Page 59 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
He’d danced with Miss Cherrington twice at two private balls. He’d called upon her after each event. Each encounter had further proven how adequate a duchess she’d make.
He had decided to go through with it. Get this charade over with, get himself shackled, set his wife up at Crestmont Manor, and move on with his life.
He was here to tell Jo. Honestly, he didn’t know if the words would thrill her or hurt her. She’d been friendly yet distant this past week. Engaging yet cool. He had been the same. They had both been protecting themselves, but on Matthew’s part it had nearly killed him.
He still looked forward to their meetings. He still thought about her when they weren’t together. And his thoughts weren’t only carnal—though those thoughts had made him thoroughly wild with desire for her. He thought about her when he recorded his daily observations of the weather, or when he checked his rain gauge. He and Jameson would be discussing the new boat, and he’d think, “Jo would find this fascinating.” Or he and Jameson would have a good run on the water, almost beating Cole and Winthrop, and Matthew would daydream about telling her how exhilarating it had been.
Jo sat at her desk, her hands clasped so tightly on the desktop he could see the whites of her knuckles.
God, he wanted her.
He took a deep breath, fortifying himself, then finally spoke. “I intend to speak with Miss Cherrington’s brother next week.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then slowly shook her head. “I do not think that is a good idea.”
He gaped at her. “What do you mean? Why?”
“You’re not ready. Neither is she.”
“What?”
“I think you heard me, Your Grace,” she said drily.
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I did, but you make no sense. Don’t youwantme to marry her?”
“Of course, but…” She shook her head, then squeezed the top of her nose between two fingers. “You’re notready.”
He scoffed. “Of course I am.”
“I just…” She threw her hands in the air. “I have concerns.”
“What concerns? She’s perfectly adequate—”
“She’s more than adequate, and you know it!”
He growled in frustration, pushing his body off the door. “You’ve done your duty, matchmaker. You’ve found me an acceptable match. Now I shall marry the chit and be done with it.”
He knew he sounded bitter and hard, but hell if he cared.
She made a small sound of dismay and rose from her chair. Hands on hips, she paced her tiny office—three steps from one wall to the other and back.
“This isn’t right,” she said on a frustrated breath. “I can’t let you do this. I can’t.”
“Why the hell not?” he snapped.
She reeled to a stop in front of him, her pretty face screwed up in a scowl. Behind the scowl, though, lurked something else.
“Because you”—she poked a finger at his chest—“don’t love her.”
“Good God, Jo.” How could she expect him to love Harriet Cherrington?Jesus.“Of course I don’t love her.”
She looked up at him, shaking her head, her lips in a flat line. “Thenof courseI can’t let you do it.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, staring her down. “Do you want me to love her? Really? Do you want my heart to ache and my palms to sweat and my body to grow hard whenever I think of her? Do you want me to have pretty daydreams about her while men are screaming politics all around me at Parliament?” He had had such thoughts, but they sure as hell weren’t about Harriet Cherrington. “Do you want me to feel like I’m going to die if I can’t touch her…have her under me…beinside herfor another moment?”
His words were like lashes, and he could see how they struck. Deeply and painfully, and he instantly regretted them.
The blood drained from her face, and her hands—hands that had been all over him not that long ago—clenched at her sides. “Yes,” she said from between clenched teeth. “Yes, yes, and yes!”
