Chapter 17 #2
Is that it? We part ways? All of this and then nothing?
There was no reason for goosebumps to have broken out all over her skin. No reason at all. Her stomach should not be churning, her heart should not be pounding so loudly that she could hear it in her ears. None of this should be happening. None of it.
He reached the door and turned a latch that she had not noticed before. It gave an audible click that made her shiver. Then, with a smile, he turned around and strode back towards her.
“Now we won’t be disturbed,” he murmured.
“I should have known you’d know how to protect your reputation,” she managed, somewhat shakily.
“Indeed.”
“Well, are we going to talk about the translations, then? The other excerpts were from German poetry, I believe, and a little more complex than a novel. You haven’t even read them.”
Christian stepped half a pace too close to her, eyes blazing. “My dear, you cannot possibly think that we are here to discuss that.”
She blinked. “Well, what else are we here for if not the translations? I don’t understand.”
He leaned closer. She could smell him, a sharp scent amongst all the mellow, earthy greenery. Strange that she could identify his scent most of all. She really ought to ask him what cologne he used. Perhaps that was what she liked.
“You are behaving very strangely,” she remarked, lifting her chin. “Tell me, then. What do you want to discuss?”
He took another step towards her, making her step back.
“You danced with another man,” he breathed.
Thalia blinked, frowning. “Well, yes, but I had no choice.”
“Ah, there is always a choice, my dear.”
She folded her arms. “Is that so? Well, perhaps you’d be so kind as to point out what mine could have been. I cannot offend Mr. Pembroke in his own house. You did not ask me, despite my brother practically… practically offering me up to you on a plate!”
He gave a tight smile, as if the thought amused him greatly.
“It’s dreadfully impolite,” he purred, moving forward once more.
Thalia inched back, but this time the back of her knees hit the settee, and she plopped down with an undignified oof. Thank heavens for the cushion, or the breath would have been knocked out of her.
Christian leaned in, bringing himself almost nose to nose with her, and planted his hands on either side of her hips.
Her heart stuttered. She was fairly sure that she could not draw in a breath if she tried. Logically, she knew that air must be entering and exiting her lungs, but for the life of her, she could not feel it.
“I expect more from you, my dear,” he murmured. “You are my betrothed after all.”
“Actually,” she responded, lifting her chin, “until you speak officially to my brother, I am not.”
“I was not aware you needed his permission.”
“I do not. Not technically, but in the eyes of the ton, I ought to get it. You needn’t worry, he’ll grant you permission. He’d love it if I became a duchess.”
He’d love to keep my money for himself.
Christian eyed her for a long moment. Try as she might, she could not read the expression on his face. There was something intent there, something hungry. Whatever it was, it thrilled her, sparking a sharp bubble of desire in her gut.
She was fairly sure she ought not to be feeling such a thing. And yet knowing that something was improper did not make it go away, not in the slightest. She was learning that fast.
“We are not going to be really betrothed, anyway,” she heard herself say, voice catching.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, Thalia. Pull yourself together!
Christian reached forward, fingertips grazing her chin. She pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to lean into his touch.
“False betrothal or not,” he murmured thoughtfully, “you are mine for a month. That was what we agreed on. I don’t care to watch you dancing with other men, even ones as unpleasant as Mr. Pembroke.”
“Yours?” Thalia echoed with a squeak. “I am not yours, Your Grace.”
He chuckled, low and soft. “Are you not? Oh, my dear, you are mistaken. You are mine.”
“Saying it won’t make it so.”
“No,” he admitted thoughtfully. “It will not. I daresay I shall have to prove it to you, then.”
The goosebumps were back, climbing up and down Thalia’s skin, making her shiver, making her want something that she did not quite understand. The pulsing between her legs was most insistent, craving something that she had no idea how to ask for.
Even if she did know, she was quite sure that she would not humble herself by requesting it. Oh no.
Christian moved back, gracefully dropping down until he knelt in front of her, his head now just a little lower than hers.
It occurred to her that she’d never seen him from such an angle. His lashes seemed longer, his eyes larger and brighter. Different.
“I can see that I have not made myself clear,” he whispered.
“And… and will you do so now?” she breathed, not entirely sure what to do with her hands. Place them on her knees? Fold them? What? She settled on placing them on either side of her, palms down, fingers spread, tips digging into the cushion beneath her.
“Oh yes.” He chuckled mischievously. “My sweet girl, I am going to make sure that my name is the only one you can speak.”