His Convenient Marchioness. Elizabeth Rolls

      No. Not just any man—Hunt. Her breath caught. She wanted him. Her whole body hummed at the memory of that kiss. Hours later and the shock of awareness lingered, with the faint enticing odour of sandalwood soap, damp wool and warm male. She could still feel the fierce strength of his arms as he held her and her breath hitched at the remembered taste of his kiss, hot and male, as her mouth had trembled into that swift, shocking response. Heat crept over her cheeks at the memory of his erection pressed against her belly. Had her response shocked him? Would he think her a wanton or, even worse, desperate to have responded so fast? So freely? He had called her ma’am afterwards and left immediately, but—she was being foolish. He was the one who had initiated the kiss. If he didn’t want a response then he should have delivered a chaste peck to the cheek. He was the one who had pulled her against him.

      But she had wanted him, still wanted him, and it bothered her. Other men had made advances to her in the last few years. None of them had interested her and not just because they had offered nothing more than an affair. She hadn’t even been attracted, let alone tempted. If Hunt had wanted an affair, well, she hoped she would have refused, but she could admit to herself that without the children to consider it would be tempting.

      He had asked her to be his friend, but with very little encouragement, or perhaps none at all, she could do very much more than simply like him. There was something about the quiet confidence, the dignity that was far more than his rank—that was simply him. And he was kind. Not in a patronising sort of way; that could annoy. His kindness was bone-deep. And, she smiled, there was something very appealing about a man so obviously fond of his dog. He had been open with her, honest. She would be a fool to refuse...if, in the end, he offered for her. Because he had not offered marriage as yet. He had asked to court her, to have a chance for them to become acquainted.

      And there was the other thing that bothered her; she already knew her answer. Just as she had with Peter almost from the first moment of meeting him at that house party so long ago. They had ridden out in a large group, but somehow it had been as if no one else existed from that moment. And she had known, just as she knew now. Although it was a little different. With Peter she had known that she was falling in love; with Hunt she simply knew that she wanted to marry him, that she could be happy with him.

      She who, according to her parents, had flung her life away for love was now prepared to marry for convenience.

      For safety. For her children’s future.

      Only there had been that kiss... Something inside her fluttered, something she had thought if not dead, then asleep.