“That is the theory, yes.”
She nodded, watching the silver orbs swing toward each other, and away. Once. Twice. She looked up at him, all seriousness. “If I am to take a vow, I should like to understand all the bits and pieces of it. Carnal lust is no doubt something I should understand. And do you know why marriage might appeal to men as brute beasts?”
A vision flashed, crooked fingertips on flesh, blue eyes blinking up at him, wide with pleasure.
Yes. He absolutely knew. “No.”
She nodded once, taking him at his word. “It obviously has something to do with coitus.”
Dear God.
She explained. “There’s a bull in Coldharbor, where my father’s estate is. I am not as green as you think.”
“If you think that a bull in a pasture is anything like a human male, you are absolutely as green as I think.”
“You see? That is precisely why I require your assistance.”
Shit. He’d walked right into her trap. He forced himself not to move. To resist her pull.
“I understand you’re very good at it,” she continued, unaware of the havoc she was quietly wreaking. Or, perhaps entirely aware. He could no longer tell. Could no longer trust himself. “Is that true?”
“No,” he said, instantly. Perhaps it would make her leave.
“I know enough about men to know that they wouldn’t admit a lack of faculty in this area, Mr. Cross. Surely you don’t expect me to believe that.” She laughed, the sound bright and fresh and out of place in this dark room. “As an obvious man of science . . . I should think you would be willing to assist me in my research.”
“Your research in the mating habits of bulls?”
Her smile turned amused. “My research in carnal lust and appetites.”
There was only one option. Terrifying her into leaving. Insulting her into it. “You’re asking me to fuck you?”
Her eyes went wide. “Do you know, I’ve never heard that word spoken aloud.”
And, like that, with her simple, straightforward pronouncement, he felt like vermin. He opened his mouth to apologize.
She beat him to it, speaking as though he were a child. As though they were discussing something utterly ordinary. “I see I wasn’t clear. I don’t want you to perform the act, so to speak. I would simply like you to help me to better understand it.”
“Understand it.”
“Precisely. Per the vows and the children and the rest.” She paused, then added, “A lecture of sorts. In animal husbandry. Of sorts.”
“Find someone else. Of another sort.”
Her gaze narrowed at his mocking tone. “There is no one else.”
“Have you looked?”
“Who do you think would explain the process to me? Certainly not my mother.”
“And what of your sisters? Have you asked them?”
“First, I’m not certain that Victoria or Valerie have much interest in or experience with the act itself. And Penelope . . . She turns absurd when asked about anything to do with Bourne. On about love and whatnot.” She rolled her eyes. “There’s no place for love in research.”
His brows rose. “No?”
She looked appalled. “Certainly not. You, however, are a man of science with legendary experience. I’m sure there are plenty of things you are able to clarify. For example, I’m very curious about the male member.”
He choked. Then coughed.
When he regained his ability to speak, he said, “I’m sure you are.”
“I’ve seen drawings of course—in anatomical texts—but perhaps you could help with some of the specifics? For example—”
“No.” He cut her off before she elaborated with one of her straightforward, scientific questions.
“I am happy to pay you,” she announced. “For your services.”
A harsh, strangled sound cut through the room. It came from him. “Pay me.”
She nodded. “Would, say, twenty-five pounds do?”
“No.”
Her brows knit together. “Of course, a person of your—prowess—is worth more. I apologize for the offense. Fifty? I’m afraid I can’t go much higher. It’s quite a bit of money.”
She believed that it was the amount of money that made the offer offensive? She didn’t understand that he was half a tic from doing it for free. From paying her for the chance to show her everything for which she asked.
In all his life, there had never been anything Cross had wanted to do more than throw this strange woman down on his desk and give her precisely that for which she was asking.
Desire was irrelevant. Or perhaps it was the only thing that was relevant. Either way, he could not assist Lady Philippa Marbury.
She was the most dangerous female he’d ever met.
He shook his head and said the only words he trusted himself to say. Short. To the point. “I am afraid I am unable to accommodate your request, Lady Philippa. I suggest you query another. Perhaps your fiancé.” He hated the suggestion even as he made it. Bit back the urge to rescind it.