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His eyebrows arched at her instinctive withdrawal, but he went on as though they discussed something mundane. A walk in the gardens, or cards after dinner. “If you know that I won’t take things to their end, you may learn to appreciate the preliminaries.”

She doubted it. Oh, not that she would enjoy his touch. She’d enjoy it far too much. But that he could lull her into a state where her fears disappeared and she tumbled into his arms as easily as a ripe apple fell from a tree. Last night’s experience indicated otherwise. “What about kisses?”

“Ah,” he said slowly. “Kisses are different.”

She stepped closer to the fire, although she wasn’t cold. “I suppose you want to kiss me whenever the fancy takes you.”

“I’d like that.” When she struggled to hide her dismay, a knowing smile curled his lips. “But I’ll ration myself to one a day.”

“How very…restrained,” she said shakily. “A good night kiss?”

He shrugged. “Or good morning. I reserve the right to choose my moment.”

“I…see.” Although she really didn’t. She appreciated him trying to smooth her way. To a certain extent. Touching and kisses still seemed more threatening than claiming her body in a quick physical act. But she could see that he sought more from her in bed than dumb obedience.

The problem—or one of them—was that last night, she’d had a hint of what “more” might mean. It had terrified the life out of her.

“I hope, with time, you’ll learn to trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

His glance was skeptical. “Not really.”

His doubts were justified. “I thought I did.”

“Your body tells me you don’t.” He stood and joined her beside the fire. “I give you my word of honor that you’ll sleep alone until you invite me.”

“I invited you last night.”

“Out of duty.”

“I owe you my duty.”

“But I want your desire.”

What should she do? A wooing might be nice. She couldn’t hope to be the woman he really wanted, but just because she was his second choice, did that mean they must settle for second best in everything?

“Jane?” he asked softly.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Her eyes narrowed as she studied his expression. “You’re sure it will work, aren’t you?”

His shrug was unconvincing. “I hope.”

More than hope, Jane was sure. Every line of his body betrayed his self-confidence.

Why shouldn’t Hugh be confident? He was an attractive man, experienced in the ways of women. They both knew that before panic set in, she’d been mad for him.

“Do we have a deal?”

On the surface, what did she have to lose? But a deeper, barely formulated disquiet niggled. She had an unshakable premonition that Hugh’s kind, generous offer—he was a kind, generous man—foretold disaster.

Oh, grow a backbone, Jane Norris.

He already had the right to do everything he asked for, whether she agreed or not. As he said, at least this arrangement restored some agency to her. Over the last two days, she’d felt like a leaf swept away in a flooding river.

She snatched a breath and nodded. “Yes, we do.” She paused. “Thank you. You’ve been very understanding.”

“It’s my pleasure, Jane.” He subjected her to a thorough inspection.


Tags: Anna Campbell Dashing Widows Romance