Part 17 (2/2)

No, that was what other women might do. Venetia would just laugh at him and then make jokes about it the next two thousand times she saw him, which was far, far worse than being scolded or condemned. Venetia really knew how to hurt a man.

Gregor looked down at the book in his hand, wondering dimly what he was supposed to do with it. Oh, yes. That fool Ravenscroft thought Venetia would swoon at this drivel.

Let the games begin! Gregor grinned, looking up at Venetia, wanting to share his thoughts, but as she crossed before the fire, her lack of a petticoat again became painfully obvious. For one instant, Gregor had a clear view of Venetia's legs and hips through her skirts, the light outlining each dimpled knee, each smooth thigh, each rounded hip.

Then she was on the other side, the skirt once again demure. Gregor opened his mouth but could not find a single word. All he could do was look at her, his body taut with desire.

”Gregor?”

He realized he'd been staring silently, gawking like a lad of twelve.

d.a.m.n it, this was not the way to win his wager! He cleared his throat. ”I brought you something. Are you busy?”

She shook her head, planting one hand on her hip and resting the other on the back of a chair. The gesture had the unfortunate effect of thrusting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s forward.

Gregor couldn't breathe, following the shadow under each full curve. He'd always known Venetia was pleasantly rounded, but somehow he hadn't realized how magnificent her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were. Not the calm, cool magnificence of a painting but the warm, fleshy magnificence of a real woman.

G.o.d, how had he missed those b.r.e.a.s.t.s? So full, larger than his hand could hold, and so beautifully rounded?

Gregor forced himself to yank his gaze away from those seductive b.r.e.a.s.t.s to Venetia's face. ”I-I need air,” he rasped out.

She frowned. ”Air? Why? Are you ill?”

”No, no. It's just”-he waved a hand-”stuffy in here.” He pushed himself from the doorframe and strode to the window, l.u.s.t firming his wobbly steps. He threw open the curtains and let white light bathe the room.

There. Now he could face Venetia without worrying that she'd expose herself to him even more than she unknowingly had. He smoothed his coat, taking a deep breath to calm his thundering l.u.s.t, and turned.

d.a.m.n.

The light from the window now highlighted the tops of Venetia's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, tracing the full curves with a swoosh of creamy color.

Gregor scowled.

Venetia's eyes widened, and she nervously crossed her arms.

Unfortunately, that pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s upward until they were clearly outlined against the thin fabric of her gown, the nipples puckered and eager. Gregor could make out every ribbon on her chemise, every nuance of her mouthwatering bosom.

A slow flush climbed through him. d.a.m.n that rum toddy.

Of course, he hadn't been drinking rum when he'd kissed her yesterday. That had been all him. And her.

He'd enjoyed a wide range of women in his life, yet he had never felt such an intense pull.

Familiarity should have been a protection. He'd seen her with tangled hair as a child, with spots when she'd been a la.s.s, and woefully flat-chested until her fifteenth summer. He'd watched her moon over men, though never with enough intensity to be of concern. He knew her skin turned a mottled red when she cried and a pale white when she was startled.

He should have been immune, d.a.m.n it. Yet somehow, in racing off to rescue her and then seeing Ravenscroft's obvious admiration, Gregor actually saw Venetia for what she was now rather than what she'd been while growing up.

He now saw Venetia as a woman. And not just any woman but an intelligent, sensual woman, one he trusted more than...well, anyone. Perhaps even his own family.

Outside, something moved. He glanced over and saw Chambers and Ravenscroft standing in the snow-filled innyard, bundled to the ears as they tried to look innocuous, as if having a casual conversation in the middle of the snow.

Gregor looked down at the book in his hand. If he wanted those two to leave him be, he'd best get on with it. He shoved his hand into his pocket, retrieved the velvet sack containing the necklace, and held it out. ”Venetia, I brought you something.”

She eyed the sack obviously unimpressed. ”What is it?”

”It's a present.”

”For...me?”

”Yes, it's for you,” he said impatiently, shaking the bag at her imperiously. ”It's a necklace.”

She didn't answer. Didn't move. Just stared at him as if he had two heads, a deep flush coloring her cheeks.

Gregor fought a smile of satisfaction. She was different from other women! Other women he knew would fawn all over him, laugh with delight, and flirt madly when presented with a gift.

He glanced out the window to where Chambers and Ravenscroft were openly staring. Heh! That would teach them to think he didn't know her.

Of course, she hadn't actually taken the present yet. Since he'd paid for it and didn't want it to go to waste, he grasped her wrist and set the sack in her hand.

She blinked at it.

”Well, don't just stand there,” he chided. ”Open it!”.

Slowly, she undid the sack and poured the necklace into her palm. It gleamed softly in the light, a ribbon of gold stretched over her delicate fingers. A flicker of pleasure warmed Gregor. Chambers had excellent taste; the groom deserved a bonus.

Venetia didn't seem able to look away from the gleaming necklace.

”Do you like it?”

”I-I-” Her fingers closed over the gold chain, and she held it to her. ”What's it for?”

Gregor frowned. Good Lord, he hadn't expected her to ask that. ”It's for-for-” h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, how was he to answer that? He glanced outside to see Ravenscroft and Chambers staring back.

Venetia turned to follow his gaze, and Gregor pulled her around to face him, away from the window.

She gasped, then frowned down at his hand encircling her wrist.

He'd never realized how delicate her wrists were; his fingers overlapped around the smooth warmth of her skin.

d.a.m.n, but she looked delicious. The flickering light from the fire kissed every inch of her peach-tinted skin.

Would she taste like the blush of a peach? Or the cream and sugar that she loved in her tea? Or the faint hint of smoky desire sweetened with pa.s.sion?

It all sounded good, and he decided that he had to taste her. He sent a scowling glance to where Chambers and Ravenscroft now skulked behind a thin bush. If not for them, he might be discovering her intriguing flavors this very moment.

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