And he could not wait.
But he would not breach her, not until she was his in truth. As badly as he longed to further explore her, he would not. Not even with his fingers. She would be his wife before he would go that far, he vowed it.
Which reminded him.
He tore his mouth from hers and drank in the sight of her. Christabella’s lips were swollen, her jaw slack, eyes closed. She was flushed and disheveled and delicious. He had done that to her. And he loved it.
Her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze met his, the flush on her cheeks deepening to a shade that rivaled her bold locks.
“Gill,” she breathed.
There was one question on his mind.
“Will you marry me?” he asked for the second time in as many days.
“Marry you,” she repeated, her brow furrowing.
Devil take it. Why did she sound so hesitant?
The affliction was beating down on him. Making his chest seize. But this time, there was no easy means of escape. She was still sprawled on his lap, his hand was still up her skirts, nestled in the wicked warmth of her cunny, and even if movement had been possible, he was determined not to flee this time.
He removed his hand with the greatest reluctance, for proposing whilst his hand was buried between her thighs hardly seemed the gentlemanly thing to do. “Yes. I am in need of a wife. You are unwed. I…like you.”
Curse it, what was the matter with him? Had a worse proposal ever been made to a lady? His heart was pounding. A prickle started on his skin.
“I like you too,” she told him, removing herself from his lap and rearranging the fall of her gown as she maneuvered herself back to his side. “But I am not ready to marry just yet.”
She was not ready to marry, and yet she had just allowed him to make indecent advances. Anger sliced through him, replacing the desire.
“You are not ready to marry?” It was his return to echo her words. “Is it because there is another?”
“Not precisely.” She fidgeted with her gown, avoiding his gaze.
He did not like the sound of that.
A possessive surge of jealousy shot through him next. He clenched his fists impotently at his sides. “Who is he?”
“There is no one else I wish to marry, Gill,” she said, looking up at last. “Not yet.”
His brows snapped together. “There is no one else you wish to marry, but neither do you wish to marry me, despite allowing me to touch your cunny and make you come.”
She flinched, perhaps from the vehemence of his words, which startled even him. “There is no need to be crude.”
He shot to his feet, anger rising like a tide within him. Anger at himself. Anger at her. “I was not being crude, madam. I was being honest. Brutally so. Did you not just climb atop my lap, kiss me, and find pleasure?”
She paled, looking as if he had struck her.
He felt as if he had.
What a cad he was. Yes, she had done those things. But there was no call to make her feel shame for them, merely because she had rejected his suit. He had to leave before he said something else. Something worse.
He offered her a stiff bow. “Good day, Miss Winter.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned and stalked from her chamber.
Chapter Nine
Christabella spent the next day in a sea of misery, favoring her ankle and attempting to stifle her yawns. She had not been able to sleep, and the reason had nothing to do with the slight twinge in her ankle whenever she’d shifted in her bed. Rather, it had been the expression on Gill’s face when she had turned down his proposal of marriage.
He had been hurt.
She had hurt him.
And after he had just given her the most intense pleasure she had ever known.
It had not been her intention to wound him. His proposal had taken her by surprise. Also, since he had only asked her to marry him on two instances, both of which occurred in the wake of his hand between her legs, she was partially afraid he was being guided by lust rather than other motives.
“Christabella?”
Pru’s voice interrupted her thoughts, reminding her she was surrounded by her sisters whilst she gathered wool. They had all congregated in one chamber to ready themselves for dinner that evening. And she had no wish for her ever-perceptive sisters to know what was troubling her. If she had to explain, she would have to mention the shocking lapse of propriety in which she had engaged, along with the liberties she had allowed…
Liberties that made her heart pound and desire flare to life deep in her core once more. She had never kissed a rake, but she was certain not even the wickedest rake in the realm’s kiss could compare to Gill’s. He kissed her as if he wanted to brand her with his lips, as if he wanted to keep her in his arms forever.
Because he did.
He wanted to marry her.
Blast.
She forced a smile to her lips and attempted to look nonchalant as her sisters watched her, their expressions expectant. “Yes, dearest sister?”
“I asked you how your ankle is feeling,” Pru said pointedly. “Are you sure you are well? You seem distracted this evening.”
“The Duke of Coventry proposed,” she blurted. “I declined.”
“He did?” Pru’s brows rose. “You did?”
“When?” Eugie and Bea asked.
“Why?” Bea added. “Why would you refuse him, I mean to say. Not why would he propose to you. Clearly, he would propose to you because you are beautiful and the duke knows a wonderfully intelligent, kindhearted lady when he sees one.”
“Did he write his proposal in a letter?” Grace queried dryly, cutting through sweet Bea’s kindness in her own way.
Christabella sighed. So much for wishing to keep the information to herself. Not ten minutes into being surrounded by her beloved sisters, and she was telling them all her secrets. As one did with one’s sisters.
“Yesterday,” she admitted, answering Eugie and Bea’s questions first.
