“The way other men look at you…” Well, sometimes he had to wipe perspiration from his brow.
“Neville—”
Her eyes were so wide and deep and inviting.
“—Augustus—”
Would her odd choice of his name never cease to leave him utterly vanquished?
“—I only want you.”
So she’d shown him at the theater. Would her desire for him be enough?Possibly.He could hold those words like a talisman tucked into his heart.
When the inevitable jealous surge came, he could stand still, confident in her devotion, and let the wave pass him by. And when she—or her mischievous sisters—got to playing a prank, he could remember that playfulness was part of what made him love her so.
Everyone was occasionally embarrassed. Hell, he often embarrassed himself.
He dropped his gaze to their joined fingers.
Together, could they become better than they were separately?
Could she, perhaps, grow to love him, too?
“I’m going to get jealous,” he continued. “I’m going to get embarrassed. But I promise you that I am man enough to know my impulses are often fleeting, irrational feelings with little basis in truth. And I can also promise I would never impose burdensome restrictions on you because of those fleeting impulses.”
He squeezed her fingers. She squeezed his back.
“Iam notyour father.”
She took a deep breath. “No,” she conceded. “He would have liked you, though. Especially if you promised to put me in my place.”
Again, she’d hit him with her verbal rapier.
Her place?
Devastating.
He knew exactly what she’d meant, too. A subservient place. And, right now, she was quite literally at his feet.
“Come up,” he urged, moving to the side. “Come up and share my seat.”
She glanced to the small place by his side—the chair hardly had room for two. But he couldn’t countenance her moving to the other side of the room. Misunderstandings were less likely if they stayed physically connected.
He tugged on her hand, pulling her to her feet.
“Let’s see…” She studied the chair. “How can this be done?”
She settled herself, not beside him as he’d intended, but with her legs across his lap. He held up his hands while she tucked herbum into the open space with a slaying wiggle against his thigh. Then, she rested her back against the chair’s side.
He brought his right arm behind her for support and let his left arm hang. He could hardly rest it against her thighs!
She wrinkled her nose. “Not quite right.”
She threw her legs across his lap, and heoomphed as they landed.
“There.” Graciously, she arranged his other arm across her shins, which were partially hanging over the chair. “You were saying?”
Out of the frying pan into the fire.“I was trying to tell you the only ‘place’ I want you to be is right here by my side. If you would have me, I would not—”