Free An Indecent Proposition by Emma Wildes Page A

and be refreshingly honest. After a small pause, he inclined his head. “Point taken. I will refrain henceforth from making presumptuous assumptions.”
    His easy acquiescence seemed to disconcert her. She pursed her mouth, drawing his wayward attention to her soft lips again. “I—I’m sorry,” she said with a small sigh after a moment. “I am a bit sensitive on the subject of my marriage. That’s why I have no intention of ever entering into such an arrangement again.”
    “There is no need to apologize, I assure you, for voicing your opinion.”
    A wry look flickered across her face. “I think I just scolded the Duke of Rothay.”
    “Who no doubt deserves it now and again.” He grinned. “Maybe even more often than that.”
    “You’re very”—she seemed to search for a word and finally found it—“gracious. Most men want a woman to agree with everything they say. I find it tiresome.”
    “Hence the discouraging attitude toward all those eager gentlemen gathered around you at every event?” Nicholas lounged in his chair, enjoying not only the warm, lovely late-afternoon breeze but also her unique lack of coquetry. He was used to women fawning all over him, not reprimanding his poor understanding of their position in the world.
    “Let’s just say I value my independence.”
    They might not know each other very well, but they had that in common. “As do I.”
    “So rumor has it.” Her lips curved in a full, bewitching smile that made his body, already on full alert, take notice.
    The change was remarkable. It turned her from a marble, distant figure into a soft and appealing woman.
    Nicholas shifted in his chair, swelling a little in arousal so the material of his breeches felt tight. How odd. The lady didn’t dissemble, she didn’t even make a pretense of it, and he found he liked her directness. He said softly, “Don’t believe every rumor about me, but that one is correct.”
    “There are plenty enough. Your celebrity is as infamous as any in London society.”
    “I can’t think why.”
    “Can’t you? The stories abound.”
    “So I understand. But truth and gossip rarely go hand in hand, my lady.”
    She regarded him gravely. “Are you trying to tell me that you—and I want to remind you that recently you made a very presumptuous wager about your supposed talents in the very area we are discussing—are more virtuous than the rumors imply?”
    Was he virtuous? Nicholas was sure the term had never been applied to him, but in an abstract way, maybe he was. As a point of honor he didn’t involve himself with anyone who might take the game of seduction in a serious manner. He smiled with deliberate lazy insouciance. “Perhaps. I admit I stopped defending myself years ago.”
    “But you do want your companions without strings?”
    “Absolutely.” Since Helena, he’d found amorous affairs were best kept simple and purely for physical pleasure.
    Once upon a time—before he understood that romantic dreams were just that—he’d made a mistake of colossal proportions. One he was unlikely to ever make again. The lesson had been a harsh one, but he’d been young and foolish, and had idealistic expectations. Experience could be a bitter pill and left an aftertaste one didn’t easily forget.
    Apparently Caroline correctly interpreted his expression. “Well, no one knows I’m here, Your Grace. We’re alone, anonymous, and free to do as we please.”
    “Nicholas,” he reminded her with a slow smile, watching the way the light played across the fragile features of her face, along the slender curves of her shoulders, giving a delightful shadow to the tantalizing cleft between her full breasts, just hinted at by the neckline of her gown. “Do you want to go inside?”
    She didn’t misunderstand the suggestion, and her cheeks took on a rosy tint. “Now? It’s the afternoon.”
    He stifled a laugh at her naive insinuation people made love only after the sun set. For a widow she was