Miss Brooking jumped to her feet, swaying slightly. “My lord, I don’t think—”
He put his hands out and grasped her shoulders to steady her. “Yes, you do. You think too much. Just marry me, Genevieve. You’ll like it.”
“How do you know?” she asked, defiant.
Rory smiled. He pulled her closer, cupped her face with his hand, and lowered his mouth to hers.
Chapter Twelve
Genevieve was drunk.She had to be to stand there and allow Lord Emory to pull her into his arms, place his hand on her cheek, and kiss her. He’d moved slowly, giving her plenty of time to reject him or move away. He wasn’t holding her tightly. She could have easily stepped out of his arms.
But she didn’t.
The dratted manknewshe wouldn’t because she found him irresistibly handsome.
And he knew he was very good at kissing.
That kiss they shared in the closet had been nice, but this—thistook her breath away. His lips were firm and unhesitating. He took her mouth as though he knew exactly what he was doing and had every right to do it. She’d been kissed before. The first kisses were often fumbling and awkward, but she couldn’t imagine this man ever doing anything sloppily, much less kissing a woman shoddily.
His lips brushed over her mouth in a light, teasing way that made her toes curl and the fine hairs on her arms stand up and tingle. Finally, when she thought she might grab his head and kiss him hard to end the tantalizing torture, he increased the pressure slightly, taking her mouth and laying claim to it. His lips closed on hers, then he pulled back, slowly. She followed him, wanting more, but he broke the kiss. His hand slid downher face to the portion of her neck revealed by the modestly cut gown. “Your pulse is racing,” he said, voice low and deep.
“That wasn’t fair,” she whispered.
“I know,” he murmured. “I want you to say yes. I don’t mind cheating a little to get what I want.”
“I need time to think.” She stepped back and put her hand on her chest to quiet her racing heart. “My head is spinning.”
“Fine.” He was all formality again. “How long do you need?”
“I don’t know. This is an important decision.”
“You have four days or until I return, whichever comes first.”
“Return? Where are you going?”
“To get a special license. I don’t want to call the banns and all that.” He waved a hand. “I don’t need everyone gossiping about how my wife hasn’t even been dead a year.”
Genevieve blinked. “That’s a good point, though, my lord. We should wait.”
“No. Frances needs a mother, now more than ever.”
“The child is simply trying to adjust to you and life at Lilacfall Abbey, my lord. We should give her time and not rush into anything.”
“I may not have time, Genevieve. Recall that I have a curse hanging over my head. If anything happens to me, I want Frances safe with you.”
She opened her mouth then closed it again. Just when she had forgotten about his preoccupation with this curse, he brought it up again. She was beginning to fear he might be half mad.
“If this is about Frances’s protection, we can draw up papers—”
“Too late,” he said. “If you’d mentioned that before, I might have considered it. But now I’ve kissed you again, I want you in my bed.”
“My lord—”
“Genevieve, if you need further convincing, I know how to do more than kiss.”
She felt her eyes go round. “I had better go to bed now.”
“I agree.”
