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“And request I spank you four times?”
“I did n—”
“And enjoy it?”
He stood a breath away from her, invading her space and further scattering her thoughts. Her volleys had not struck their target. She needed a new approach.
“How would you explain to a magistrate that you submitted against your will when the evidence reveals your pleasure?”
“Please,” Heloise attempted. “Surely you are not without conscience or sensibility…”
“Only devoid of morals,” he reminded her.
She swallowed at the verbal blow but pressed on. “You can understand why I might—why I thought I had no other recourse?”
After probing the depths of her gaze he stepped away from her. Without the intrusion of his body, she took an easier breath.
“It is no small effort you have made to protect your cousin’s virtue,” he acknowledged. “Indeed, you have risked your own ruin to save her.”
“I will explain to my family that a dear friend took ill and I went to visit her.”
“In the middle of the night? Without packing a valise?”
“I was beside myself.”
“I find it hard to believe that Miss Merrill could ever be so discomposed.”
“My uncle will have no reason to doubt my word.”
“And what of Josephine? What will you tell her?”
“I will beg her forgiveness and hope that she will, in time, come to understand the wisdom of my action.”
“Perhaps that will come to pass,” he said as he began to walk around her. “Or more likely, she will find another man to whom she can attach her fancy and forget her lost invitation to the Château.”
Heloise found herself having to agree with the earl. Nonetheless, she professed, “I hope someone who merits her affection. Someone who will make her happy.”
“And what do you hope for yourself, Miss Merrill?”
The question was an unexpected strike. No one had ever asked her that before.
“Myself?”
“What sort of man will you marry or take a fancy to?”
“This is hardly a subject—”
“Pray tell you do not see yourself as a lonely spinster, content after some time to marry a kindly but boring vicar with limited prospects.”
That he could guess the precise future she had foreseen for herself disgruntled her.
“That would be better than succumbing to a rake,” she retorted.
To her further disconcertion, he laughed. “Do you know what I think, Miss Merrill?”
“I do not care what you think, Lord Cadwell.”
He was standing behind her now—which was worse than when he stood in front of her for now she could not see him. She could only feel his heat.
