Free Miss Winters Proposes by Frances Fowlkes

depart from Hollington. I would like to breed them without—”
    “What of Artemis?”
    Juliet glanced down at the champion begging at his feet. “She is not a part of my dowry. One of her pups, however—”
    “Her pups belong to me.” And Mr. Lightwood, who was eagerly anticipating their arrival.
    “Yes. All but one. You are contractually obligated to give one of her litter to the owner of the sire. Do you not recall the terms of the arrangement you made with my father?”
    Of course he recalled the details. He had simply forgotten that one.
    “Horatio is your father’s dog.”
    “And my dowry. My father is aging and finds he no longer has the energy required to maintain a healthy kennel. Hence, why he included them as part of my dowry. Not only does it entice offers of marriage from gentlemen, it also ensures I keep the dogs. They are his legacy…and mine.”
    It all made sense, of course. He had simply not wished to hear it. He needed Artemis’s pups and the thought of giving such a valuable and precious thing away, contract or not, made him cringe. “What if she delivers only one viable pup?”
    Juliet scrunched her nose and shook her head. “Artemis is in perfect health. There is no reason not to believe she will whelp five or even seven pups.”
    “What makes you so certain?”
    “Experience.” Juliet knelt down at his feet, her copper-red curls brushing against his knees as she examined Artemis.
    His weak mind once again wandered, and he found himself wishing it were him she was examining and not his bitch.
    Taking a step back, he snatched one of the cups of steaming chocolate she had poured and let the liquid burn his throat. It was a welcome and very painful diversion.
    “Artemis will whelp in two weeks. And when she does, you’ll have a fine, healthy litter to keep warm and nourish.”
    Which meant he had two weeks to spend in close proximity with Juliet teasing him with her scent, her curls, and her passion.
    God help him.

Chapter Seven
    An entire day spent in the viscount’s presence had proven distracting. Exciting. And nothing like anything Juliet had ever experienced.
    Never had she been treated to such devotion or attention. Benjamin had seen to her every need, had indulged her every whim and fancy. He had treated her with respect, as though she were an equal, asking her questions and nodding at her answers, even appearing interested in her discussions.
    Juliet squinted at the pages of her book, attempting to focus on the words in front of her. She had read the last sentence at least fourteen times, the pages that once held her rapt attention now a distraction, something to focus upon while Benjamin sat less than a foot beside her, fully engaged in the poems of Byron, his clean scent filling her head and placing indecent thoughts into her mind.
    Thoughts of the future. With him. As equal partners sharing an interest in hounds and the progeny of a superior line.
    She was quite certain, were the high flames in her father’s library grate not already making her cheeks flush with heat, her outrageous thoughts, along with the viscount’s constant attention, would permanently tinge her face crimson.
    Juliet bit her lip. Perhaps pain would redirect her attention to the page and not on the smell of pine and wood smoke that seemed to accompany Benjamin whenever he was near. She had to focus, maintain a sense of—
    With a flick of his wrist, he plucked the book out of her grasp and snapped it shut. “What are you reading, Juliet? You have been on the same page for the past thirty minutes. It must be the most uninteresting piece of literature in the room.”
    Had thirty minutes truly passed? Five or ten she might have believed, but surely she could not have been holding her breath for the past thirty, since he had sat down beside her, his very presence filling the room and making it difficult to breathe.
    “Benjamin, please.” She reached for the worn spine, but he passed it to his opposite