Page 72 of The Language of Love

No, all Henry felt for her was physical attraction—although why he felt even that, she could not understand. She had neverbeen the sort of woman to elicit male interest, not even when she was young and dewy.

Now Henry, on the other hand… It was easy to understand her almost suffocating physical attraction to him: he was a gorgeous, fascinating man. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up infatuated.

My dear Annis! You’re not falling in love with Henry; you’ve already fallen.

The sketchpad slid from Annis’s limp fingers as the accusation echoed in her mind.

But I don’t want to love him, she wailed silently.

But you do.

A heated denial leapt to her lips, but she couldn’t make herself utter the words.

Because it was true: she had fallen in love with Henry.

He looked like a slumbering warrior, his sculpted cheekbones and powerful jaw even more masculine in repose. His lips looked so much shapelier, the lower one especially sensual, almost pouty in its fullness. He was far too rugged to ever be called classically handsome. But to Annis, he epitomized male beauty.

What are you going to do? Tell him you love him and would he please give you twelve thousand pounds right away? He will think you are after him for his money because you are after money.

“I know that,” she hissed under her breath. “What should I do?”

As usual, the voice had no answers.

***

The day had been delightful.

Henry’s only wish was that he’d not slept away so much of it. When he’d woken from his nap, it had stunned him to discover he’d slept for almost two hours.

“You should have woken me,” he’d said, astounded and embarrassed in equal measures. “I’m terribly sorry, what a disastrous host I am.”

She was leaning against the trunk of the tree, holding a book. “I relaxed and enjoyed myself. I never get to read for as long as I like. Besides, you looked like you needed the rest.”

His story about the uncomfortable bed and freezing house were only partly true. He’d slept poorly ever since he’d begun seeing Annis. He suspected part of his inability to sleep was because of guilt.

You mean because you’ve been lying to her with every breath you take?

His dishonesty hadbeen bothering him, and he’d spent hours thinking about telling her the truth.

Well, now he had no choice; he hadto tell her. A man didn’t do what he’d done with her today and not offer marriage.

Strangely, he couldn’t say the notion was unappealing.

In fact, what he’d like to do was take her directly to her uncle’s house and declare his intentions, as well as the truth about himself, and arrange their marriage without delay.

But he could hardly start shouting the truth all over town without first telling Colin and Lady Sedgwick. He owed the two of them that, at least.

He would tell her tomorrow—just one more day—and then he would ask for her hand in marriage.

Henry experienced an almost breathless relief—followed immediately by a sharp pang of worry.

She’ll hate you when she learns you’ve been making a mockery of her and lying to her for weeks. They’ll all hate you.

Henry knew that was a distinct possibility. But then hadn’t he been the one to say to Colin—no, to proudly crow—that he wanted the ton’s hatred?

He shoved aside the distasteful memory. He could worry about all that later; right now they had a bit of time left together and he didn’t want to waste it fretting.

“Ready to explore?” he asked, standing, and holding out a hand to help her up.