fact that had been drawn to Bastian’s attention when he returned from the Continent two years previously and discovered those wagers placed in gentleman’s clubs all over London in regard to which of those gentlemen Miss Gertrude Faraday might marry.
His curiosity piqued, Bastian had been eager to see this elusive Miss Faraday for himself, only to then find himself equally smitten by that young lady’s beauty. And something else, something less…definable, but there nonetheless.
Weeks, months, of observing Trudie Faraday from afar had revealed to Bastian that she obviously required much more from marriage than the offer of wealth or a title, that her emotions, indeed her whole being, would need to be engaged before she would agree to become any gentleman’s wife.
“How is anyone to know whether or not they would be happy in their marriage when the dictates of Society are such that the bride and groom are rarely left alone in each other’s company before they are married?” he prompted.
Miss Faraday’s delicate—and very determined!—chin rose once again. “I am sure there must be…ways in which one might circumvent Society’s strictures, in order that the couple might be sure of their feelings for each other before any marriage took place.”
Considering that had been exactly Bastian’s intention when he accepted the invitation to come to Shoreley Park, he could barely restrain his inward surge of triumph behind his usual expression of boredom at this precipitous turn in their conversation. “‘Ways’, Miss Faraday…?” he prompted softly.
As much as Trudie was enjoying their exchange, she was also aware that it would not do for the attention of the other guests strolling in the gardens to be drawn to the fact that the eligible Mr Bastian Wilson and Miss Gertrude Faraday were at this moment completely alone together on the terrace. Her sister Daphne, Trudie’s chaperone for this week of entertainments, was no doubt sequestered somewhere private with her handsome husband. “Surely it is all a matter of mutual compatibility, Mr Wilson?” she insisted doggedly.
“In emotions or in a sexual way?”
Trudie drew in a sharp breath. “Surely the latter naturally follows the former, Mr Wilson?” She was stubbornly determined that her inner feelings of dismay at the scandalous intimacy of this conversation not become apparent to this haughtily superior and far more experienced gentleman.
“You believe falling in love with someone to also be a guarantee of sexual compatibility?”
“I have always believed that there must be a meeting of emotions and minds for such…intimacies to be successful, yes.” She nodded abruptly.
Bastian Wilson smiled derisively. “And I assure you, Miss Faraday, that you are quite wrong.”
Trudie’s mouth firmed. “Then I am afraid we shall have to agree to disagree, sir!”
“Or not…” Bastian Wilson drawled.
She sharply looked at him. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged those broad shoulders as he turned his back on the garden to concentrate all of his narrow-eyed attention on Trudie. “Is it not obvious?”
“Not at the present time, no,” Trudie assured frostily.
“Then perhaps you will allow me to explain?”
“If you feel you must.” The haughtiness of her tone hid her inner distrust of the calculating glitter she now espied in Bastian Wilson’s assessing grey eyes.
“Oh, I believe I should very much like to do that,” Bastian Wilson spoke. “Let us start by ascertaining whether or not you are in love with me…?”
Trudie’s eyes widened. “I hardly think my own feelings towards you, or, indeed, the lack of them,” she added dismissively, “have anything to do with the shocking content of this conversation, sir!”
“Very nicely put.” He arched one dark and mocking brow. “But unfortunately that statement did not answer my question.”
“I doubt I am in love with you any more than I believe you to be in love with me.” Trudie glared, knowing she could not truthfully deny her feelings for this gentleman; how could she, when he had been at the centre of her romantic fantasies for a year or more!
His lids lowered. “In which case, according to your own ideas on the subject, it should not be possible for either of us to give the other…sexual completion?”
Trudie gasped, almost breathless. “Mr Wilson, please!”
Those grey eyes gleamed between those hooded lids. “I believe I should very much enjoy hearing you say those words, and in just that fashion, as I bring you to physical climax, Miss Faraday.”
Trudie’s usual air of self-possession had completely deserted her. “You go too far, sir!”
“Or not far enough.” He smiled. “Perhaps you would care to make a wager on the subject, Miss Faraday?” He raised those dark and challenging brows.
Much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, Trudie knew she was completely out of her depth with this conversation. “What sort of wager did you have in mind, sir?”
Bastian could not help but feel admiration for Gertrude Faraday’s determination to hide her inner feelings of trepidation from him, feelings that were revealed to him by the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her creamy throat and the slight trembling of those full and sensuous lips. “The two of us are to be incarcerated together at Shoreley Park for the next week, during which time I will wager that I am able to give you…sexual completion, without your being in the least bit in love with me.”
She gasped. “I could not possibly—”
“And for your part you will endeavour to withhold that sexual completion from a man with whom you have already stated you are not in love.” That he had shocked her with the details of his wager Bastian was left in no doubt as he saw the way Trudie’s eyes widened and her cheeks became flushed.
Whether that shock would be deep enough to prevent the stalwart Trudie Faraday from accepting his wager now hung delicately in the balance…
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