“Before or after your injury?” Pru asked shrewdly.
“Both.” The instant the word left her, she winced.
All her sisters began chattering at once.
“How many times has he proposed?”
“Where you alone with him?”
“Has he ruined you?”
“Did he actually speak?”
Christabella blinked as she tried to make sense of which sister had asked what question. “He has proposed twice, Pru. And yes, Bea, I was alone with him. No, Eugie, he has not ruined me. And Grace, Coventry is fully capable of speaking. Indeed, he speaks quite eloquently when he wishes. He simply struggles in gatherings. His struggles were no match for me, however. I made my way through them with tickling, snowballs, and good sense.”
Also, kissing.
She refrained from mentioning that last bit.
And then she realized her sisters were all eying her in a similar fashion.
Her cheeks went hot. “Why are you looking at me thus?”
“Of course it would be you.” Grace was the first to speak, shaking her head.
“What do you mean?” she demanded, the tips of her ears feeling quite hot by now. “Of course what would be me?”
“Surely you can see the irony,” Grace said gently. “You are the sister who, of us all, has vowed to snare a rake. And yet, you have lost your heart to a man who scarcely even speaks, let alone charms anyone.”
He had charmed her.
With his mouth.
And his strong arms.
His sparkling blue eyes.
His smile.
His laughter.
His knowing fingers…
Drat. What was she thinking? She chased all thoughts of Gill from her mind, struggling to maintain her ability to reason.
“And a rake I shall yet ensnare,” she declared, perturbed that her voice did not hold nearly as much conviction as it ought.
That it sounded instead quite hollow. Uncertain, even.
>
“Of course you shall.” Grace rolled her eyes in typical Grace fashion.
Irritation sparked through her. “Yes, I shall. Do you doubt me?”
“Do not be foolish,” Pru cautioned. “Rakes are not all they seem to be.”
“But are you not marrying Lord Ashley, one of the wickedest rakes in all London?” Christabella could not help but to ask.
After all, Pru had just been discovered in a most compromising situation with Lord Ashley. By a servant, no less. Their brother Dev had been enraged, and he was demanding Pru marry Lord Ashley as a result.
“I have no choice in the matter,” Pru said.
“You are in love, however,” Bea offered.
“Lord Ashley has been chasing you all over Abingdon House since his arrival,” Grace added.
“He does seem to have eyes only for you,” Eugie added to Pru, which was a surprise, for she was ordinarily quite jaded when it came to noblemen.
Christabella supposed falling in love with her betrothed, the Earl of Hertford, had changed all that for her sister. Love seemed to change everything. She stared at her sisters, all of them preparing to wed. Grace had lost her heart to Lord Aylesford somehow along the way, and the two of them were now betrothed in truth. Even Pru, who seemed shocked by the harried nature of the decision involving herself, looked, beneath it all, happy.
Contented.
That was how they all looked. In love. About to marry men who would make them deliriously happy.
An unwanted spear of envy pricked her. She longed for that same happiness. To be assured of love. Of a husband who loved her. For over the course of the last few weeks of the house party, Christabella had watched her sisters fall in love. She had watched their future husbands looking upon them with unreserved affection, as if they were the only ladies in a chamber.
And what did she have? Not the grand passion she had always been longing for, certainly.
Or did she?
“We are not speaking of me, however,” Pru interrupted, her maternal instinct on full display. “We are speaking of Christabella and the Duke of Coventry.”
“And his many proposals,” Grace added with a raised brow, pinning her with a probing look.
“It was only two,” she defended.
“Two proposals is rather unusual,” Bea pointed out.
“It suggests strong emotions,” Eugie said.
Christabella exhaled on a long sigh. “It suggests confusion. I am the first lady he has ever kissed.”
“You have kissed him?” Grace asked, brows going skyward. “How many times?”
More times than she could count.
All those kisses came flooding back to her now, along with a rush of tangled-up emotions. His mouth on hers…it was bliss. She wanted it again. What did that mean?
She swallowed, contemplating her response. About to lie.
“More times than she cares to admit,” answered Bea on her behalf.
Her youngest sister was wise beyond her years. But Christabella glared at her all the same. “How do you know?”
“Your expression,” Eugie answered definitively.
“You look guilty,” Pru observed.
“Guiltier than whom? Than any of the rest of you?” she could not help but to counter. She was feeling defensive, yes. But being examined by her sisters had not been her intention this evening. Indeed, she had meant to hold her tongue. To say nothing.
To…
What?
To forget Gill had ever kissed her? To forget he had turned her world asunder each time he touched her? To forget the mindless bliss he had visited upon her with his fingers alone?
How could she forget any of that? Moreover, how could she forget him?
The answer seemed glaring, if unwanted.
She could not.
But he was not what she wanted. He was not a rake. He had not declared his love for her in charming and effusive fashion. He had not led her into a darkened chamber and ravished her.
