The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [10]
“Does what?”
“Douglas keeps her smiling. Now, Alexandra likes you. She told me about how you wanted to be her shepherd.”
He whacked his cane against the carriage floor. “You damned women. You can’t wait to tell each other all about a man’s failures, you never forget them, even though this particular failure happened eight years ago. She was newly wedded to Douglas. He was being an ass, nothing all that unusual for Douglas. She was ripe for the plucking, so I thought. But instead, she clung to the tree. She was utterly green, naive, and, unfortunately, adorable.” He frowned over those words and shrugged. “Over the years we have gotten in the habit of exchanging friendly conversation. It is no longer as unnerving as it was at the beginning. I quite like her.”
“You mean you found it strange to like a woman you’d failed to seduce?”
He gave her a look of acute dislike and crossed his arms over his chest. It was intimidating, and he knew it. “Exactly. I can even pass a good half hour now in her company without staring at her breasts.” There, he thought, pleased with himself. He wasn’t going to let her be more provocative than he, the brazen twit. He would keep the upper hand. Time was growing short. Two o’clock in the afternoon was only an hour from now. He wasn’t going to have time to get her into his bed. He lowered the sun in the sky, thinking of twilight. It was a lovely time of the day, soft lights caressing a woman’s body. He cleared his throat.
“Thirty minutes?” Helen said. “Not a single look? For a man, that has to be close to sainthood.” She gave him another dazzling smile. “So you can see why I wanted to meet you. I want a man who can control himself, who can decide what to do and get it done. I want a man of charm and a bit of wit and endless experience. I want a man who can set a goal and figure out how to gain it, a man who can separate the chaff from the wheat.”
“What does that mean?”
“That, Lord Beecham, was a metaphor. It means you know what is important and what is not. Alexandra recommended you. You have just shown me that you are very comfortable bandying about women’s parts that no other gentleman of my acquaintance would bandy about in front of a lady, and that shows, I suppose, that you know you are fluent enough so that you won’t get shot. Actually, I do exactly the same thing with men and I haven’t been shot either.”
“You mean we are both fluent?”
“Oh, yes. I believe in fairness.”
He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He realized that she wasn’t taking in the passing view, no, she was taking him in. She was giving him a thorough examination from his ears, to the toes of his boots, to his hand holding the head of his cane.
“Alexandra told me you were handsome, not as handsome as Douglas, naturally, but still, more than adequate. She said you don’t have excess flesh as many men do after they pass their thirtieth year. Er, you have quite passed your thirtieth year, haven’t you?”
“I am thirty-three, two years younger than Douglas.”
“Douglas has no excess fat either. It’s refreshing to find at least two gentlemen who look quite well enough to encourage a lady to take a second look, perhaps even lightly place her palm over their bellies, to feel the hard smoothness of their muscles.”
It took all his control not to take her down to the floor of the carriage right that instant. He could have her breasts free of her gown in a second. Damnation—not in a carriage, not the first time he took her. He wanted her happy after they finished, not sore from being tossed about between two carriage seats.
He cleared his throat. He was being overly enthusiastic. At thirty-three years of age, he had sublime control. She’d said she knew he had control. Well, he did. What was happening here? “You must be from the country, where the squires parade around with their bellies sticking out.”
“Yes, indeed. I cannot tell you how exhilarating