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Chapter Eleven
TO HIS CONSTERNATION, his heart was not as black and impenetrable as Alastair would have preferred, and Millie’s words had struck an oddly tender part. He had not discovered the darker side of his desires in the same manner as she. He had begun to find congress with the regular strumpet or opera dancer a trifle uninspiring. After Katherine had introduced him to Château Follet, a new realm of indulgence had opened to him.
He knew not what he would have thought of himself if he had harbored such inclinations before his introduction to Château Follet. He doubted he would have been as critical of himself as Millie was of herself, but hers was a superior character. He had sensed it, and though this new part of her was a shock to him, he still stood by his initial assessment of her qualities.
He would never have suspected her capable of a wicked prurience, but her response to this discovery of herself was quite what he would have expected. Here was an upstanding young woman who attempted to live up to the expectation of family and society. These lustful and naughty proclivities must have come as quite the horror to her, and were he a man better skilled with words, he would have assured her there was naught to be ashamed of. But finer speech did not come readily to him.
So he kissed her.
Her lips were soft beneath his. He held the side of her head as he moved over her mouth. At first, perhaps too startled, she did not move. She put a hand to his wrist but did not pull him away. He brushed his lips over hers several times before lifting his head to view her.
Her eyes, glistening with tears and the remnants of the port, were wide. He had never before taken note of the soft brown coloring in her eyes. It was quite a lovely hue. And though the flush across her nose was perhaps not so complimentary, the redness would dissipate when she was done weeping.
He groaned to himself. He was going to regret this. Greatly. But for him to retreat now would deal an unnecessary blow. The night had been difficult enough for her.
“What—what do you mean?” she asked, quivering. Her eyes possessed the same glassy brightness that most of her sex had after a kiss.
“You’ve a wish to indulge in the offerings of Château Follet, do you not?”
“Y-Yes.”
“We are both of us without partners.”
She continued to stare at him rather stupidly.
He sighed. “As I do not trust anyone with your honor, I will assume your introduction to Château Follet myself.”
She was silent.
“Of course, if you would rather not…”
He half hoped she would balk and force him to rescind his offer, but she did not, and remained in thought.
“As we are cousins,” he added.
“Not by blood,” she said, lowering her eyes, her hand still upon his wrist.
Hell and damnation. He could not recall a more absurd attempt than what he had just engaged. But Millie might yet come to her senses. The port would wear off…
She looked up at him. “It is a strange offer, but you are both gracious and kind, Alastair.”
Her countenance had brightened, and he was pleased to see it. He returned a wry smile. The adjectives of “gracious and kind” had not been applied to him before—not by the intelligent and reasonable. Relief waved over him. She had come to her senses.
“I am sorry your evening was not what you had wished,” he said.
“But, thanks to you, it may be salvaged in part.”
He blinked.
“Did I mistake your offer?” she asked when he said nothing.
“I thought you meant to decline it.”
“No! I meant to accept it. Unless…you did not mean what you said?”
“Not at all,” he replied gruffly. “I merely thought you had perhaps found it too awkward a proposition.”
“It seems you find it awkward, my lord.” She withdrew her hand from him. “You need not worry, Alastair. I will not compel you. I know I am not the most comely of maids.”
