The Lady Forfeits. Carole Mortimer

sisters this past ten years rendered her too practical in nature and, as a result, plain? Was Gabriel Faulkner even now formulating the words in which to tell her of his lack of interest in her?

      ‘You realise that any marriage between the two of us would require you to produce the necessary heirs?’

      Diana looked up sharply at that softly spoken question and felt that delicate colour once again warming her cheeks as she saw the speculative expression in those dark eyes. She swallowed before speaking. ‘I realise that is one of the reasons for your wishing to take a wife, yes.’

      ‘Not one of the reasons, but the only reason I would ever contemplate such an alliance,’ Gabriel Faulkner bit out, his arrogantly hewn features now cold and withdrawn.

      Diana moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I am fully aware of a wife’s duties, my lord.’

      That ruthless mouth compressed. ‘I find that somewhat surprising, considering your own mother’s complete lack of interest in them.’

      Her eyes widened at the harshness of his remark. Her chin rose proudly. ‘Were you acquainted with my mother, sir?’

      ‘Not personally, no.’ His disdainful expression clearly stated he had not wished to be either.

      ‘Then you can have no idea as to why she left her husband and children, can you?’

      ‘Is there any acceptable excuse for such behaviour?’ he countered.

      As far as Diana and her sisters were concerned? No, there was not. As for their father … Marcus Copeland had never recovered from his wife leaving him for a younger man and had become a shadow of his former robust and cheerful self, shutting himself away in his study for hours at a time, and more often than not taking his meals there, too, when he bothered to eat at all.

      No, there was no acceptable explanation for Harriet Copeland’s desertion of her family. But Diana did not appreciate having Gabriel Faulkner—a man with an acknowledged, if unspoken, scandal in his own past—point that out to her. ‘I am not my mother, sir,’ she said coolly.

      ‘Perhaps that is as well …’

      She frowned her resentment with his continued needling. ‘If, having considered the matter, you have now changed your mind about offering for me, then I wish you would just say so. It is not necessary for you to insult my mother, a woman you admit you did not even know, whilst you are doing so!’

      In truth, Gabriel had no interest whatsoever in the marriage of Marcus and Harriet Copeland; he was well aware that marriages amongst the ton were often loveless affairs, with both parties tacitly taking lovers once the necessary heirs had been produced. That Harriet had chosen to leave her family for her young lover, and was later shot and killed by that same lover when he’d found her in the arms of yet another man, was of no real consequence to the present situation.

      No, the coolly composed and forthright Diana Copeland, whilst as head-turningly beautiful as the infamous Harriet, was most certainly not the mother!

      ‘Your mother produced only daughters,’ he drawled drily.

      Those blue eyes once again sparkled with temper. ‘And if she had not, then you would not be here now!’

      Gabriel gave her an appreciative smile. ‘Touché.’

      ‘Nor is it possible for anyone to predict what children will be born into which marriage,’ she argued.

      ‘Also true.’ He inclined his head. ‘I was merely questioning as to whether or not you are prepared for the physical intimacy necessary to produce those children? If we have girls to begin with, we will keep trying until we have a boy.’

      Diana drew in a sharp breath. It had taken several days after Malcolm’s defection, accompanied by too many of those pitying looks of neighbours and friends, for her to come around to the idea of seriously considering the offer of marriage from Lord Gabriel Faulkner.

      Accepting such an offer would not only salvage some of her own pride, she had assured herself, but would also help to persuade her two sisters to return home now that the possibility of marriage to a man they did not love had been removed.

      Both of them were good and practical reasons, she had decided, for her to be the one to accept Gabriel’s offer. Except she did not feel in the least practical now that she was faced with the flesh-and-blood man …

      She looked at him now beneath lowered lashes, appreciating the way his perfectly tailored clothing emphasised the width of his shoulders, his muscled chest, the narrowness of waist, and his powerful thighs and long legs, before raising her gaze back to that wickedly handsome face, heat suffusing her cheeks as she saw the look in the dark and taunting eyes that stared unblinkingly back at her. A quiver of … something shivered down the length of her spine as she found herself unable to look away from those mesmerising midnight-blue eyes.

      Whether it was a shiver of apprehension or anticipation she could not be sure. Although the tingling sensation she suddenly felt in her breasts would seem to indicate the latter.

      Diana found that slightly shocking when he had not so much as touched her. She had only ever known a pleasant warmth when Malcolm kissed her, not this blazing heat at just a look from Gabriel … ‘As I have stated, I believe I know, and am willing to participate in, all the duties expected of me as a wife,’ she said stiffly.

      ‘Perhaps we should test that theory before making any firm decision?’ he drawled.

      Diana did not at all care for the return of that predatory glint to his navy-blue eyes. ‘Test that theory how?’

      He raised speculative brows. ‘I suggest we try a simple kiss to begin with.’

      She gave a start. ‘To begin with?’

      ‘Exactly.’

      Diana swallowed hard, pride and pride alone preventing her from taking a step back as Gabriel crossed the room with a catlike tread until he stood only inches in front of her. So close, in fact, that she was totally aware of the heat of his body and the clean male smell of him that tantalised and roused the senses, her breath catching in her throat when she finally looked up into his compelling face.

      Those midnight-blue eyes were hooded by lids fringed with long, dark lashes, his beautiful high cheekbones as sharp as blades on either side of his aristocratic nose, sculptured lips slightly parted, his jaw square and uncompromising.

      In contrast, Diana’s own lips had gone suddenly dry, her breathing non-existent—in fact, she was starting to feel slightly light-headed from a lack of air in her lungs! She knew instinctively that any kiss she received from this man would be nothing like that chaste meeting of the lips she had infrequently shared with Malcolm Castle.

      Diana could feel her pulse start to race and a welling of excitement rising up within her breast as those powerful arms moved firmly about her waist before she was pulled up against the hardness of Gabriel’s chest and his head began to lower towards hers.

      She was perfectly correct. Being kissed by Gabriel Faulkner was absolutely nothing like being kissed by Malcolm …

      His arms about her waist crushed her breasts against that hard chest even as he took masterful possession of her lips with his own. His mouth moved over hers in a slow, lingering exploration before the sweep of his tongue parted her lips and he kissed her more intimately still, that skilful tongue seeking entrance in gentle, flickering movements.

      Diana’s pulse continued to race, to thunder; she felt both hot and shaky as their kiss continued, her hands moving up to Gabriel’s chest with the intention of pushing him away, but instead clinging to the width of his shoulders, able to feel the flexing of muscles beneath his jacket as she did so. No doubt he could feel her own trembling, as his hands moved caressingly down the length of her spine before cupping her bottom to pull her thighs up against his muscular ones.

      Nothing that had gone before—not Malcolm’s kisses, or the talk Aunt Humphries had given concerning the marriage