The only problem with all that logic was that she was beginning to fear those were all just childish fancies. The longings of a girl who had never before been swept away by a man before her rather than a man between the pages of a book.
Her sisters were gaping at her in the wake of her outburst.
Christabella raised her fingertips to her cheek and discovered the reason why as she touched the wet trails of her tears. She was weeping. Weeping and miserable and confused. So horribly, irrevocably confused.
“You are in love with him,” Bea declared.
“Nay,” she denied. “I am not.”
“Do you want to kiss him again?” Grace asked. “Is he all you can think of, even when you close your eyes to sleep at night?”
Yes.
She clamped her lips tight.
“Does being in his arms make you feel as if you have come home?” Eugie added next.
She thought of his citrus and musk scent, his long, strong arms. Thought of how effortlessly he had scooped her into his arms. Thought of clinging to him. Of his embrace.
“It is pleasant enough,” she allowed grudgingly.
Which was, of course, a wretched lie.
Being in Gill’s arms was everything.
“Is he the one you continually find yourself drawn to, even when it goes against everything within you, all your reason, your common sense, your best intentions otherwise?” Pru added, her tone contemplative.
Perhaps she was thinking of her own circumstances.
Christabella bit her lip, pondering her sister’s question. The answer was as plain as the nose upon her face. Of course she was drawn to Gill. It had not happened intentionally. But it had happened quickly. With shocking speed. One day, she had thought him frigid as an icicle, and the next he had been the flame.
“I…” She struggled to make sense of her emotions, to give voice to what she was feeling inside, and failed.
But as it turned out, she did not require eloquence. She had sisters, and they read her heart. Better, it would seem, than she had.
They surrounded her in the next moment, until she stood in the center of their circle. Their arms were entwined in one endless hug.
“Winter hug,” they said.
Her heart warmed, in spite of her confusion. How she loved her sisters. They were all so different from each other. But they were the same in one respect: they loved each other and they were fiercely protective of one another. They all understood that they were Winters. For so long, it had been them against the rest of the world.
Now, their world was growing larger.
“Christabella?” Pru asked.
“Yes?” she ventured, eyes still closed tight.
“The next time he asks you to marry him, accept,” Bea counseled.
“You are in love,” Grace added.
“And, unless we are all mistaken, which never happens,” Eugie said, “he is in love with you.”
“As he ought to be.” Pru pressed a kiss to her forehead, half-sisterly, half-maternal. “Any man would be fortunate to have you as his wife.”
“The same can be said of you,” she told her sisters. “Of all of you.”
“It is a bloody good thing you added the rest of us,” Grace said. “Else I may have had to resort to pulling hair.”
All the sisters dissolved into a fit of giggles.
When she caught her breath again, Christabella hugged the circle of her sisters to her tightly. “How do I know if I am in love with him? Or for that matter, how do I know if he is in love with me?”
“You will know it in your heart,” Eugie said.
And that was precisely what Christabella was afraid of.
Gill took one look at his brother’s countenance, and he knew what Ash was about to say.
“You have fallen in love with Miss Prudence Winter,” he pronounced.
Ash’s shoulders went stiff, a frown drawing his brows together. “How did you know?”
There was only one reason why Ash would come dash
ing to his chamber whilst he readied for dinner. And only one reason why his brother would look so concerned and yet elated, all at once. He did his damnedest not to feel bitter about the fact that he had been right all along in his supposition that if one of them could be happy, it would be Ash.
Never Gill.
“You are my brother,” he forced himself to say by way of explanation.
“How long have you known?” Ash demanded, a sharp edge of outrage inherent in his voice.
“Since our arrival here.” Gill tied a knot in his cravat himself, since he had already dismissed his valet, Martin to enable him to have this conversation with his brother sans audience.
“Since our arrival,” Ash repeated, looking shocked. “But what of the wager? You told me you wanted to make Pru your duchess.”
“I told you I wanted to find my duchess here, and that I was willing to accept your aid,” he explained. “We both know I am as useless as a ham when it comes to the fairer sex. You, however, were the one who suggested Miss Prudence.”
And he was still as useless as a ham.
He could make Miss Christabella come, but he could not make her agree to be his duchess.
“I was not the one who suggested it,” his brother denied.
“You could not stop staring at her from the moment you first saw her,” he countered. “I had hoped the two of you might suit. You simply needed the proper motivation. A wager seemed just the thing.”
“The devil. You mean to tell me that this whole time, whilst I thought I was helping you to find a bride, you, my virginal, saintly brother, were actually helping me to acquire a bride?”
Gill grinned at that. Grimly, of course. Because he was no longer as virginal as he had once been. And he was certainly not saintly. “Yes.”
“Confound it, Gill.” Ash’s outrage had returned. “Have you any idea how guilty I felt this last fortnight, believing I was lusting over the woman you wanted to make your duchess?”
The very notion of Ash lusting over Christabella—regardless of how much he loved his brother—made Gill long to do violence.
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