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Seven Minutes in Heaven(47)



Ward grinned. “A fair hit.”

“In fact, my aunt runs Magdalene House, a home for women who wish to escape that life.”

“That is charitable of her.”

“Well, she—” Eugenia stopped. “Yes, she is a good woman. She taught me a great deal about what truly matters in life.” She rose from the table. “Surely your coach will be ready by now.”

Eugenia couldn’t be implying that her aunt taught her the tricks of that particular trade. Ward couldn’t control the swirl of heat that went through him at the idea that the ladylike Eugenia might be adventuresome in the bedchamber.

He pushed his chair back and came around the table to escort her. “What did your aunt teach you?”

She turned and looked back at him over her shoulder. His breath caught at the pure sensual beauty of her sculpted cheekbones and peony-pink mouth. “The differences between the sexes, for one thing.”

“What differences are those?”

“Differences to do with bedding.”

With one stride, Ward moved close enough to pin Eugenia against the wall, though their bodies didn’t touch. He braced a hand above her head.

“Didn’t Mr. Snowe teach you about bedding?”

Eugenia’s eyelashes lowered, dark against her cheek, and then she looked directly at him. Her eyes were as green as new leaves in springtime. “Of course he did.”

Jealousy felt sour in his gut. “You’ve been faithful to his memory for how many years?”

“I have been a widow for seven years,” she stated, chin up. Back straight.

“He was a fortunate man,” Ward said. To kiss or not to kiss? He felt as if he might expire from pure lust. “Still, your husband couldn’t have taught you everything there is to know about intimacy. In fact, how do you know he was any good, if you’ve slept with only one man?”

She broke into a peal of laughter. “If you don’t know the answer to that, my friend, nothing I can say will enlighten you. Perhaps I shall give your future wife a hint or two.”

“My wife won’t need any hints,” Ward said, easing closer. He could smell her now, that sweet berry fragrance that was all her own.

“Perhaps it’s you who needs advice,” she said merrily.

“Your husband did not, I gather.”

“He took me to heaven and back,” she said, her voice softening with the unmistakable ring of truth.

Well, damn.

Some shamefully envious part of Ward’s soul had hoped that the man had been less than accomplished.

“It’s a tragedy you haven’t been with a man for years.”

“That’s a woman’s lot,” she pointed out. “Either we marry, or we fend off unwelcome advances.”

“Seven years without a moment’s pleasure,” he said musingly.

Her eyes dropped, and pink rose in her cheeks again. Ward’s balls tightened and sent a throb through his lower body. Damn, but she was delicious.

She’d pleasured herself.

“Without a man’s touch,” he clarified.

“This conversation has gone from improper to obscene,” she observed.

He shook his head. “Haven’t you noticed, Eugenia, that almost all of our conversations start at improper?”

“That speaks ill of both of us,” she retorted. “Would you please allow me to pass so that we can continue our journey?”

“I’d rather discuss your experience of heaven.”

She pushed at his shoulder. “Absolutely not!”

Ward brushed the pretty curve of her ear with his lips. “Why not let me teach you my version of heaven? Your husband wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone for the rest of your life.”

“No,” Eugenia agreed, giving Ward a clear-eyed look. “Andrew also wouldn’t want me to engage in any sort of unsavory relationship. I bear his name now, and that was very important to him.”

“I wasn’t thinking about an unsavory relationship,” he clarified. “There’s nothing unsavory if a man were to give a woman pleasure, to make up for years of widowhood. No ‘relationship,’ so to speak, is required.”

“The vicar would not approve.”

“What about something so small that the vicar would never need know?”

“Small?” She gave a naughty giggle.

He leaned closer and breathed in that elusive scent of hers again. “She-devil.” If there was anything he needn’t worry about, it was the size of his rod. “What if I offered you one minute for every year since your husband’s death?”

She burst out laughing, and brushed past him. “Only seven minutes? That is very like a man.”