Mary Putney - Angel Rogue

She thought of the warm stone, the rolling green hills, and the house's gracious, welcoming air. Ruxton wanted to be a home, and she was a woman who had wanted a stable home all her life.

Her voice almost inaudible, she said, "Yes. If… if things work out between us, I could be happy there."

Such a very big if.

On the carriage ride home, Desdemona and Giles had talked casually, in words anyone could have overheard, but his large strong hand enfolded hers and she felt quite absurdly happy. She had not felt such a sense of bubbling anticipation since she was a child.

When they reached her home, Giles escorted her up the steps, then rested his hands briefly on her upper arms, his expression intent. His grasp tightened for a moment. She wondered if he was going to kiss her, right there in Mount Street

Then her parlor maid opened the door. He dropped his hands, saying simply, "Good night, Desdemona. It was a lovely evening."

Yes, and it was too early for it to end. She said, "It isn't really late. Would you like to come in for a few minutes? Perhaps have some brandy?"

The marquess hesitated, clearly on the brink of refusing.

Amazed at her own temerity, she smiled up at him. "Please?"

"For a few minutes, then," he said after an unflatteringly long pause.

She sent the servants off to bed, then led Giles into the drawing room and poured them each a brandy. Sitting in facing chairs, they talked idly for a while, but the earlier ease was gone. The marquess watched her with a dark, brooding expression that made her uneasy. Though she had thought his regard was flattering earlier in the evening, now she was not so sure. Perhaps, she thought with profound depression, his interest in her had been a momentary aberration and now he was wondering how to disengage gracefully.

He finished his brandy and stood. "I think it's best that I leave now."

Desdemona stared at him, sure she had done something wrong.

Humor lurking in his eyes, he said, "Don't look at me like that, as if I've just cast my vote against your apprentice protection law."

She glanced away, struggling to control her expression. A proper female would have learned not to wear her heart on her sleeve by the age of seventeen. Yet here she was, on the shady side of thirty, acting like a naive fool.

Giles swore under his breath. "The problem isn't you, Desdemona, but me," he said bluntly. "If I stay, I am going to have a great deal of trouble keeping my hands off you, which you will probably find upsetting. It will certainly raise havoc with the slow, genteel courtship I have been planning."

Courtship? Hearing that filled Desdemona with relief. "I don't think you're likely to turn into a lust crazed beast. And if you do"-she gave him a shy smile-"it's a risk I'm willing to take."

Giles smiled but shook his head. "Perhaps I'll manage to behave as a gentleman, but I can't guarantee it."

"Good!" she said recklessly.

He laughed, lines crinkling the tanned skin around his eyes. "Do you realize how much you've changed in the last fortnight?"

"I hope it's for the better."

"I certainly think so." He leaned against the fireplace mantel, his arms folded across his chest, his expression serious. "This may be too early for a formal offer of marriage, but I'd like you to consider the possibility."

Desdemona stared at him, her relief ebbing away. She had been drifting, delighted by his company and his admiration, but now that he had actually spoken, painful reality closed in.

He raised his brows at her expression. "Surely you aren't surprised. The prospect was first raised in Daventry."

"I guess I thought that after you had a chance to consider, you wouldn't really make an offer," she said in a small voice.

He gave the wry half smile she loved. I'm not sure whether that shows lack of faith in me or in yourself." His smile faded. "You are living proof that a woman doesn't need a husband to have a worthwhile life. Even if you do wish to remarry, I can understand that you might prefer more promising material. Just… just tell me now, and I won't mention the subject again."

His statement reminded her that she was not the only one to feel uncertain. "I have no doubt that you would make a marvelous husband. The problem is-" she swallowed hard, "I don't know if I would make an adequate wife."

He caught her gaze with his own. "You are honest, beautiful, have a kind heart, and do not suffer fools gladly. To me, those seem like excellent qualifications for a wife."

She smiled at what he considered important, but her eyes slid away. "I don't know if I can give you an heir. It's true that my husband and I did not share a bed for very long, so perhaps I am not barren, but I am past thirty now-"

He cut her off sharply. "That doesn't matter. I'm offering for you because I want you to be my wife, not a brood mare. It doesn't bother me to think that Robin or a son of his will have Wolverhampton after me." Painful bleakness showed in his eyes. "My mother and my first wife both died in childbirth. I would not want to see that happen to you."

Desdemona looked down to where her hands were frantically twined in her lap. The trouble with half truths is that they were not much protection after they were demolished. She should have known that the real truth could not be avoided.

She forced herself to look at him. "There is another,more basic reason why I fear I would not be the wife for you. You are a warm, passionate man. Surely you want a wife who is the same. But I don't know if I am capable of being that kind of woman."

She hoped he would understand what she was trying to say, but no such luck. After a long pause, he said quietly, "Could you explain what you mean a little more clearly?"

Her shoulders bowed and her voice broke. "My husband… he used to say that lying with me was like bedding an icicle. That any trollop on the streets was warmer than I."

Giles crossed the room and sat on the arm of her chair, then put his arms around her. "Hush, love," he said, rocking her gently, his cheek against her hair. "Few women are passionate in a miserable marriage. Don't condemn yourself because of the words of a selfish brute."

She clung to him, shaking, but his words eased some of the tight knot inside her.

He smoothed back her hair with a gentle hand. "You are so incredibly fairminded. There is probably not another woman in London who would so conscientiously spell out her presumed failings when a marquess offered for her."

She leaned back in his embrace to look him squarely in the eye. "I'm not interested in marrying a marquess. I'm interested in Giles Andreville, who is the kindest, most amusing, most attractive man in England."

A slow smile spread over Giles's face. "It seems that we both think marriage is a good idea, so when shall we do it?"

Before she could answer, he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. The desire that had ebbed while she was revealing her fears began to return. She kissed him back, wishing that she were more experienced.

He lifted his head and smiled into her eyes. "You don't kiss like a cold woman." He stood, then pulled her to her feet for another, longer embrace.

She loved the feel of his broad, muscular body. He was the only man who had ever made her feel delicate and feminine. She pressed against him, losing herself in his kiss.

He broke away, his breath coming quick and hard. "I think we can work matters out to our mutual satisfaction, don't you?"

Perhaps he was right, but she did not want to risk the unknown. Her gaze dropped to his cravat as she said haltingly, "Marriage is forever, Giles. It might be better if we don't do anything so irrevocable until we are sure. Or rather," she qualified, "until I am sure that… that I can fulfill my part of the bargain."