Chapter 3
Claudia peeked out from her bedcovers. Never had she lain in bed all morning, but today she was desperate. “Is he still looking for me, Baubie?” She eyed her maid, who stood across the room hanging up dresses.
“Not at the moment, but he’ll be looking for you again directly. You cannot hide from him all day.”
“I know.” She flipped to lie on her stomach with her head propped at the foot of the bed. “But he’s going to want to discuss all the details of last night’s ball, and I’m not sure I want him to know all the details.”
Baubie’s eyebrows shot up, and she leaned against the armoire. “Do you have a secret, dearie?”
Not precisely a secret, but right then it certainly felt like one. Like when she was a child and her mother would buy her a trinket, and together they would hide it from her father so he would not get angry. It had been their little secret.
But this was different. This was not an issue, not anything that should even occupy a thought. Yet the dance with Derrick Middleton had consumed her thoughts since she had left his arms. She caught herself before she sighed.
Baubie cleared her throat.
“It’s nothing. Really.” She tugged at an errant thread on the quilt. “I danced with a gentleman last night, and I’m not certain that Father would approve of him. I know Father wouldn’t approve of him. He despises him, in fact. Thinks he’s the worst sort of man.”
Her maid crossed her arms over her abundant bosom. “How daring of you,” Baubie said. Then concern crossed her face, and she took a step forward. “Is he the worst sort of man? You don’t want to go and get yourself into trouble.”
“He was very gentlemanly with me, and Poppy as well. Polite and not at all discourteous.”
“He doesn’t sound too bad then. Was he handsome?” Baubie asked in a casual tone.
Claudia rolled over onto her back. “He’s undeniably the most handsome man in London.” She tilted her head and met Baubie’s gaze. “I’m relatively certain every woman at the ball would have agreed with me.”
Baubie’s smile widened. “Is that so?”
“Before you fancy something more, it was not a regular dance. We danced only to discuss something important.” She sat up, moving into a cross- legged position. “Business, nothing personal.”
“I just asked a question, dearie.”
“It was a dance, nothing more. Still, Father would not be pleased, and I’d rather not have that conversation with him. But he will ask as he always does after I’ve attended a party. He’ll want to know who attended and what was said.” She frowned. “I don’t even think he’s interested in what I say, as he always probes for more, then decides to ask someone else. But he’ll inquire about the evening nonetheless.”
“Well, I told him earlier that you were still asleep.” Baubie busied herself with the clothes again. “He said you, like all women, were content to laze about their beds all day.”
Claudia snorted. “Wouldn’t he be surprised to know that I wake before he does practically every morning? Of course, if he did know that, I would have to eat breakfast with him, and I’m not positive I’m prepared to do that.” Guilt gnawed at her stomach. She shouldn’t say such things about her father. He had raised her on his own after her mother died. And while he might not be overt with his affection, surely he loved her. He was her father.
Claudia shook her head. “Listen to me. I don’t mean to go on and on about him; you know he’s not a dreadful man. He’s simply strict, and he wants me to honor our family name. I just tire of hearing how I never manage to do that.”
“Listen here, dearie,” Baubie pointed a knobby finger at her mistress. “Never you mind about what you say about your father in front of me. I saw how that man treated your lovely mother, and how he treats you is no different. There is nothing dishonorable about you. He’s the dishonorable one, and if it weren’t for the fact that he pays my wages, I’d tell him that myself.”
Claudia smiled. “No you wouldn’t. You’re too kind. But I appreciate the gesture.”
Baubie hung all her dresses according to their color. It was the first time Claudia had noticed how many pink dresses she owned. Various shades of pink—coral, orchid, rose, blush—too much pink. She frowned; she wasn’t even sure she liked that color. If only she could wear something bold like red or a deep violet.
“What are you going to tell him? About last night, I mean.”
“I don’t know. I’d rather not lie to him. Perhaps I’ll simply withhold some of the details. That’s not the same thing as lying. Is it?”
“Not in my eyes. I think you do what you have to do to make yourself happy. That’s what your mother would have wanted for you.” Baubie brought her hand to her breast. “Bless her soul, that woman adored you. It was as if she didn’t start breathing until the day you were born. You made all the darkness in her life brighter.” She leaned in and kissed Claudia’s forehead, then held her face. “You look just like her, you know. Simply beautiful.”
