“For goodness’ sake,” Eugenia said. The shock she’d been feeling was quickly being replaced by exasperation. “I can’t believe that Miss Midge took those silly spells seriously.”
“I don’t believe she did, but she was horrified by my siblings’ indifference to the Anglican faith. Your assistant, Miss Lloyd-Fantil, agreed with me that the formidable directress of Snowe’s Agency would be a valuable support before the bishop.”
“I see,” Eugenia said, nodding. “Nevertheless, that doesn’t explain why you did not simply ask me. You cannot have imagined that I would refuse your request, under the circumstances.” Despite herself, a trace of hurt feelings leaked into her voice.
Ward curled his fingers around her clasped hands. “There was no doubt in my mind that you would come with me.” He gave her a wicked grin. “But I have always wanted to kidnap a woman.”
A startled laugh broke from Eugenia’s lips. “Really?”
He nodded solemnly. “Truly. Dash off into the night—”
“Afternoon,” she corrected.
“Into the afternoon—with a beautiful, witty woman, a bottle of white wine, and a cold roast chicken.”
Eugenia shook her head; this day was growing odder and odder. “Kidnapping as a fashionable pastime?”
“I’ve never done it before. But if you wish, I’d be happy to make it a regular pastime.”
“Just conceive if you had succumbed to this wayward impulse and kidnapped Miss Petunia instead.” Eugenia laughed as her exasperation melted away. “Any woman you kidnap has the right to demand marriage. You have put your future in my hands.”
“I don’t mind being in your hands,” Ward said. A flash of raw, sensual hunger crossed his eyes.
Eugenia felt giddy, as if champagne was fizzing in her veins. She slipped her hands from his and settled back, because it was that or lean forward and kiss him. “You are a lucky kidnapper, Mr. Ward. I am not inclined to marry again at the moment.”
“Nor am I.”
For a moment, a sense of perfect harmony filled the carriage. With a thump of her heart, Eugenia realized that they had just agreed to . . . to something.
When she was about to panic—was she truly certain that she wanted to have an affaire?—she looked at Ward again. He would readily accept it if she changed her mind.
“Miss Lloyd-Fantil assured me that as a widow, you could travel without a chaperone. But if you have even the slightest qualm, we can stop and your maid will join us in this carriage.”
“There’s no need,” Eugenia said.
Ward felt a surge of exultation.
Eugenia was his, and whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not, she would soon be his in all ways.
He felt as lustful as an untried boy, his tool rigid, fueled by desire smoldering low in his belly, his balls sending warning throbs. His response had little to do with how beautiful she was; what he found enchanting was her confidence, her wit. She was ferociously alive—at least, after she dropped the ladylike visage that she wore like a mask.
“I sense you’ve come to a decision,” he said, taking the bull by the horns.
“About what?” She cocked her head and a glowing cascade of red hair fell over her pelisse.
“About us.”
“‘Us’? There is no us.”
But in reality they were communicating without words. The true conversation was unspoken.
I’ll make you blissfully happy, he promised her. Silently.
She raised an eyebrow. But is it worth the possible loss of my reputation?
“There will be an us,” he stated aloud. “You are mine, Eugenia Snowe.”
“I am no man’s,” she said with a shake of her head.
“You were your husband’s,” he said, absolutely certain of that. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that Eugenia had given herself heart and soul.
Blasted Snowe.
He was starting to dislike the fellow, no matter how dead he was.
“I was his, and he was mine,” she said with a lopsided smile.
“Just like a fairy tale,” he answered, not even trying to disguise the growl in his voice.
“Didn’t you mean to offer me a glass of wine from that excellent hamper?” Eugenia asked.
He bent over and pulled open the hamper. “Tell me about him.” He drew out a bottle of wine. “Was he as pretty as you are?”
“Far more so,” Eugenia said, her eyes going a bit dreamy. “He was like Adonis. Every debutante longed to catch his eye.”
“But he chose you?”
“We danced all night.”
“That is like a fairy tale.” He handed her a glass of wine.
She took a sip. “In the fairy stories, the prince doesn’t die saving the princess.”