The Earl and His Virgin Countess(9)

He laughed that time, filling her plate with a bit of everything. “You have done nothing in need of excusing.”

“But I would have thought you’d prefer a perfect woman.” Her eyes clouded with what appeared to be confusion. He supposed it wasn’t too hard to believe; a peer of the realm would be looking for what society considered would be important in a mate. He handed her the plate laden with delicacies and far more food than he had ever seen any woman eat.

“Thank you, milord—Andrew.”

“You’re welcome. Now, indulge me.” he said, retaking his seat in the high back chair. “What do you think is perfection?”

“I believe....” Taking a bite, she contemplated the question. “Perfection for you would be a woman who is well-mannered and carries herself with decorum at all times. She is the perfect hostess. She does delicate needlework, plays the pianoforte, and sings beautifully. She would complement you, if on your arm, and would never argue.”

What she described sounded like a paper doll. A woman with no thoughts of her own. He didn’t want a vacant vessel in his bed only for the purpose of begetting children; he wanted a partner. Andrew yearned to have a woman look at him the way Llysa and Chandra looked at their men. Both women stood up to their lordly men, all the while complementing and supporting Wolfe and Simon. “Sounds bloody boring, if you ask me.”

“Really.”

“Might as well be with a living statue. I’ll bet this woman would also stare at the ceiling and think about England while I drive into her.”

She choked on her bite. “I suppose she just might.”

“And she probably eats enough to stay barely alive, ties her corset too tight, and then faints at the slightest hint of impropriety.”

“Oh dear, yes, into the most dainty faints possible.”

“I would rather face the guillotine than endure a woman of that sort.” Setting his food aside, he turned his attention fully on her. Her face lit up as they continued to banter back and forth, showing none of the disgust she’d found for him earlier. Standing, he grabbed her plate while ignoring her protest. “Would you condemn me to such a cavernous, empty life, Miranda?”

“Condemn?”

“Utter and complete boredom.” He sat on the edge of the seat next to her. “Somehow I have a feeling you could never bore me.”

“Well, but then, I am not perfect.”

“Perfection is in itself boring. It’s our individual flaws that make us interesting, who we are. It’s what the marriage-minded mamas have failed to realize when they prance their daughters out every season, like mares at Tattersales.” Miranda swallowed hard when he leaned closer. “Would you condemn me to such a life?”

Miranda shook her head, eyes wide with shock and confusion. She resembled a deer caught unaware of being approached. But, unlike the poor doe, who would bolt in a second, Miranda would not. In reality, she could not walk across the room, let alone run from his embrace. Even if she could run on her injured leg, Andrew had already decided he wouldn’t let her.

“Let’s test that theory out,” he murmured, his mouth a hairbreadth from hers. She smelled of lavender and rose petals, his favorite scent on a lady. His lips touched hers, at first a mere brush. Her eyes fluttered shut. She placed a tentative hand on his chest, fingertips light against the fabric of his shirt.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Working his tongue between her closed lips, he wanted to show her, to teach her the dance with his mouth. Her sweetness and innocence moved him. He brushed aside the thought she might be innocent and deepened the kiss. Her hand fisted the fine cloth separating them, while he gripped her arm.

He continued until her lips softened and she sighed into the kiss, and only then did he ease her into the arched back of the chaise. Shrugging out of his overcoat, he placed a knee on the cushion next to her, never breaking away from her mouth. Every inch of him burned, and he longed to see if she was as much a spitfire under the bedclothes. He loved the way her curves gave him a landscape to play on.

He grew harder, thinking about it. He had always preferred women with meat on their bones. They were softer, somehow, and he ached for her round, full thighs wrapped around him. Moaning into her mouth, he shifted to accommodate the rock-hard cock in his breeches. He began to explore the fullness of her hip before going back into the valley of her waist and uphill to her ample breasts. Though longing to taste them, he enjoyed the kiss too much to break away just yet.

Reaching one breast, Andrew cupped and kneaded it. The nipple hardened to a tight nub before Miranda pushed him firmly away, ripping her mouth from his.