Page 64 of The Mistletoe Dare

He sat up, watching her intently. “Are you horrified? Do you wish me to the devil?”

Georgie could hardly breathe, let alone think of a suitable reply. “N-No,” she managed. “But I—I do not think I wish to m-marry you.”

He gave a dark chuckle. “I can hardly blame you for that. I’ve not been the most agreeable companion, have I?”

Unwilling to be unfair to him, Georgie shrugged. “You’re nice sometimes, Rochford. It’s the times when you’re not that bother me. I don’t want to marry a man who flies into rages and accuses me of wrongdoing for no reason.”

He nodded, his expression grave. “I know, but it has been pointed out to me that I might find the world a happier place if I had a woman like you beside me. I think perhaps, with you, that might be true. Would you give me a chance?”

Georgie hesitated. “That’s a lot of responsibility, duke, to be accountable for all of your happiness. I do not believe I am equal to the task.”

“I disagree,” he said, and the look in his eyes made her blush and drop her gaze from his. “But I understand your hesitation.”

“I am aware of the honour you do me,” she said carefully, needing him to know she did not dismiss his words lightly.

“But do you honour me enough to allow me the time to persuade you? Perhaps if I could prove to you I am not such a beast—”

“You are not a beast!” she exclaimed crossly. “I would never say or think it, Rochford, but you cannot deny the fact you are hardly an easy companion.”

“So you are in accord with Miss Knight, then, that it would be better to marry someone nice and kind and gentle, who would bore you to tears in a matter of days.”

“That is hardly what she said. That was only Jules being Jules and playing devil’s advocate,” Georgie retorted, irritated. “Why should a man who is sweet and kind and gentle be dull?”

“Because no one is always that way, love. We all have bad days; even the nicest of men can say hurtful things.”

“And someone who is not nice and kind and gentle. What is he like on a bad day?” she demanded.

Rochford reached out and his cold fingers traced the line of her jaw. “I could be nothing but gentle with you, love. You need never fear me. I’ve never raised a hand to a woman in anger, and I do not mean to start now. I would be kind to you, too, and though I am not so blind to my own failings that I can promise I won’t ever rant or give into a temper tantrum, you are at liberty to rant right back. Tell me I’m an obnoxious arse when you need to. I’ll not punish you for it, God, I want to hear you scold me. I’d give anything to hear you telling me what a pompous idiot I am. Tell me every day. Please. I’ll be the better for it, I swear.”

Oh.

His words were beguiling, luring her in, and she wanted very much to believe them. She knew her own parents’ marriage had got off to a shaky start because of her father’s temper and lack of trust, but Mama had learned to manage him, and Papa had stopped being angry once he’d found someone to care for him. Could she really do that for Rochford? Georgie wished very much that her mother was here now so she could advise her.

“I don’t love you,” she said in a rush, because that was the crux of the matter.

He gave a little snort of amusement. “If you said otherwise, I’d question your sanity. I know nothing about love and would never expect that from you. Even if I hoped for it, we don’t yet know each other well enough for more than liking, but I like you a good deal. Perhaps the rest will follow.”

“Perhaps,” she whispered, wondering if that could ever be enough to gamble away the rest of her life on him.

“Georgie,” and she felt a flush of pleasure sweep up her neck at the intimate use of her nickname. “Tell me one thing, and be honest with me.”

Georgie stared at him, panic rising in her chest. She didn’t want to answer his questions, certainly not with any honesty, but he asked her all the same.

“Right at his moment, do you want me to kiss you?”

Her breath caught, and she gave him a reproachful glare. “Oh, Rochford, that’s really not fair.”

He grinned, a broad masculine grin, the smug devil. “That’s what I thought,” he said, and pulled her into his arms.

Georgie gasped as his mouth met hers. Despite the wintry day, his lips were warm, and her body reacted instinctively, with no thought or instruction from her. Her mouth opened to him, letting him in, and he took full advantage, his tongue sliding against hers in a sensuous assault that made her giddy. The feel of his muscular arms about her was everything she wanted, and she leaned into him. Her hands went to his face, and she stroked his beard, entranced by the soft warmth. His mouth left hers to press soft kisses to her cheek, and he nuzzled the tender place beneath her ear.

“Georgie,” he groaned, and his weight bore her down, pressing her to the ground.

She knew it was a mistake, but she let it happen anyway. She did not have the will to fight him when everything about him made her blood heat on some primal level she did not entirely understand. The chill of the snowy blanket below her seeped into her clothes, a stark contrast to the fierce heat of him upon her. His body burned like a furnace, and she arched into him, seeking more, wanting his warmth and his weight, excited by the sheer power contained in his heavy frame.

His arousal pressed insistently against her, making her want to rock against him, to seek more contact. She tugged at him, pulling him down upon her, eager for him to crush his body to hers, wanting him to. Desire sang through her blood, with such force it made her afraid, afraid of what she might do or say if she allowed it to rule her.

“God, Georgie, you’re so sweet, so beautiful. I’ve met no one like you in all my days. I want you badly.”