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He gave a husky laugh. “Yes.”
Cleo stood up, unsurprised to discover that her legs had a wobbly, loose sense of freedom, as if they would gladly do unladylike things. Splay open, curve around a man’s hips . . . She turned to face him. “I am not agreeing to marry you.”
It felt terrifically important that he realized that.
“I understand,” he said, coming to his feet. “Once I have implemented my strategy, I hope to change your mind. Just so you know.”
“Does this plan include kippers and coffee?”
“Yes.”
“You have already—” She broke off.
“Yes.” His eyes were at half-mast, gleaming at her. His shirt was ripped away from one sleeve, and he wore nothing below the waist but his drawers, which did nothing to hide the middle of him. That part.
“I couldn’t bear to be forgotten,” she blurted out. “But I don’t want to tie anyone to me with a ring either. My father . . .”
She paused, expecting to hear her mother’s voice announce that it wasn’t her business, but Julia’s voice was as silent as a stone.
“My father was faithful to his marriage, though Julia forgot him. I couldn’t bear that.”
His voice was warm and firm. “No one could forget you, Cleo, and I certainly wouldn’t want to.”
“My mother would sleep with the handsomest man in London one night and forget him the next.”
“You are not the most beautiful woman in the country,” Jake said, taking a step toward her. “Your chin is sharp and a bit witchy. Your eyes are too big for your face. There are people who don’t like red hair, nor the freckles that come with it.”
Cleo couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “You aren’t one of them.”
“No, but I’m listing all the reasons why you are not a leading lady, to be loved and left. I’m not looking for beauty, Cleo. If I were, I’d be chasing after your friend Yasmin, who is arguably one of the loveliest women I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Cleo smiled again. “She is, isn’t she?”
“She would drive me mad in an afternoon,” he said dispassionately. “She’s caviar and you’re kippers.”
Cleo scowled at him. “You need to memorize a few compliments.”
“I love kippers. I love you.”
If she said the same . . . If she told him that she loved him . . . Panic rose in her chest. She knew all too well what it was to be vulnerable to someone. A child has no choice when it comes to loving one’s mother, but a woman has a choice when it comes to a man.
Yet a sinking feeling in her chest suggested that she’d made the choice already. The choice had been made in a moment she hadn’t noticed, between a bite of kipper and a sip of coffee, between a shared contract and a whirling dance.
“You haven’t been introduced to my strategy yet, so there’s no need to worry about it,” Jake said gently, tipping up her chin. He had registered her panic. “There’s no rush.”
“When are you going to tell me the details?” she managed.
“When the time is right. This is love and war, Cleo. We’ve already had the war.”
She felt a desperate need to be in control of the moment. She took a shuddering breath just as Jake turned away.
“It’s time for me to return to my chambers,” he said. “I think that the midnight gardens are likely closed by now. Merry and Yasmin will have enjoyed themselves without us.”
Cleo couldn’t help her gaze: it went straight to his rear end. She came up behind him. He tensed; she had the feeling that Jake always knew what was happening behind his back.
Another step and she wrapped her arms around him, flattening her breasts against his back. “I’m not as good as you are at understanding my own feelings.”
Jake let out a strangled groan. Cleo’s hands slid down his stomach ridges, flattening his linen shirt against the bulges and valleys of his body, going lower.