Claudia’s eyes misted, and she hugged her maid. Baubie had been the only mother she’d had for so many years.
“I had better get back to work. I can tell your father that you’re not feeling well if he asks about you again.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll have to talk to him eventually.”
Once Baubie had left, Claudia retrieved the drawing she’d been working on earlier that morning. Derrick Middleton’s handsome features stared up at her. She’d not intended to include him in the drawing and wouldn’t send this one in, but when she set pencil to paper, he’d been the first image she’d created. Thank goodness, she’d only sketched on paper and hadn’t started on the wood.
There was something not quite right in the likeness. It looked like him, but something was missing. Perhaps she’d gotten a feature wrong. His eyes, she realized. On paper, they didn’t bum with sensuality and intensity. But how did one capture • the subtle change in the shade of brown? Or the way his right eyebrow lifted in silent question?
She laid the drawing aside to begin another. One without Mr. Middleton. He probably wouldn’t want himself featured in his own newspaper. And if she presented him with an illustration of himself, he would no doubt think she was smitten, which, of course, she was not.
Putting pencil to paper, she began another drawing. This time, a couple dancing. Amid faceless other dancers, the primary couple took shape. Sharper and sharper their features became, until... Mr. Middleton and herself.
She sucked in her breath. She’d never before drawn herself. And there it was, plain as the image on the parchment; while dancing with Mr. Middleton had made her feel pretty, the truth could not lie. No woman who looked as she did would ever catch a man like Derrick Middleton.
She paused over the picture, considering the number of thoughts Mr. Middleton had consumed since she’d first encountered him. Gracious, some might think her a harlot.
She needed fresh air—time to clear her thoughts and then return to her drawings. Perhaps she should work on her watercolor in the garden. It was a lovely day.
Claudia donned a simple gown of the palest of lavenders, but opted to leave her bonnet inside. Feeling the sunshine on her face would be nice— and she would only do so for a little while, so as to not burn her skin. She’d been hiding inside her bedroom for hours. If her father remained in his office, she could easily sneak out into the garden without his seeing her.
She opened her bedroom door and peeked into the hall, listening for any sounds. All was quiet. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she caught sight of Baubie and waved. Opening the garden doors, she stepped out into the crisp air and took a deep breath.
Her mother had loved the garden. The garden at their country estate had been the most beautiful one in all of Avon. Flowers of every shape and color had surrounded the grounds, and she’d never been able to walk into it without smiling. She didn’t even want to think about what that garden must look like today. After her mother’s death, they’d moved here and hadn’t been back to the country since.
She sat on a bench and looked at the tiny enclosed space. A lovely garden, but so very small. Her mother would have hated it here in London— that was an area in which they differed. Claudia loved it here. Loved the bustle and the streets full of people.
Closing her eyes, she tilted her face up and reveled in the warmth of the sun bathing her skin. The breeze fluttered through the plants around her, while a pair of pipits chirped above her head.
She stood and set up her easel, then went to work on the painting of fruit. As she shaded the cluster of grapes, her mind wandered to a now familiar face. Derrick Middleton. Just the mere thought of him quickened her heart and shortened her breath.
Last night the most amazing thing had happened while she was dancing with the handsome devil. She’d felt almost pretty. Beautiful, if she was completely honest—the way Cinderella must have felt after a visit from her fairy godmother.
But she had no fairy godmother, and Derrick was no prince.
And it didn’t matter how she’d felt in his arms.
“Honestly, Claudia,” she said aloud to chastise herself. Forget about him.
She needed to cease her daydreaming of Derrick Middleton. It was a tiny fancy, that was all— merely because he was so very handsome. And he’d almost flirted with her. It was for that reason and that reason alone that she was attracted to him.
Richard was whom she would marry. Shouldn’t he be the man occupying her thoughts? Richard was steadfast and kind. Derrick, on the other hand, embodied a wilder and more impulsive nature. While that sounded vastly more interesting than a life in the country painting fruit bowls, she would marry Richard because her father had asked her to. Demanded was more the word, but that sounded so harsh.
Derrick would fade from her mind once she married Richard. Years from now, she’d remember the night she’d danced with the handsomest man in London.
“Claudia, I thought I’d find you out here.” Her father approached her with his I’m-more- important-than-everyone attitude cloaking him like a king’s coronation robe. He did not look pleased.
