”
“So will I.” He traced her jaw. “I might even age
ungracefully.
”
“Roman, I’m being serious.”
He touched her cheek, then looked into her eyes. “So am I. I don’t love you because you are beautiful. Oh, it makes me aroused beyond measure to see your lovely cheeks flush and your perfect breasts heave in passion. To have you tightly clamp around me, your body made for mine, every
perfect
curve and smooth, flawless expanse of skin. But it’s not why I love you.”
“You love me?” she whispered.
He pulled her fully to him, fingers drawing along her cheeks, over her lips. “It’s not why I wrap my fingers in your hair, why I clutch your body to mine, why I absorb every passionate whisper from your lips.”
His mouth traveled over her neck, whispering in her ear. “It is because you are a stubborn, proud woman who I don’t wish to live without. And even if you grow old and weathered, and do so
ungracefully,
I’m counting on you being too stubborn to admit it. To browbeating me into seeing you as the goddess I always will.”
She pulled his mouth back to hers, their lips hovering just a breath apart. “You will never grow tired of me. I won’t permit it.” She backed him up until he was against the back of the settee.
“Good. But we need to address a few things first. And at the moment, I feel furnishings are at the top. The back of this couch, for example, is amazingly awful,” he said, lifting her against him. “We will have to purchase something to replace it.”
“Oh?” She tilted her mouth up to his. “Are you planning to ruin it, then?” She found herself not altogether unaffected at the images of how that might occur.
“I think we can ruin it six ways to Sunday.” His fingers gripped her hips, pressing her to him.
She laughed against his lips. “I will have to make sure to be in the park to watch you carry out the pieces.”
“Showing the broken and battered planks from where you rode me dead, and the eruptions of cushion stuffing from where your fingernails tore through. The image is quite appealing. Give the neighbors a right shock. Maybe steal a few replacement pieces from them while they’re still gawking.”
He cocked his head, a cunning smile stretching.
“I can have the minister invite us to his social next week. Might as well start bleeding from my wrists now. Together, we can carefully scout his pieces for our collection here.”
She stared at his lips, at the curve of them and the way they formed the words. They always looked quite stunning.
His hands lifted her chin so she was looking into his eyes. “Charlotte”—he sounded concerned—“I’m jesting about stealing their furniture. Though Liverpool’s wife has quite a good eye for comfortable pieces. Are you going to faint?”
“That isn’t fair,” she breathed, certain she had heard his other words incorrectly. “You holding that over me. That was the first time I have ever fainted.”
His eyes pinched. “I . . . do you . . . do you truly understand what you are entering into by choosing me?”
She smoothed his brow. “Shhh. Yes. We will figure everything out together, yes?”
He smiled. A beautiful smile that settled any lingering fears. It was true. What’s more—she
believed
it.
“Of course we will.” His fingers worked at the buttons near her neck.
“And I will be able to come and go as I please?” she asked as he worked, her mind trying to fill the blank spot his words had provoked a moment before.
His brows pinched. “Of course you would. Why wouldn’t you?”
“Well, I don’t want any of your boys barring me from your rooms.”
“Well, that’s fortunate, as I don’t plan to have them around here much, except for the ones who want to be footmen and the like.”
“I . . .” She stopped his fingers. “Did that mean I heard you correctly when you intimated that this is . . .
our . . .
house?”
The corners of his mouth lifted, and his eyes were delighted. “Without price, that expression on your face.”
She narrowed her eyes, but all she could feel was
hope,
glorious hope. “I’m going to become a spinster.”
“Mmmhmmm.” He finished the buttons and tugged a string. “But I hear that St. George’s is lovely this time of year,” he said casually. “And you look so
perfect
in white.” And before she could respond, he pulled her, gasping, over the edge of the couch, madly laughing all the way.
H
e used the front door.
It was entirely too normal. Disconcerting even.
“There are a few things we should discuss, Chatsworth.” Gravel and honey poured over her, even two rooms over, making her think of the previous night. Of all the nights in her future. She could hear the door lock shut in the foyer. “Merely tiny details, Chatsworth, I assure you.”
Slippery, scheming man.
He came into view, and the warmth and happiness lit, then spread. She could smile gently as a well-bred lady should. She could be restrained and embody the kind and soft woman she had once wished desperately to be.
Instead, she let the feelings push and her grin spread. Her heart grew.
Roman winked and made a naughty gesture at her as he sauntered past the sitting room, leading her father. She supposed both the wink and the gesture were meant to reassure her.
They did.
Thankfully, Viola was looking elsewhere at that moment, a small, secretive smile about her lips, though Emily erupted in giggles.
“I really, really like him, Charlotte.”
“Yes, Emily.” She smiled as her father started shouting. “I really, really like him too.”
Emily would be socially provided for. Viola would be financially provided for. Charlotte would be emotionally provided for.
And Charlotte would make quite sure Roman would never lack for anything either.
“Oh!” Emily sat up straight. “Why didn’t you tell me that Bethany Case was throwing the ball to announce your engagement? Margaret was absolutely
formal
when she extended her felicitations. It was
wonderful.
”
Charlotte wasn’t sure Emily needed to know that Bethany had been
persuaded
to do so by her husband, who was a frequent
client
of the Merrick hells and had the bills to prove it. It had been unnecessary to ask Roman how he had made that particular choice. He had obliquely said that they could have the prime minister do it instead, should Charlotte prefer.
Charlotte did
not
prefer. Not in this instance. Bethany would host
the
event of the season—for
everyone
would be talking about it. And she would be forced to smile happily at Charlotte and Roman the
entire night.
Roman really did know too much about her for her own good. She was looking forward to turning the tables on him. Frequently.
St. George’s? She’d simply settle for waking up next to him every day. Who wanted one night when she could have them all?
She smiled. And as he exited her father’s study, with another wink in her direction, she found herself unable to feel anything but hope and joy.
One line of thanks is never enough—giant, heaping thanks to May Chen, Matt, and Mom, as always! And to Dad, for your neverending support!
ANNE MALLORY
is a lifelong romance reader who sold her first novel to Avon Books after becoming a finalist in RWA’s Golden Heart contest.
One Night Is Never Enough
is her tenth book. A native Michigander, Anne currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Anne is happily working on her next book
One Kiss Leads to Another
, and a connected story to
One Night Is Never Enough
. Visit her online at www.annemallory.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
One Night Is Never Enough
Seven Secrets of Seduction
For the Earl’s Pleasure
The Bride Price
Three Nights of Sin
What Isabella Desires
The Earl of Her Dreams
The Viscount’s Wicked Ways
Daring the Duke
Masquerading the Marquess