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"She loved my father for a good many years, but he was not her only gentleman admirer, and she was not his wife. So when I tell you that you may speak freely with me, I am not being polite. You were with a man last night, and he is even less appealing a suitor than I, and so here we are."
You were with a man.... Her heart beat so hard that he must be able to see her pulse in her throat. He could undoubtedly see the scarlet blush climbing her cheeks. There was no hiding behind euphemisms. He knew that she lain down and raised her skirts and allowed Peter White to... do that. "I'd had too much wine."
"As is often the case in these situations."
"Mr. Bertrand," she snapped, "I am trying to discover your motives."
"I've already confessed my motives. I like you, Miss York. Is that not enough of a reason?"
"No! It makes no sense. You know nothing of me but this awful thing I've done. What could you possibly like so much that you would be willing to marry me?"
He finished his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup as he swallowed.
"Well?" she demanded.
Mr. Bertrand set the cup down, the proportions of it ridiculously small in his wide fingers. He politely raised his napkin to his mouth, the white linen calling attention to his tanned skin. No wo
nder she'd thought him a groundskeeper. It was likely he was related to one or two.
But regardless of his base beginnings, there was nothing subservient in his eyes as he leaned toward her. His eyes radiated all the confidence of a duke as he met her gaze.
"I like you, Miss York, because you are wicked, and there can he no finer a blessing for a man than a good and wicked wild. Wouldn't you agree?"
His words were so shocking that Marissa could not comprehend them for a moment. Wicked? He'd called her wicked? Blood rushed in her ears as the offense sunk in.
"How dare you? You are absolutely—"
He pushed back his chair, interrupting her tirade. "I'm sure you are correct. No need to continue. Consider me chastened. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm dreadfully late for the hunt." He bowed as if he weren't being rude, and murmured, "Miss York," as though he had a right to address her with such warmth in his voice.
Marissa gawked at his wide back before it disappeared through the door. For a long moment, she just sat there, stunned, but nothing could keep her still for long. Marissa clenched her jaw and stood to serve herself a second helping of every dish.
She'd been wrong about him being a gentleman. Very wrong indeed. And if he thought she would tolerate him even an instant longer than she had to, Jude Bertrand wasn't as wily as he seemed.
Chapter 4
Jude pulled on his finest evening coat, ran a hand through his hair, and met his own happy eyes in the mirror. Unfortunate face or not, he'd managed to get under Marissa York's skin this morning. He wagered that no one had ever called her wicked before, and she would deny the label to her last breath. But the truth always proved more tenacious than a lie. His words would be hooked in her thoughts precisely because she suspected she truly was wicked.
Yes, he was far from pretty, but he had no doubt that Marissa had been thinking of him all day. She'd probably rehearsed an outraged speech she meant to deliver as soon as she got him alone. He'd be happy to oblige by finding them some privacy. After all, he thought her outrage a lovely thing.
A knock sounded abruptly on the door of his chambers. "Yes?"
Aidan York opened the door and gave him a once-over. "I can't believe you're going to be my brother," he growled.
"Don't worry. I'll put in a good word for your import business with my father, if that's what you're after."
Aidan snorted, but then he frowned at the ceiling. "Actually, since you brought it up . .
Jude clapped him on the shoulder and turned him toward the hallway. "Best get your sister to the altar before we talk cozy alliances. I believe she finds this an imperfect match."
"Yes. That could be a problem."
"I've no doubt Marissa prefers charming boys, but there's no changing that. My job is to convince her that she might be looking for something entirely different in a man."
"I see." Aidan tossed him a warning look. "You know she plans to call off if there is no child and no scandal."
"I don't mean to fix my place by guaranteeing one or the other, if that's what you mean."
"Good. Unwise as she may have been, she's a good girl, and I won't see her suffer."
