‘There are books on the subject,’ she said primly.
‘Does your father know you’ve read them?’ He could not decide whether to be shocked or impressed. But for propriety’s sake, he was sure he should not be feeling as aroused as he was at the idea of her puzzling over pictures of copulation.
‘For the smartest man in London, my father can be woefully obtuse when he chooses to be,’ she replied. ‘He has no idea what his daughters have got up to, nor does he fully recognise Belle’s incapacity. But in the matter of her future, someone had to provide her with the details of her womanly duties.’
‘And you took that upon yourself,’ he said.
‘Among other things.’ She shrugged. ‘Father means to see her married, whether I think it is a good idea or not.’ She paused. ‘The plan is not impossible. She could make the right man very happy, and he could make her happy in turn. But the final decision did not rest with me. So, I have been planning accordingly. I did not want to risk her being totally ignorant of the process and terrified by an equally ignorant man who did not care for anything but his own needs.’ She gave him a long, searching look, as if trying to decide if he fit that description.
‘I can assure you, I am quite capable of putting a woman’s pleasure before my own.’ He’d had years of experience doing just that, his own needs and desires subsumed by a demanding woman. He’d thought that when he married, he might finally be lord and master. Instead he would be more caregiver than husband.
And worse yet, he was discussing the intimacies of marriage with the woman who he should be treating as a sister. No matter how sophisticated she might pretend to be, her understanding of love making was based on purloined books and a few vague fumblings in Vauxhall. Her cheeks had gone so crimson at his last response that the blush must have extended all the way to her toes.
Which meant that it had spread to all the interesting places in between. He cleared his throat. ‘Enough about Belle. What plans did you make for yourself?’ But his thoughts of the immediate future had him imagining her skirts around her head as he gave her a practical demonstration of the subject she meant to teach. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the image, and set down the glass, cursing the brandy in his hand for clouding his judgement. ‘I mean, what do you mean to do once your sister is settled?’
She cast her eyes down, her face still pink from their previous conversation. ‘I decided that it would be best if only one of us married.’ She paused. ‘It would not be so unusual if Belle took in her spinster sister when she found a husband. Then I would be there to help her with the running of her household.’ There was an entreaty hidden in the words, though she tried her best to make them hypothetically innocent.
‘No.’
Her eyes flew up to meet his, surprised at the vehemence of his response. ‘She is not as feeble minded as you might think, after conversing with her. But neither can she manage alone.’
‘I did not claim that she could,’ he agreed. ‘But that does not mean I want you in my house.’ Although he was still not sure that he hadn’t agreed to it when talking to Belle in the carriage.
The colour was draining from her face now from the shock of what she must assume was an insult. ‘We have had our differences,’ she admitted. ‘But please, let them end immediately. You are to marry Belle and I will not stand in the way of it. All I want is that she has a kind and gentle husband who will take the time to understand her. You can be that man. I can help with everything else.’
‘No.’ She was near to trembling with mortification. He wanted to go to her, offer comfort and assure her that it was nothing she had done to make him reject her. But he did not dare, for the same reason he could not have her in his house. ‘You are the last person in the world who can help with my marriage to your sister.’
‘But why?’ She reached out a hand in petition.
He stared at it for a moment, fascinated by the graceful curve of fingers and the way it cut through the space between them. His skin prickled in awareness, as if she was actually touching him. Every nerve came alive to fight against reason for possession of his soul.
Then he looked up, into her eyes. The lashes were spiked with unshed tears. The dark centres were huge, the gold in the left one balanced like treasure at the edge of a bottomless pit. If he claimed it, he would fall. And nothing would ever be the same.