Spellman strode from the room. Arch didn't think the man
was at all satisfied with the outcome of his visit, but
then it wasn't Arch's goal to please his solicitor. He was
more interested in pleasing Camilla. He turned to her.
Her luscious lips were parted slightly, her brow knitted.
She looked to be momentarily stunned as though she could
hardly believe what had transpired. Then, like someone
wiping a slate clean, she blanked her expression.
She rose from the chair, walked to the window, and gazed
out on the garden. "I have always found Mr. Spellman to be
a most unpleasant man. I thought you handled him
admirably."
Arch sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms
across his chest. Ah, yes, he'd handled the man admirably.
But how best to handle the countess was something he had
yet to ascertain.
"I believe you have earned the right to spend the earl's
money more so than I have."
"You are more generous than he ever was. I had fully
expected you to take the larger of his two London homes
when you first arrived. Instead you took the smaller
residence. You are a constant source of amazement to me."
"I could say the same of you."
She shook her head as though she didn't wish to travel in
the direction of his comment. "The old earl would have
required an accounting and explanation for each purchase."
"I am not the old earl."
"So I am slowly coming to realize."
Slowly? He wondered what he could do to hasten the process
along. In spite of his best intentions not to do so, he
rose, crossed over until he stood only a hair's breadth
away from her, inhaled her sweet rose perfume, and said
with a low voice, "I wish I had known you before he ever
possessed you."
Watching her delicate throat as she swallowed, he
desperately wanted to press his lips against her
fluttering pulse.
"You would not have liked me," she whispered.
"What was there not to like?"
"I was ignorant . . . poor . . ."
As though suddenly realizing that she was revealing too
much, she managed to dart away from him without meeting
his gaze. "I would die before I returned to the life of a
commoner. I have established a place for myself among the
Marlborough House Set and am in a position to achieve
anything I want, and I want a good deal. While we search
for a wife for you, I shall be searching for a duke for
myself."
"You say that as though the most important aspect to a man
is his title."
She arched a finely shaped eyebrow. "Because I believe
that a man's title is all that matters."
He shook his head in denial of her words. "You can't mean
that. What of love?"
"What of it? It has no power. It garners no attention when
one walks into a ballroom. It doesn't provide servants, or
fine clothes, or a large residence. It doesn't earn one
favor with the queen. It doesn't keep you out of the
street or the gutters. I have been a pauper and I have
been a countess. Now I seek to be a duchess. As such, I
shall garner respect--"
"You donโt need a title to have respect."
She scoffed. "How little you know. If it were possible, I
would strive to be a queen. Then there would be no one
more important than I."
"If you were to search for love, rather than rank, then to
one man there would be no one more important than you."
"Spoken like a poet, rather than a realist."
He was not a man usually prone to violence, but he thought
he'd find great satisfaction in plowing a fist into the
old earl's face, because he'd managed to strip Camilla of
her ability to dream, and Arch thought that might have
been the old Sachse's cruelest legacy. "You have never
known the reality of being my countess."
"And we both know that I never shall. Not that it matters.
As I've said, I have goals. I shall help find you an
agreeable wife, and in the process, I shall find myself a
satisfactory duke."
"When searching for a wife for me, do not apply your
standards in acquiring a duke. I want a woman I cannot
live without, a woman whose death will cause my heart to
break."
He stepped toward her. "I require a woman who makes me
smile and causes me to laugh with abandon. A woman with
whom I may be comfortable in silence, but whose voice will
delight me and whose conversations will bring me joy. A
woman who will stir my blood to the point of boiling. She
must care deeply about all things and not shy away from
revealing that she does so." Another step.
"She will be compared to fire, not ice. She will embrace
all that life has to offer, not hold it at bay. She will
love me with every fiber of her being, hope for a thousand
years to be held within my embrace, and mourn my passing
as though she truly regrets that I am no longer by her
side."
"You have unrealistic expectations regarding a wife."
"I know of a queen who loved her prince exactly like that."
"I find that sort of love to be cruel. I think it better
not to experience it. Then one never has to deal with the
depth of loneliness and despair that comes from mourning
so great a love."
"But then one must also live with never knowing so great a
passion."
Before she could argue further or he could convince
himself that he was making a terrible mistake, he took her
within his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. She
released a tiny, muffled squeak. Her arms were stiff,
wedged between their bodies, but her lips were pliant,
urging him on. But he had no desire to rush this moment
that he'd waited months to experience.
She'd taunted him with her constant nearness, her faint
rose fragrance teasing his senses, her sultry voice
whispering etiquette and protocol near his ear, her warm
breath wafting along his chin and neck. He'd watched her
eat countless meals, studied the way she ran her tongue
over her lips as though she feared wasting a bit of sauce.
He'd reveled in the dreaminess that came to rest within
her eyes whenever he read to her--and had imagined the
emotions flitting across her face were for him rather than
the story.
Slowly he deepened the kiss, exploring the confines of a
mouth that was quick to issue a tart response with a voice
cold enough to freeze water. But he found no chill now.
Only heat. Shimmering between them as their tongues
welcomed the dance of seduction.
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