“I promised to find you a bride. But I do believe you at least should have a decent woman. A woman who isn’t already with child.”
So the rumors of Miss Whitmore were true. Another reason he needed to tread more carefully when searching for a bride. The most eager of women likely had a cause for a rushed wedding.
He strolled along the edge of the billiard table, slowly coming closer to her. In her distracted state, she apparently hadn’t taken notice of his position. After the cloying odor of Miss Whitmore’s perfume, the slight scent of jasmine that Jennette wore smelled like a breath of summer air.
“Precisely how did you determine Miss Whitmore is with child?” he asked. “I doubt she volunteered the news.”
“As I told you, she acted extremely eager to meet you. She and her mother kept giving each other odd looks when I spoke with them.”
Matthew suppressed a chuckle. “And from that you decided the only logical explanation had to be pregnancy?”
“No,” she answered in a hesitant tone. “I asked Sophie to attend tonight because she can usually sense these things. She spoke with Miss Whitmore and held her hand. From that she determined her condition.”
Matthew groaned out of frustration with her illogical thoughts. But there was also the possibility that she was correct about Miss Whitmore. Perhaps the only women who would have anything to do with him all had something to hide. Except Jennette. She had the most to keep secret…and she didn’t want him either.
“So far you have made me dance with a woman so disgusted with me she could scarcely move. Another woman, barely out of the nursery, who was in love with another man—”
“Miss Sheldon?” she gasped. “I had no idea.”
“And now you set me up with a woman who might be carrying another man’s child.” He stepped closer to her as his anger surged until he had her trapped between his body and the billiard table. He leaned in closer, inhaling the tempting scent of her perfume. Ignore the clawing desire, he told himself.
“You had best have a care, Jennette,” he whispered near her ear.
“Wh—Why?” she stammered.
“You’re starting to look like my only hope.”
“You’re mad!”
“Hardly,” he said with a small grin. “You have yet to protest my close contact, either.”
Deliberately, he traced the delicate line of her jaw with his finger. God, he was a fool to want her as he did. She was everything he didn’t need in a woman. The last thing he should do was bait her. Or stand so close that her breasts almost scraped against his jacket.
He should back away…but his feet wouldn’t move. The urge to retreat flew out of his mind only to be replaced by a much stronger yearning.
No. He looked away from her. He should do what he intended and ignore her.
Jennette shoved at his chest, embarrassed by the accuracy of his statement. Three times, he’d pinned her body between him and another object and not once had she protested. Instead, she only savored the scent of him and the strength of his hard, lean body all but touching her. God help her.
“I believe you are quite wrong on that matter,” she said resolutely.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he asked with a grin.
“You are the most annoying man I have ever met.”
He leaned nonchalantly against the billiard table, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me, Jennette, would it be so horrid if we had to marry? Would you be unable to tolerate my kisses?”
She turned toward him as embarrassed heat crossed her cheeks. “How dare you insult me with such a question?”
“I apologize,” he said softly.
“I would find it unbearable,” she lied. She could never let him know how much he affected her senses.
“Unbearable?” he said with a low chuckle. “You can’t possibly believe that.”
Jennette stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest as he had. “Utterly unbearable.”
Anger flared in his gray eyes. “Liar,” he bit out. “You have done nothing to find me a proper bride, thus allowing you to absolve your conscience when you find yourself married to me.”