“Yes, well, I came out to get some air and a little sunshine. It’s a beautiful day, don’t you agree, Father?”
He glanced up at the sky and shrugged. “Looks like all the others.” He sat on the stone bench. “Come and sit and tell me about the Draper ball last night.” The multicolored flowers behind him gave the air around him a deceptively calm look. Everything looked better in the garden, she supposed.
She set her paintbrush down and joined him. “It was a lovely evening. I danced with Richard three times. Poppy and I played piquet with Lady Forrester and Lady Primrose. We left early because Poppy’s mother was feeling ill.”
“How is Richard?”
“He’s fine. He mentioned that he would probably be by to see you today. Something about a discussion he had with Lord Dryer.”
“I’m going to the club. I’ll send him a note, and he can meet me there. What are your plans today?”
“I’m going to stay home. Perhaps paint here in the garden. It’s so beautiful today.”
“Yes, beautiful,” he said absently. “Just be sure you stay out of trouble. I don’t like all the time you spend with that Poppy. She puts wrong ideas in your head.”
“Poppy is a wonderful friend. She’s from a good family. Even you can’t deny that.”
He snorted. “The Livingston name was tarnished when that brother of hers lost all their money. And the whole lot of them are too liberal.
This country will be destroyed with all that reform.”
He puffed out a breath and stood. “I’ll see you for supper.” He turned to go, then stopped. “I nearly forgot. I received a bill for pencils from some shop on Bond Street. Do you know anything about that?”
She had wondered what had happened with that bill. Next time, she would just pay instead of trying to set up an account. “Yes, Father, I ordered those. I tried to pay for them myself; they must have set up the account incorrectly. You can take the money out of my allowance.”
“I’m not worried about the money. What concerns me is your need for pencils. As I recall, I’ve instructed you on more than one occasion that you are not to be drawing. I’m assuming that this will be our last conversation about it. Unless you’re ready to relocate out of London.”
“No, sir.”
“You paint, that is all, Claudia. Do you understand me? There is no place for a woman in the art world—it is dirty and dangerous and full of... Frenchmen. Watercolors is the only acceptable art for ladies of good breeding. I will not have my daughter fancying herself an artist.” He straightened his coat. “Remember: everything you do reflects on me. We will not discuss this again. Is that understood?”
She nodded, and he turned and left her alone in the garden.
The butler looked surprised to see him. The skin on the servant’s too tall, too thin frame stretched taut, barely covering his old bones. “May I help you?” he asked in a severe tone.
“I’m here to call on Miss Prattley. Is she available?”
“May I have your card, please, sir?”
Derrick handed him his card, and the butler eyed it cautiously, then turned on his heel. “Please wait here,” he said as he retreated down the hall.
Derrick did not have a long wait before the butler reappeared.
“She’s out in the garden, Mr. Middleton. This way, please.”
Derrick followed the hollow-looking man down a long hallway, around a comer, and then out double doors into the small garden.
“Miss Prattley, a Mr. Middleton to see you.”
She stood at an easel, paintbrush in hand, her eyes wide. “Mr. Middleton.”
Derrick nodded at the butler.
“Jacobs, has my father left for his club?” she asked.
“Yes, madam.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “You may leave us.”
Jacobs stood for a moment as if unsure if he actually could leave them, then he nodded and returned inside.
Today she wore no hat, so her honey-blond curls glistened in the sunlight. With her eyes wide and her smile bright, she looked surprised to see him. Pleasantly so. He took a step forward.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to see you.”
“I apologize, that must have sounded rude. It’s a surprise to see you.” Her brow furrowed. “Is there a change in the assignment?”
“No.”
Her simple lilac gown was devoid of any ruffles, bows, or other ornamentation. The clean lines of the bodice cupped her breasts, then hugged the rest of her torso, hinting at a narrow waist and nice round hips.
As if she could read his thoughts, her hand moved to her abdomen. Her head tilted to the right, and her features scrunched. “Then why are you here?”
“I already answered that.”
She chewed her lip and thought for a moment. “To see me?” She smiled.
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t expecting guests.” She motioned to her gown. “Or I would have dressed more appropriately.”
“I see nothing inappropriate about your clothes, but I do apologize for interrupting. I could come back.”
