Chapter 16 #3
“I’ve been trying to get my work published and you woke up one morning and inherited a publishing house. ‘Here’s your breakfast, my lord. And would you like a side of publishing house with your eggs, sir?’” she said in her best impression of a butler,
ending the performance with a disgruntled shake of her head.
“Have you even read a book before, Fitz?”
Viscount Ludlowe clutched his heart and stumbled back a step, pretending to be offended. “I’ve read loads of them.”
She pressed her tongue against her bottom lip and raised a brow. “Name just one of them, then, my lord.”
He slid his hand over her finger, capturing her hand against his chest. “I’ve read so very many books that it’s hard to isolate a particular one in my mind.”
Her chest bobbed with the constraint of her corset, of her attempt to appear casual, as she said, “So, you need me to assist you in…helping you appear learned and literary so that you can get your funds? How predictable.”
Even though he was the subject of her jokes, and her ire, he suppressed a chuckle. Like being the point of a jibe was a role he felt was as tailored for him as his bespoke boots. He was more than that. So much more.
He kept her hand at his chest as he took a step toward her that felt…
predatory. The intent with which his gaze locked on her tore through the distance between them and stopped her in her tracks.
She didn’t look away, merely stood as he placed his other arm about her waist.
Her eyelids fluttered in anticipation of him kissing her again.
Another incendiary kiss and she didn’t know if she could continue the ruse that he wasn’t embedded underneath her skin.
Noelle watched the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he purred, “No. No, that's not it at all.”
A lock of his flaxen hair had fallen in front of his eyes as he stared down at her and she pushed it from his face as though it were the most natural and predictable movement in the world and not the forward, overly familiar gesture that it was.
His eyelids closed and he sucked in as much air as his seemingly bottomless lungs could hold.
She dropped her voice an octave to say, “Then what is it that you want from me, Fitz? Please don’t play games with me.”
The crescent of a smile that held up one corner of his lips fascinated her like some new scientific discovery. “I might play games with other people but never with you, Noelle.”
“Because I’m cleverer than you by half?”
Fitz nodded his head in assent, “Only half? A conservative estimate,” he rubbed a hand against the golden stubble of his jaw pensively, “I’d wager you are likely…thrice as clever than I at least. And that’s on one of my more sober days.”
He clinched her waist tighter, adding against her ear, “That’s not the only reason. I respect and admire you, Noelle.”
She could fold that little compliment into herself and store it away somewhere for years to come, living off the warmth it gave off, the heat of his gaze and the genuine lilt of his voice saying her name.
“Answer the question…What do you want from me, Fitz?” As she looked up at him, the words escaped her with effort.
“Thrilled that you asked…what if I were to publicly court you…a whirlwind courtship for all the ton to see…and then everyone would witness you bringing me up to scratch. We would make a highly publicized society marriage that people will be talking about for years to come…
the pretty wallflower and the…stupid prince Fitzwilliam. You’ll have the ear of the head of a house of publishing and a bevy of literary resources at your disposal.”
Dear god, was it possible that he wanted the same things that she did?
“Would you want me to write under a pseudonym?” she asked.
He snorted, “God, no,” he pulled her in so tight she felt the shape of him blur with her own.
“I would only ask that you do at first. But then, when I receive my inheritance….”
one finger traced her jaw, “I’ll be able to use my new freedom and resources to make sure everyone knows how clever of a wife I’d married. They’d think you insane for agreeing to marry me; but God, what a lucky bastard they’d believe me to be.”
The warm breeze of his breath against her cool skin echoed with desirous bellows inside of her.
He’d been kindling to the flame inside of her with merely his body; but with his words, it had been more challenging to quell the wildfire raging inside her.
Her rational brain told her she should fight this feeling; but it felt good to be overcome by an intense heat that wasn’t due to injustice.
“Does this type of rubbish work on all women?” Curse her, her voice came out sounding more like a caress than a jest.
His jaw tightened. “I only want it to work on one woman. You.”
“But again…Why me?”
There was a flash in his eyes, like the strike of a match that flickered just before it was snuffed.
“Why you? Because you look so pretty when you’re mad at me and using polysyllabic words like metaphorical.” he said the last word into her ear. He’d said it so close she felt like the sound came from inside her. He hadn’t really answered her question, maybe she could ransack it from him.
“I’ve another one for you,” she placed a hand dangerously close to that beautiful hair of his to pull his head closer to her lips. “Pentameter,” she breathed into his ear.