Adele Ashworth by Stolen Charms

He’d said the names almost distastefully, but what surprised her was his knowledge that both Richard and Geoffrey had asked her to marry them.
    “How did you—”
    “I know lots of things,” he intimated, dropping his voice to an indifferent whisper. He reached for the collar of her cloak and began stroking it with his thumb. “But what I can’t imagine is either one of them . . . kissing you to satisfaction, Natalie.”
    Suddenly she was hot, unsettled from such an impertinent comment. Especially from him.
    “But of course they’re both rich,” he continued matter-of-factly. “Little Richard even has a title, and those two things are usually what a woman wants most from a marriage.”
    She firmly pulled back from him, and he dropped his hand. “Richard is half a foot taller than you. Hardly little.”
    He grinned devilishly. “But sickly skinny. A man who would no doubt die of consumption or fever at an early age, leaving you with all the money—”
    “I care nothing for riches in a husband,” she cut in, rubbing a palm across her forehead in irritation, unsure why she felt the need to defend herself.
    “Really,” he stated, unconvinced. “Then what are you looking for in a husband, Natalie, sweet? What does the legendary Black Knight have that you could possibly want?”
    He was teasing her, and she could scarcely be nasty to him with the almost tender way he approached the subject. But she didn’t want it to drag on for their entire trip abroad. She got enough pestering about it from her parents.
    He stood silently next to her, waiting for an explanation, and since they were all alone on deck, she organized her thoughts and decided to confide in him, to get everything out in the open now so they could move on.
    “About two years ago,” she began with a sigh, “I came to the conclusion that if I lived the life my mother wanted for me I would grow old and fat and bored, sitting around at teas, eating cakes and chocolates, chatting idly with other ladies about things like who wore what ghastly shade of red to which ball, and whose daughter suddenly needed to marry within the month to save her family disgrace.”
    She tossed him a quick glance to see how he reacted to her words, but he held his tongue, expression neutral, giving her his full attention now in the quiet of growing nightfall.
    “If you must know, Jonathan,” she carried on thoughtfully, “I’m not altogether good at embroidery, or gardening, or choosing the appropriate dessert for a menu, or any of the silly little things a lady of fine breeding is expected to do well or, at the very least, efficiently. That’s why my mother and I have been at odds with each other for so long. What my parents want from me is to settle down and have babies with someone boring who expects me to do the boring things I loathe.” She snorted with disgust. “My mother adores Geoffrey Blythe.”
    “Go on,” he urged huskily.
    She raised glowing eyes to his, leaning so close to him the warmth of his body touched her.
    Fervently she whispered, “I want to live , Jonathan, to travel and see the world. I refuse to marry an average Englishman who will take me for granted, who will expect me to speak only when appropriate, entertain when necessary, and ignore his husbandly indiscretions. I am not a prize to be won and placed becomingly upon a shelf.”
    Her voice grew with intensity as she fisted her hands at her chest for emphasis. “I want to be in love , I want to feel passion , like a . . . a fairy princess who meets an extraordinary, handsome prince and is swept off her feet by a tide of powerful emotion. I want to grow old with someone who wants me as a woman, as a person, not as a dutiful wife.”
    She stood back, composing herself to add determinedly, “Money cannot buy life, Jonathan, and I refuse to waste mine in the desire to possess expensive trinkets my husband provides me to ignore his various childish follies. Even if I become poor as a