“No. Now is fine.”
“What are you working on?” He came to stand behind her at the easel to view her painting up close. It was a typical watercolor, the kind of painting appropriate for a young woman. The tingle of peppermint teased his nose—he had noticed it when they danced, but wasn’t sure it was she. He leaned in slightly and sniffed her hair. How fitting—subtle yet refreshing and energetic all at the same time.
“A watercolor. I’m working on shadows.” She took a step back and stepped right on his boot.
“Gracious. Did I hurt you?” She looked truly concerned.
He had to laugh. “No, you didn’t hurt me. You paint well, but your drawings are much better.” He took her hand—it was warm within his, her small round fingers tipped with short-cropped nails.
She gazed up at him with her huge blue eyes, and he nearly forgot everything. Why he was here. Why he needed to court her. Everything but how deep and blue her eyes were and how he wanted to get lost in them and see what else Claudia Pratt- ley could make him forget.
He led her to the garden bench, and once they were seated, she pulled her hand away and set it in her lap. Her movement broke the spell—it was a damned good thing. He didn’t need to be getting lost in anyone’s eyes. He’d done that once before and been played the fool. He wouldn’t be that careless again.
Courting Claudia was a business move and nothing more. It didn’t matter how blue her eyes were or how kissable those lips of hers looked.
He needed to focus on the task at hand. “Do you have any illustrations you can show me?”
She looked down at her feet as if inspecting the ground for something. “I’ve sketched a few ideas but haven’t started on the wood.”
“May I see them? The sketches?”
“No. They’re not ready yet.”
“Do you always start with paper?”
“Yes, I often need to draw a few ideas before I’m sure of which one is the best. So I use the paper to work until I feel I have the right image. Then I work on the wood for the final drawing.”
Her mouth was fascinating as she talked. Her perfect, pink lips wrapped around each syllable in a caress. Damnation. He sounded like a fool.
“I’ve never seen one of my illustrator’s preliminary works. Let me take a peek. I will not pass judgment.”
She chewed at her lip. Such full lips, it was a shame only she nibbled at them.
“I’d rather not. I should have the finished product soon, and I can send that to you.”
“I shall have to wait, then.” This was going dreadfully. How could he save matters? “I intend to court you.” Charming. He had to force himself not to wince. He certainly wouldn’t knock her off her feet with that kind of clumsiness.
“I beg your pardon?”
Damnation, he’d never courted a proper lady before. He’d never courted any kind of lady before. He and Julia hadn’t even had an official courtship, just a few tumbles, a sudden pregnancy, and a hasty marriage. Ever since then, his relations with women had been confined to the bedroom—simple, no complications, no emotions, just touching. So why was he so bloody nervous now?
Uncharted territory, that was all. Nothing about Miss Prattley should make him feel insecure in his intentions. If Richard was her only suitor, then she didn’t have much to compare him to, so he needn’t worry. And surely he could do better than Richard. Be courteous and romantic. That’s how men courted proper ladies.
“I do apologize for the abruptness of that. I meant to say it much more ... that is to say, I only wanted you to know that I came today to notify you of my intentions. I would like to court you, Claudia.”
She gawked at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. She opened her mouth to say something, then promptly shook her head and closed her mouth.
“Do you not have anything to say?” he asked.
“I’m not certain what to say.” She frowned, then the lines in her forehead smoothed and she gave him a little smile—two dimples pierced her cheeks. It was a most becoming smile. Genuine. She really was quite fetching.
“That is quite amusing, Mr. Middleton, but I should think you had better use of your time than teasing a girl like me.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well, since you cannot be serious, it must mean that you are playing a joke on me, and while I’m sure you find it vastly entertaining, I do not share your humor in the situation.” She tilted her chin up ever so slightly. “Were I not the kind of woman I am, I might have my feelings hurt by your mockery.”
Damn. He hated to lie, but he had no choice. He needed her. For his paper. “I assure you I am not mocking you. I came here to express my honest intentions of courting you. You mentioned a need to marry, and I find you utterly charming.” Well, at least that wasn’t a lie—she was charming. “I thought if you would have me, I would like to throw my hat, as it were, into the pile and try to win your hand.”
She released a giggle. The throaty sound played havoc on his nerves. “Into the pile?” she asked.
“Correct.”
