“Please do,” he said, eager for her to express herself as she once did.
Her gaze met his with a boldness he favored. “Why me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You need a wife. Any woman will do. So, why me?”
Because she once knew him for who he was and accepted him as exactly that. Because her response to Ludlow’s death said, she still understood him like no other.
He rose from the settee and sat beside her. “I have often thought about you,” he answered. “After seeing what a beautiful woman you’ve become…” he lowered his voice, “after sharing that kiss, I wonder even more.”
Her breath quickened. “You may be too charming for your own good.” She looked away, toward the tea cakes.
“You say that as though you think it a bad thing.” His fingertips shifted on the silky fabric of the furniture until they grazed hers.
“I want stability.” She turned back toward him, her expression sincere as she withdrew her hand. “I don’t need someone to offer me platitudes.”
“I assure you, I am not offering you platitudes.” He reached a hand out and slowly, carefully caressed her cheek.
She exhaled softly, her mouth gently parting and tempting beyond reason. That kiss they had shared in the moonlight played out in his mind once more. Sweet and sensual. It made him crave more. “I want to bring excitement to your life.”
She stiffened, and he immediately knew he’d said the wrong thing. He lowered his hand but did not back away.
Her brows flinched together. “My life has had enough excitement already.”
“Is that what has changed you so much?” he asked.
She swallowed. “Changed?”
“From the carefree girl I knew.”
She gave a mirthless chuckle. “That girl had no responsibilities. It is easy to be carefree when one’s life is as well.”
“Maybe it ought to be that way again.”
Though she angled her chin at him in a skeptical tilt, her gaze searched his with an expression that could only be called hope. He knew well what it was to be bound by the burdens of responsibility. From what he understood, she had spent the last several years in similar chains.
“You’ve spent enough time caring for others,” he said quietly. “Perhaps it is time to let someone care for you. I want to hear your laughter and see your smiles as they were before.” He took her hand in his. “What do you want, Cecelia?”
He longed to skim his fingertips over the swells of her breasts rising above her neckline, to savor her sensual, feminine curves with his hands, then his mouth.
Would she cry out with pleasure at such ministrations? Or would she keep it inside, locked beneath her tight control?
Her tongue flicked between her lips, moistening them. “I want…” She searched him with her eyes as though seeking her answer.
Philip leaned toward her, and she drifted closer to him, bringing with her the alluring, innocent lilac scent. He breathed her in and tamped down the lust roaring in his veins. “What do you want?” he asked again.
She glanced to where the maid sat with her attention averted.
“You,” Cecelia whispered.
Victory surged through him. “Will you allow me to court you?” he asked, heart pounding.
“Yes,” she breathed.
The impulsive need to pull her against him was nearly overwhelming. Ever mindful of their chaperone, he straightened, drawing away from her. “Let me escort you in the promenade in Hyde Park this evening. Let everyone see us together.”
“I would be delighted.” A beatific smile blossomed on her lips.
