Peter bit back a sigh. “Listen, you are exceptional at arranging things, I’ll give you that. But I don’t think it’s going to work out.”
“I think you simply need to practice.”
“Selina.” He blew out his breath. “Why do you want this so much? Why is it so important to you to see me married?”
She looked agonized, and he regretted the words as soon as he said them. “I—it’s not that I want to see you married. I want—I want to help you, Peter. I want you to have your family. I think this will help you get the children!”
“All right,” he said. “Fine. How do I practice?”
“You are too—” She hesitated, as if searching for the word, and his pride winced in horrified anticipation. Her lips made that little pout again. “Charming.”
His pride rebounded. “And that’s… how I’m going wrong? With women?”
“Indeed. I’m sure you are very successful with”—her lips compressed—“women. But you are not trying to marrywomen, Peter. You are trying to marryonewoman.”
“I… see?”
He did not see.
She waved a hand through the air. “You deploy your charm indiscriminately. You smile that Kent smile at all sorts of women in the exact same way.”
That Kent smile? He felt as though he’d gotten locked not in a library but in some kind of alternative country where he didn’t speak the language.
“If you want Lydia or Iris or Georgiana to take you seriously as a marital prospect,” Selina continued, “you must show her that she means something to you. Something special. Something unique.”
Christ. He raked a hand through his hair, and Selina’s eyes followed the movement of his arm. “Theyareunique. They’re all very unique.”
She scowled. “That is precisely the problem. You cannot say things like that and expect them to believe that you are sincerely interested in marrying them.”
“And you have ideas about what I should say?” Did she mean to provide a script for his proposal, then?
Good God, this whole situation had spiraled out of his control. It had seemed simple. Find a woman he liked. Marry her. Get the children.
Was it his impulse for self-destruction that had made it all such a snarl? Why else would some part of his brain be shouting that there was one woman who was special. One woman he couldimagine in his life, in his bed, and here she was, carefully instructing him on how to marry someone else.
“I have a few ideas,” she said. “Choose one of the women, Peter. Tell her that you value her. Tell her that you respect her as a person, and not just for her dowry or her family name or her pretty face.”
“Fine,” he said. “I understand. I’ll try.”
He started to turn to the door, but her voice stopped him. “Wait.”
He looked back. She bit her lower lip, just for a moment, and then she said, “I told you. I think you should practice. On me.”
“Selina,” he tried to say, but she was already protesting, her hand held out to him in appeal.
“Just practice,” she said. “Tell me what you would say.”
He could feel the steady rhythm of his heart against his ribs as he looked at her, with her wolf’s eyes, that wide mouth he wanted to taste more than he’d wanted anything in his life.
And he took the things he wanted. He was selfish that way. Reckless.
It was a terrible idea. This was a terrible idea.
He took a step toward her. She held her ground, and damn him, he liked that about her.
“I respect you,” he said, his voice low. She swayed toward him, and he took another step. “I value you. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
She licked her lips, and he brought his hand to the side of her long, slender neck, his thumb just brushing the skin behind her ear.