“I don’t believe there is an actual pile, sir.”
“Richard Foxmore is courting you, is he not?”
She nodded curtly. “He is.”
“And are you engaged?”
“Not officially.”
“Has he ever proposed marriage?”
She smoothed her hands across her skirt. “No, he has not. But I believe he and my father have discussed it.”
Richard was a spineless bastard. He no doubt was dragging his feet, waiting for a better offer elsewhere. All the while, he strung Claudia along. “If he has not proposed to you, then he lays no claim on you. I am free to court you. Isn’t that correct?”
“I suppose that if a girl is not engaged and is not necessarily in love with one suitor, then she is in a position to accept other suitors.”
Interesting. “So you admit that you do not love Richard?”
She visibly bristled. “I did not say that. I was speaking hypothetically. Whether or not I love Richard is, frankly, none of your concern.”
A sharp tongue too. She became more fascinating by the moment. A breeze fluttered a stray curl to rest on her cheek. He fought the urge to reach up and tuck it behind her ear.
“Why is it so hard to believe that I would court you when you have one suitor already?”
Her eyes narrowed, and tiny lines fanned out in the comers. “You and Richard are ... different.”
“Aside from our birth positions, how exactly are we different? We are both men who obviously share similar taste in beautiful women.”
She stiffened. “Do not mock me, sir.” Her words came out slow and tight.
He’d hit upon a sore spot. She wasn’t beautiful in the fashionable sense—she was shorter and fleshier than most women, but she had a beauty all her own. Her blond curls whispered for a touch, and her perfect mouth begged for a kiss. And her breasts—he didn’t even want to think about what her breasts needed.
What he had to do was convince her she was desirable. Considering his half-aroused state, that shouldn’t be too difficult.
“I was not trying to mock you.” He let his words settle a bit before he continued. “So tell me, what is it that Richard does to woo you? How has he won your heart?”
She frowned. “You’d like to know what, precisely?”
“What does Richard do—how does he court you?”
She opened her mouth, then shut it.
“Let me take a guess. I would wager he recites poetry.”
Her head snapped up.
That was so like Richard Foxmore. To ensnare people with words. Not his own, he would guess.
“So he probably quotes poems that mention that your hair is the color of sunlight on a warm day. And that your skin resembles the smoothest of creams. Or perhaps he declares your eyes to be the color of the bluebells growing on the hillside.” Those bluebell eyes widened, but she never looked away. “Your mouth, oh, your sweet mouth—he would say it was shaped like the most perfect of rosebuds.” Her teeth worried her bottom lip. “Am I getting warmer?”
“He’s said some things like that. Only I don’t believe I’ve heard those particular phrases.” Her brow furrowed. “Who wrote them?”
He leaned in closer to her. “No one. I just said them.”
“I see,” she said in a near whisper.
“I cannot court you like that, Miss Prattley. I hope you don’t mind. But when I look at your hair, I don’t think of sunshine.”
Her frown deepened. “You don’t?”
“No. I think of thick, rich honey that I want to pour onto my tongue.”
“Oh.”
“And when I see your skin, I don’t think of cream.”
“No?”
“No. I think of the finest of satins that I want to glide my fingers across.”
“Oh my.”
“Your eyes.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes, your eyes, I don’t think of bluebells. I think of the bluest of water and the way it’s slippery against my skin when I dive beneath the surface.”
She licked her lips and nodded slightly.
“And your mouth. I don’t think of rosebuds or any other flowers when I look at your mouth.”
“You don’t?”
“No. The only thought I have when I look at your mouth is of warm, slow kisses that last all afternoon.”
“Oh my goodness.” She leaned in a little closer, and it was all the encouragement he needed.
With one arm, he pulled her closer, then dropped his mouth to hers. It was a kiss meant to prove that he was serious about courting her. A kiss meant to show her she was desirable. But the instant his lips touched hers, he forgot all about his intentions.
Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. With only a tiny amount of coaxing, he was able to open her mouth and explore inside. Her warm breath mingled with his. When he swept his tongue in her mouth, she stiffened slightly, but then released a throaty moan that sent blood rushing to his groin.
He knew he should stop the kiss and get the hell out of here. But she felt so good. Tasted so sweet. He deepened the kiss and felt her fingers lace through his hair. Her tongue tentatively moved against his. Her lack of experience was evident, but her clumsiness only fueled his arousal. Damn, but he wanted her. Right here, right now on this bench in her father’s garden.
