Читать книгу A Wickedly Pleasurable Wager - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 8

Bastian had watched in unobserved amusement this past two Seasons as Miss Gertrude Faraday politely but very determinedly stepped through the minefield of Society, as she avoided accepting any offer of marriage that obviously did not meet her own expectations of such an alliance.

Oh, she charmed and flattered, whilst at the same time giving no one single gentleman the encouragement he so obviously desired. An occurrence Bastian, intrigued enough to wish to become her lover, had decided to circumvent with the proposal of his wager.

She now glared her displeasure at him. “For us to show such a—a public partiality for each other’s company would place us both in a compromising position, and so nullifying any wish on the part of either of us not to find ourselves at the centre of the most dreadful scandal by the end of the week.”

“My dear Miss Faraday, I was not in any way suggesting that we publicly flaunt our lovemaking,” Bastian matter-of-factly declared.

She blinked. “You were proposing that we—that we meet clandestinely?”

Could Trudie really be such an innocent, Bastian wondered ruefully, as not to know that lengthy summer house parties such as this one were the perfect means by which members of Society, of both sexes, visited the bedchambers of people to whom they were not married? “We would obviously behave with the greatest of discretion in public, Miss Faraday. In order to protect your own reputation, if not my own,” he added ruefully; the only person he required any sign of approval from was Trudie herself….

She moved with agitation. “The state of my reputation would not be of the least import, sir, if I were to one day go to my marriage bed unchaste!”

Bastian regarded her with lazy amusement. “But you would not be unchaste, Miss Faraday.”

“You just said—”

“My dear, there are many…ways to make love, to achieve sexual completion, without the loss of a lady’s chastity,” he assured her with a mocking glint in his eye.

Trudie swallowed, knowing with absolute certainty that those “ways” had nothing at all to do with the sharing of thoughts and ideals to which she had been referring earlier!

There was no denying that Bastian Wilson was the most sought-after, and elusive, single gentleman of the ton. And the most challenging.

Trudie had spent the past five Seasons surrounded by handsome and eligible gentlemen, receiving a dozen or more offers of marriage during that time, and yet none of those gentlemen had engendered the least interest on her part, emotionally or physically.

Except for Bastian Wilson…

Trudie had been captivated by him from the first evening she set eyes upon him eighteen months previously. So much so that every other gentleman of the ton had faded into obscurity. What Bastian Wilson now offered her was not the marriage which Trudie secretly so longed for, admittedly. But neither could she deny the thrill of wicked pleasure than ran the length of her spine just at the thought of a secret—and deeply sensual?—relationship with this man.

Enough for her to seriously consider accepting his wager…?

Once again she eyed him carefully. “I still do not see how we could possibly go about achieving such an…arrangement?”

Bastian gave a dismissive shrug. “As I am the more experienced in such matters, perhaps you should leave the where and how to me?” He glanced towards the garden, instantly aware that the two of them were now starting to attract the attention of several other guests as they stood talking together on the terrace in full view of anyone who cared to glance their way. A clear indication it was time he put an end to this exchange. “I believe it advisable if we…finish this conversation later on today in private.”

A frown marred the creamy perfection of her brow. “Tell me, Mr Wilson, what would be the benefit to you by entering into such a wager?”

He looked down at her with those heavily lidded—and completely unreadable!—grey eyes. “Have you never looked at yourself in a mirror, Miss Faraday?”

Her eyes widened. “Are you stating your attraction to me…?”

That attraction was as much of a shock to Bastian as it obviously was to Trudie Faraday. An attraction which he had tried his damndest to ignore as he deliberately flirted with other ladies of the ton and demimonde. Flirtations which had not gone as far as the bedchamber due to a distinct lack of enthusiasm on Bastian’s part. Learning that Trudie was to be a guest at Westbourne’s summer house party, Bastian had decided that making love to Trudie Faraday should put an end to this torture once and for all.

His mouth twisted self-derisively. “Perhaps I only seek relief from the tedium of a week-long house party?”

His quarry shot him an impatient glance from those fiery blue eyes. “I fail to see why you bothered coming here when it is obviously all so boring to you.”

He raised mocking brows. “Perhaps, since my return to England, I have become as bewitched by your beauty and charm as all the other single gentlemen of the ton appear to be?” Bastian drawled ruefully.