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Fanny’s laugh was part amusement, part indignation. “What games? Lord Quamby asked me to be his wife and you asked me to be your mistress and I have accepted both offers.”
“I am here to ask you to marry me, Miss Brightwell.” His voice quavered as he thrust at her a much larger, heavier velvet box than the last. “In case you doubt the sincerity of my offer, I hope the Fenton diamonds will convince you.” He cleared his throat and, in that second, Fanny saw his vulnerability so much more clearly than the persona of the practiced rake.
Perhaps he had acted as any young buck hearing rumours of her unsuitability, and he’d only been testing the waters. She shouldn’t forgive him but he truly did seem to wish to atone.
Fanny gazed with appreciation at his beautiful eyes, smouldering with fire but full of fear; at his strong jaw, clenched with angst; and at his large, strong hands with their delicate long fingers that had stroked her face with such tenderness, and her desire with such finesse. Inside, her heart seemed to flip over.
Goodness, but she wanted him.
And right now it looked as if he truly doubted her answer if he was about to make her the offer for which she longed. Indeed, he looked as fearful but as resolved that he would cross shark-infested waters to have her. An enormous wave of tenderness engulfed her.
Fenton cleared his through. “They have passed through three generations of my family and are worn by the reigning viscountess and now I offer them to you”—he took a breath, adding in a rush that did nothing to conceal the wavering tone—“if you will have me.”
Tingles of excitement started in her toes and worked their way upwards, and they weren’t on account of the diamonds. Her ploy had worked and, judging by the determined look on Lord Fenton’s face, he was not going to take no for an answer. But if he truly wanted her he would to have to work harder.
She affected a small frown. “You’re asking me to sacrifice what is probably my only chance to become a duchess—?”
“I’m asking you to follow your heart. Dear God, Fanny…” He took her seat, settling her across his lap and forcing her head onto his shoulder so he could caress her cheek. “I know you’re trying to make me suffer for the humiliation I’ve caused you, for which I’m truly sorry. But after what we shared…” He shook his head. “Surely you felt it, too?” Cupping her face in his hands he gazed into her eyes. His own looked tortured. Gently he touched his lips to hers.
She shivered, barely able to restrain her answering impulses as he murmured into the gentlest of kisses, “If I have to spend the rest of my life atoning I will, if only to hear you say yes to becoming my wife. Just name your terms, Fanny.”
It wasn’t the desperation in his voice, reaffirming her power over him, or even his generous offer. It was his kiss that confirmed she could belong to no one else. How could she say no to a man whose touch unleashed feelings of love and tenderness she had never known existed within the heart she had once thought as cold as her mother’s? Gently clasping his face, she kissed his lips, his eyes, his cheeks, revelling in the shudders that ran through him. Behind the tasselled gold curtain, her dreams were finally coming true.
“I want my own cerulean blue carriage with four high steppers,” she murmured. She wasn’t serious and was surprised when he dug his fingers into her shoulders and ground out, “Done.”
He was trembling as if he had the ague, their lips barely touching throughout their exchange. His voice was strained. “You can have it in royal purple or scarlet for all I care.”
With the tip of her tongue, she traced the line of his mouth. His eyes were still closed, but his senses were clearly alert to her slightest touch. She smiled at his shudders, then whispered, “And Antoinette must have a dowry.” Though Lord Quamby had already discussed taking care of Antoinette’s future himself, Fanny knew this was something she had to ensure if she was to placate her mother later that evening.
Still kissing her lightly, though with growing impatience, Fenton agreed to this, also. “And a house for Mama with her own annuity.”
He drew back, his eyes widening. Perhaps perceiving her determination, he curbed any objection, saying with a defeated air, “As long as it’s not near us.”
“Definitely not!” Fanny agreed, stroking his face. “But with three hundred a year she could afford her own carriage and something commodious in Northumbria so she can lord it over her cheeseparing cousin. That would keep her busy and her nose out of our affairs.”
“Agreed.”
Fanny brought the kiss to a satisfying conclusion. He did not need to know that her shuddering surrender was the culmination of so many fears bound up with the need to please her mother before she could please herself. She wanted to weep her joy, but it was too soon. She remembered Lord Quamby’s words and whispered, smiling, “In that case, all seems in order. Shall we inform the rest of the company?”
Chapter 10
Fenton groaned at the sound of tapping and hauled himself into a sitting position, shouting to the impatient servant on the other side of the door that he’d present himself in the saloon presently. He gazed at Fanny, curled up like a kitten beside him. She looked innocent and childlike in her slumber, and his heart swelled. If he wasn’t so terrified she would change her mind, he’d have the servant send the parson away until another time.
They’d made love three times since Lord Quamby had granted Fanny an honourable reprieve, but if it had been three hundred it wouldn’t have been enough.
She stirred and, with a lascivious chuckle, he traced a line with his finger from the Fenton diamonds at her throat, over the contour of Fanny’s right breast, before resting his hand on her belly. The mere touch of her smooth, warm skin stoked the fires of his desire.
“I’m sure you could never have predicted your scheme for revenge would have so unexpectedly pleased our collective mamas, my dear,” he murmured as she blinked open sleep-laden eyes. “All I can say is thank you for having saved me the trouble of finding a dull, suitable bride to please mine, so I could rush off to my mistress.” He gave her shoulder a playful squeeze rather than the languorous all-over body massage he’d have preferred as he flung his legs over the side of the bed. Friends and family were waiting for them in the saloon. Now was not the time to slake his lust.
“When I could get away,” Fanny replied, stretching luxuriantly. “Quamby and I are fierce combatants at whist.” She yawned, adding in a voice of feigned boredom, “It’s our favourite way to while away the evening together.”
Fenton pulled his shirt over his shoulders while Fanny feasted her eyes on his bunched-up muscles. She adored the vulnerable look of his nipples set into such masculine hardness. He paused in his dressing to grin at her. “You mean I haven’t yet convinced you of the advantages of fornication with me above whist with Quamby? You’d better be sure you know what you want, darling, for the parson is waiting.”
Crawling off the bed, Fanny wrapped her arms and one leg around the bedpost. Since she was still naked this provocative move had the desired effect. Fenton stifled a growl and closed his eyes, seemingly in pain as his manhood swelled.
“You’ll not convince me of anything until I’m your viscountess,” Fanny told him pertly, reaching for her chemise.
Suddenly she stopped, frowning as she clasped her hand to her forehead.
