“No—no, I am sorry, I can’t. Not with you.”
He froze, his eyes locked on hers. “Are you saying if another man were here, you’d let him?”
Anger filled him like nothing he had ever felt. She wanted him. But something about Lord Andrew Masterson, Earl of Windenshire, offended her. Could he make her see the man behind the title, or would she forever only see the earl?
“Milord, please move,” she said, her voice small and timid.
He rose, unable to look at her, and paced around the oval table in the center of the room, to the tray of food and the bottle of wine. Pouring a glass, he downed it. “I think it’s time you tell me what offense I have committed. Don’t you?”
“You really have no clue?” She snorted with what sounded like disgust.
“Believe me, milady, I am not in the habit of feigning ignorance.”
She began to speak then placed a hand on her lips. Whatever lurked beneath the surface, she wasn’t about to share. He should walk out the door and never see the chit again. But, instead, he downed another glass of wine before holding the bottle toward her in silent inquiry. She shook her head and, since apparently she already thought the worst of him, drinking himself into a stupor wouldn’t alter that. Of course, he would need more than one bottle of wine. Sitting once more, he placed his feet on the oval table with a loud thunk. He would deal with getting another bottle of wine when the one in his grip ran dry.
The heat in his gaze turned to disgust, and Miranda wondered how she had let him kiss her, let alone find her voice to tell him no. Because, even as she’d done so, the sensual side she hadn’t realized existed wanted him to continue. But what happened if he found out they were betrothed? Worse, what would happen when he came to claim her as his betrothed? What would he say or do then?
The other side, her angry side, reminded her he had let her wait for years. And he had paid a great deal of money to meet with a woman for an evening of sex. Just as he had taken her out into the garden three weeks earlier, he had no intention of going to get his betrothed. He didn’t care if she rotted in the country. The reasoning centered her, pushed her to tell him no, and forced her to remember who the man was.
It didn’t matter that he was far too handsome for his own good. Or that the kiss had destroyed any preconceived notion she had of what their first kiss would be like. Her lips still tingled from the sensation of his hard, yet tender, lips pressing against hers. The butterflies still fluttered deep in her belly, and the tingle between her thighs had yet to subside. But he’d kissed a stranger, not his betrothed, and that hurt beyond measure.
Adjusting on the rather comfortable piece of furniture, she welcomed the pain from her ankle as it reminded her of the pain her heart had felt in the garden when he’d been unaware of her true identity. He hadn’t cared what her name was. Miranda was just a faceless person his father had agreed to have him betrothed to before she was actually born.
“Are you sure you don’t want any? Never let it be said I am greedy with anything involving the fairer sex,” Andrew announced from across the room.
“No, milord.”
“So, we are back to full propriety again, are we? Do you use the title milord as an insult, I wonder, or to remind yourself of who I am?”
How could she respond when she didn’t have the answer? “Why did you contact Madame Eve?”
“I will answer your question if you agree to answer mine as well.”
If replying to his enquiries gave her the clues she needed to move on with her life, she would play his game. She faced him, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Very well.”
“Do you want the long story or a shortened version?”
“We seem to have all night.” She deserved as many answers as he would give her. But her nerves tightened. Did she really want to know it all? Wasn’t it better not to have her worst fears recognized? She bit her thumbnail and prepared for whatever he revealed.
He nodded. “I first heard of 1Night Stand a little over a month ago, at a poker game amongst friends. The four of us are members of the House of Lords. The three men enjoy my company, so I am sure you would hate them all. The weekly card game was held at the Marquis Breckenridge’s place in town. Breckenridge folded, and after observing the others were still in, I decided Simon knew something I didn’t, so I, too, folded. Eventually the kitty grew rather full. Foxhaven has deep pockets, but Railey doesn’t, and for that reason, I began to wonder what the hell the man was doing. In the end, he threw down a letter from Madame Evangeline, for an evening with a lady, as part of his bet.”