The Lady Forfeits. Carole Mortimer

do so on my account, I assure you,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye before turning to dismiss the attentive Soames, waiting until the butler had left the room before continuing. ‘Diana, I had expected to be bored, at the very least, in any marriage I undertook; it is something of a relief to know that will not, after all, be the case.’

      Her eyes widened. ‘You do not think it preferable to wait and perhaps marry a woman whom you love?’

      ‘Love?’ He managed to convey a wealth of loathing in that single word.

      ‘You do not believe in the emotion?’ she asked cautiously.

      His top lip curled back disdainfully. ‘My dear Diana, I have discovered that love comes in many guises—and all of them false.’

      She could perhaps understand Gabriel’s cynicism towards the emotion when he had been so completely ostracised after being falsely accused of taking advantage of an innocent young lady. Had he loved the young lady before she had played him false?

      Yes, Diana could sympathise with him—possibly even shared his cynicism towards love. Malcolm Castle had certainly made nonsense of that emotion when he’d professed to still love Diana, but had every intention of marrying another woman!

      She sighed. ‘Perhaps you are right and a marriage such as ours, based on nothing so tenuous and fickle as love, but on common sense and honesty instead, is for the best.’

      Gabriel frowned as he heard the heaviness in Diana’s tone. One and twenty was very young for such a beautiful young lady to have formed such a pragmatic view on love and marriage. But perhaps, with the experience of her parents’ marriage, and her young man’s recent abandonment of her, she was perfectly justified in forming that opinion. After all, Gabriel had been but twenty years old himself when he learnt that hard lesson.

      ‘Which is not to say …’ he stood up slowly to move around the table to take Diana’s hand in his before pulling her effortlessly to her feet ‘… there will not be other … compensations in our marriage to make up for that lack of love.’

      She blinked up at him as she obviously realised it was his intention to kiss her once again. ‘I—my lord, it is only nine o’clock in the morning!’

      Gabriel threw back his head and laughed. ‘I trust, my dear, you are not about to put time limitations on when and where I may make love to you?’

      Not at all. Indeed, she would dare anyone to put limitations on a man such as Gabriel Faulkner. It was only that his behaviour now deviated drastically from her Aunt Humphries’s description of what marriage would be like.

      Her aunt had led her to believe that it was usual for a husband and wife to go about their daily lives separately—for the husband that involved dealing with business and correspondence in the morning and visiting his club in the afternoon, for the wife it meant dealing with the household responsibilities, such as menus of the day, answering letters, receiving visitors and returning those visits in turn, along with needlework and reading. Evenings would possibly be spent together, either at home or attending social functions, followed by returning home and retiring to their separate bedchambers.

      On one, possibly two nights a week, the husband might briefly join the wife in her bedchamber, during which time it was the wife’s duty to do whatever her husband required of her. Aunt Humphries had been a little sketchy as to what that ‘whatever’ might entail, with the added advice that a husband had ‘needs’ a wife must satisfy, ‘silently and without complaint’ …

      Luckily, Diana had some idea as to what those ‘needs’ might entail; her father had bred deer on the estate in Hampshire—no doubt what took place between a husband and wife in their marriage bed was not so very different from that process. Such an undignified business that it was not surprising her aunt had chosen not to discuss it!

      But at no time had Diana’s aunt mentioned that a husband—or, in this particular case, a betrothed—was in the habit of stealing kisses throughout the day. Most especially the type of kisses that yesterday had made Diana’s toes curl in her satin slippers!

      She straightened. ‘As I assured you yesterday, I believe I know my duty towards my future husband, my lord.’

      Gabriel’s brow lowered. Damn it, he did not wish Diana to allow him to kiss her out of a sense of duty; he wanted her to now give freely what he had taken so demandingly yesterday. ‘Gabriel,’ he encouraged huskily.

      That pulse was once again beating intriguingly in the slender column of her throat. ‘It would be improper of me to be so familiar until after we are wed, my lord,’ she said, her eyes lowered demurely.

      His jaw clenched. ‘I believe you know me well enough by now to realise that I have no care for what is considered “proper”.’

      She gave a nervous smile. ‘I am not sure—’ Her words were cut off abruptly as Gabriel lowered his head and took possession of her lips.

      Full and sensuous lips that had tempted him unbearably this past hour as Diana had first sipped her tea and then bit into a slice of buttered toast smothered in honey. He’d found himself imagining heatedly what other uses those deliciously plump lips might be put to …

      She tasted of that honey she had spread so liberally over her toast earlier, deliciously sweet, with an underlying heat that encouraged him to kiss her more deeply. His tongue appreciated the honey upon her lips before moving past that plumpness and into the hot, moist cavern of her mouth.

      There had been no shortage of women in Gabriel’s life during his years spent on the Continent: blondes, redheads, dusky-haired and dusky-skinned Italian women, young and slightly older, all experienced, and all initially intrigued by his scandalous past, but choosing to linger after once sharing his bed in the hopes of being invited to share it again.

      He had become an expert lover during those years, able to give satisfaction to even the most demanding and experienced of women. That he had never personally enjoyed anything more than the immediate satisfaction of the flesh was not the fault of any of those women; Gabriel had only allowed his physical emotions to become engaged in those trysts.

      Holding Diana in his arms, moulding the soft curves of her body against his, tasting, feeding from her lips and experiencing the sweetness of her instinctive response, brought out a gentleness in Gabriel, a need to protect that he had long thought forgotten, if not completely dead—emotions that he knew from experience could be called incautious at best and dangerous at worst. Slowly introducing Diana to the pleasures of their marriage bed, melting that cool exterior, was one thing, feeling anything more than that physical pleasure himself was something Gabriel did not intend to allow to happen. No matter how tempting the honeypot!

      Not liking the trend of his own thoughts one little bit, he swiftly removed his mouth from hers and raised his head before putting her firmly away from him. ‘I think we should stop there, don’t you, Diana?’

      Diana felt too dazed at first to wonder why he’d ended their kiss so abruptly, but as his words penetrated that daze she instantly felt the embarrassed flush that heated her cheeks. Had her enthusiasm in responding to his love-making perhaps been inappropriate in his future countess, after all?

      She stepped back, her expression becoming cool despite feeling her legs tremble slightly from the effects of that passionate kiss. ‘I believe you were the one who initiated that kiss, sir.’

      He looked down his arrogant nose at her. ‘Are you questioning my right to do so?’

      Diana suddenly realised that once she was Gabriel’s wife, she would have no right to question him about anything he might choose to demand of her. Could she bear that? Could she stand being nothing more than this man’s possession, his to do with whatever he wished?

      If it succeeded in salving her wounded pride following Malcolm’s betrayal of the love they had professed to feel for each other, then yes, she could, she thought defiantly. ‘I apologise if you feel I lacked … decorum just now,’ she said stiffly. ‘I—I am overset, I believe, and far too emotional, both from Caroline and Elizabeth’s