“I had planned to do so.”
Andrew’s valet entered, followed by some of the hotel’s servants with luncheon. The conversation, because the Whitecliffs and Andrew could discuss nothing else, centered on Andrew and Cicely’s nuptials, or lack thereof. An hour later, Will and Eugénie made their escape.
She stopped them in front of the bottom gate to Wivenly House, and pulled the key out of her reticule.
He said nothing, but watched as she opened the door. Where was she taking him?
“Come.” She motioned for him to follow her, as if he would not. “We must talk and this is the only place we can be private. Keep your voice down.”
They entered a large parlor, much like the main floor’s but not as deep. The back must be dug into the hillside. Flanking the room on each side were two additional rooms.
Eugénie’s maid walked into the parlor from one of the side rooms. She glanced at Eugénie, then at Will, and back to Eugénie again. It was clear from her confusion that no other man had been here before.
“Miss?”
“Marisole, take this, please.” Eugénie removed her bonnet. “We’d like some refreshment. I also need some clean cloths, cold water, brandy, and salve. His lordship has a rash.”
Once Marisole departed, Eugénie went to a white and blue porcelain contraption in the back corner of the parlor. “What is that?”
“A type of gargolette the Danes use to filter and cool the water.” She poured two glasses, handing him one. “Why do you wish to marry me?”
“Why?” Will lowered his tumbler. Thankfully he’d not had any in his mouth or it would have gone all over him.
Hell and damnation. He thought he’d been doing so well courting her. Now he suddenly felt like the fox at a hunt. Why wasn’t it enough that he wanted to make her his wife? He should have known it wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought. He had a mother and younger sisters. Women always wanted to talk of their feelings.
She stuck her chin out in a belligerent manner. “Yes. I wish to know.”
He didn’t want to have this conversation. Mostly because he had only a vague idea himself, and he’d only recently come to the conclusion that a wife could be useful to have. Unfortunately, he had no glib answer to give her. Somehow he had to get her mind off this topic. A diversion was needed.
Kissing usually distracted her, and would put her lips to better use than trying to make him think and talk about things he’d rather not. He lowered his head, brushing his lips across her mouth. Will pulled Eugénie to him. Her supple body was warm against his. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair, kiss his way down her neck to her lush mouth. Run his palms over her . . .
“Non.”She pressed her lips in a tight line and turned her head away. “Tell me.”
God, he’d better come up with something, fast. Then he remembered everything she’d done to-day, and what the brother had told him. “You are compassionate, fiercely loyal, and intelligent. My life will never be dull with you.”
She sighed, and her body softened against his. He slid his palm down her back and cupped her bottom. “And your derrière fits perfectly in my hand.”
Will tightened his grip as Eugénie sucked in a sharp breath and attempted to pull back. “Oh! You. . . you are not a . . .”
“Gentleman?” He grinned, finishing her sentence. “Sadly, I fear Tidwell agrees. Though I do have some redeeming qualities.”
She slowly raised one finely shaped brow. “Name one.”
How did he manage to always get on her bad side? Something told him if he didn’t come about now, it would be bellows to mend with him. Why was he having such a problem? From the beginning, Will had wanted Eugénie to be his. The idea that another man would ever kiss her had his blood boiling. Every time another man glanced at her, he wanted to make sure the world knew she belonged to him. Good Lord, he’d even begged flowers for her twice and promised not to touch her until she agreed to marry him. He’d never even considered doing anything like that before.
Then this morning when Eugénie had taught the children, he’d had a vision of her with their children. He wanted to see her holding his babe. Not to mention that despite all the angst Will had caused her, she’d waged war on Tidwell and won. Will might as well admit it: If he wasn’t in love, he deserved to be in Bedlam. And if he couldn’t bring himself to tell her, he’d lose Eugénie for good. He took a breath, then blurted, “I’m desperately in love with you.”
Her head jerked back. “I-I . . .”
The bane of his life seemed shocked into silence.
A trickle of sweat rolled down his back as he waited for her to continue. His lips hovered over hers. Perhaps if he kissed her . . . ? Will groaned. Probably not a good idea.
Eugénie’s eyes searched his. “You are?”
“Absolutely.”
“You don’t merely want my . . . my body?”