He fought the urge to groan and forced himself to end the kiss.
Her eyes remained closed, and her breath came in shallow puffs. Finally she opened her eyes and smiled at him.
“I don’t believe you have a future as a poet, sir.”
Was she serious? That was her response? While his pants pulled tight across his erection, she thought of poetry. “I should think my poetic words the last thing on your mind.”
“Yes, well, I merely thought that likening my eyes to bluebells is frankly not that clever. I believe I’ve read that in many a poem.”
The kiss, meant only to make an impression on her, had missed its mark and instead made a big impression on him. Devil take it! He needed to get out of here.
He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. “Claudia, it has been a pleasure seeing you today, but I’m afraid I’m late for an appointment. I do hope you’ll allow me to call on you again sometime.”
She only nodded, then stood and went to her painting.
He watched her back for a few seconds, then turned to leave.
Damnation! He hadn’t come to her house intending to kiss her or he sure as hell would have ... Would have what? Prepared himself? Never would he have thought he’d have to prepare himself for kissing Claudia Prattley.
Yet kissing her had proven a serious temptation and had done things to his body that a mere kiss hadn’t evoked in years. Perhaps since he was a young man in school. And she hadn’t been affected at all. Which made no sense. His kisses generally had even the most tarnished of women swaying in his arms. But not Miss Prattley. No, she merely blinked at him, then dismissed him as if he’d done nothing more than shine her shoes.
Derrick mounted the carriage steps, then sat with a huff. More than bloody likely, he’d just been caught off guard. Or, rather, he’d spent too much time staring at her bosom and he’d been aroused before the kiss. None of it made sense.
But she wouldn’t get off this easy. No. Now it was war, so to speak. He would do whatever it took to make Miss Prattley weak in the knees. She would swoon over him before this was done. After all, if he was courting her, he might as well teach her the way a real man acts. Poetry! Imagine spending all his time with a willing, desirable woman and doing nothing more than spouting poetry. Richard was a buffoon.
* * *
Oh my goodness.
Claudia sank back on the stone bench and brought her hands to her cheeks. Her face felt warm, indicating she blushed, just as she suspected. She’d never before kissed a man, and still she knew that had to be the kiss to end all kisses. Her entire body felt jiggly, as if someone had taken her apart and put her back together wrong.
She trailed her right index finger along her lips. They were slightly swollen. She didn’t feel like herself. She’d never been the girl that men stole kisses from in the garden. Especially not men like Derrick Middleton. He was as handsome as she was plain. It just didn’t fit.
Courting her. Indeed. He was jesting with her. And she didn’t find it the least bit amusing. Her stomach clenched. What could possibly motivate a man to toy with a woman’s emotions like that? Surely he wasn’t heartless. He seemed the very image of a gentleman.
Well, perhaps not a gentleman in the strictest of terms, but he was kind and well-mannered even if he did steal kisses from unsuspecting women in their gardens. There had been nothing gentlemanly or well-mannered about that kiss.
Or about her response. Heavens.
He had certainly left rather suddenly. As if something in the kiss had reminded him of something. More than likely, she’d done something dreadfully wrong, and he’d immediately come to his senses. Men like him could have any woman of their choosing. And they rarely dallied with innocent women like her.
In fact, no man had ever ventured a dalliance with her of any kind. She knew it was because of the way she looked. She was plump, and men didn’t like plump women. It wasn’t as if she’d asked any of them, but it was quite evident. She could count on her hands how many times men had asked her to dance.
But she made the most of her situation. She didn’t need a line of men asking her to dance. She’d found her future husband; she was simply waiting for him to propose.
Her mind wandered back to Derrick’s kiss. Tingles spread through her body. Gracious. And the simple way he said her name—it seemed to roll off his tongue as if he’d been saying it forever. Her name had never sounded as good as it did in the deep timbre of his voice.
Precisely what was she to do with another suitor? A charade of one or not, Richard was bound to notice sooner or later.
She had one suitor who said he intended to propose, who had never so much as let his mouth linger on her hand. And another suitor who wasn’t really a suitor at all, who’d just this afternoon done amazing things with his tongue in her mouth.
What was she supposed to do now?