way with women, a man I can enjoy being with."
A man like you .
"A gentleman with both conversation and charm." She nodded. "Yes, that's it."
"A tall order, my dear. And, of course, none of it matters if the chap is not also a skillful lovemaker. Correct?"
"Yes, I suppose that's true. Oh, Adam, I know it sounds foolish and you are merely teasing me, but I just want ..."
She could not admit it aloud, not to Adam, but she wanted that excitement and passion Penelope talked about. She wanted what her friends had experienced. Just once in her life.
* * *
Adam knew what she wanted, probably better than she did. And yet, out of sheer perversity, he seemed determined she should not have it. What man could possibly be worthy of her? And how could any man hope to measure up to David Nesbitt, who was no doubt as talented and skillful in the bedroom as he was at everything else he did?
Poor Marianne was doomed to disappointment.
Adam did not lack confidence in his own sexual prowess, and thought he just might be able to best the memory of David in that particular arena. Now that it was impossible to put that confidence to the test, he was strangely loath to see any other man make the attempt.
"All teasing aside," she said, "would you be willing to advise me on whether certain men would ... meet my needs?"
"You have someone in mind?"
"Actually, I have a list."
"Good God, a list? Damnation, Marianne, this will require more wine. Do you by chance have another bottle at hand?"
"You know where to find it."
He did indeed. She still kept it in the deep bottom drawer of the kneehole desk in the corner, where David had always kept a ready supply. Adam retrieved a bottle and uncorked it. Without bothering to decant it — this business of a list of potential lovers could not wait for such niceties — he carried the bottle with him and set it on the candlestand between them. He topped off her glass before refilling his own.
After taking a restorative swallow of claret, he said, "You have a list."
She reached for the book she'd tucked beside the seat cushion and retrieved a folded sheet of paper from between the pages. "I jotted down a few names. What do you think of Lord Peter Bentham?"
Devil take it, he was going to have to think fast. "Bentham? Younger son of Worthing? Big, strapping chap with yellow hair?"
"Yes, that's him."
"I would steer clear of that one if I were you."
"Why?"
"I've heard the fellow has a hot temper and a violent streak."
"Lord Peter? I can hardly believe it. He seems like such a kind gentleman."
"Appearances can be deceiving. Most fellows are on their best behavior in public, especially around females. But one hears talk in the clubs. I would be uneasy if I thought you were involved with a man like Bentham. For my peace of mind, may we cross him off the list?"
"All right." Her voice was tinged with disappointment. Had she really been attracted to that great hulking oaf?
"Who's next?"
"Sir Dudley Wainfleet."
He chuckled softly. "You'll have no success there, my dear."
"Why not?"
"Just between you and me, the man is not particularly interested in women."
Her eyes widened. "You mean ..."
"Precisely. Cross him off. Who's next?"
"Robert Plimsoll."
He shook his head and laughed. "It is a good thing you sought my advice on this list of yours."
She lifted her chin at a challenging angle. "Is there some objection to Mr. Plimsoll?"
"Only that he keeps a mistress and their five children in a house in Hampstead."
She gave a little gasp of surprise. "You're joking? I never heard such a thing about him."
"Women never do. Sometimes not even wives know about their husbands' second families. Trust me, my dear. Every man of the ton knows about that house in Hampstead."
"Oh dear. How very frustrating. It is indeed fortunate that I asked your advice." She sighed and took a sip of wine as she looked down at her list. "Harry Shackleford?"
Adam frowned, but said nothing. This exercise was becoming
A man like you .
"A gentleman with both conversation and charm." She nodded. "Yes, that's it."
"A tall order, my dear. And, of course, none of it matters if the chap is not also a skillful lovemaker. Correct?"
"Yes, I suppose that's true. Oh, Adam, I know it sounds foolish and you are merely teasing me, but I just want ..."
She could not admit it aloud, not to Adam, but she wanted that excitement and passion Penelope talked about. She wanted what her friends had experienced. Just once in her life.
* * *
Adam knew what she wanted, probably better than she did. And yet, out of sheer perversity, he seemed determined she should not have it. What man could possibly be worthy of her? And how could any man hope to measure up to David Nesbitt, who was no doubt as talented and skillful in the bedroom as he was at everything else he did?
Poor Marianne was doomed to disappointment.
Adam did not lack confidence in his own sexual prowess, and thought he just might be able to best the memory of David in that particular arena. Now that it was impossible to put that confidence to the test, he was strangely loath to see any other man make the attempt.
"All teasing aside," she said, "would you be willing to advise me on whether certain men would ... meet my needs?"
"You have someone in mind?"
"Actually, I have a list."
"Good God, a list? Damnation, Marianne, this will require more wine. Do you by chance have another bottle at hand?"
"You know where to find it."
He did indeed. She still kept it in the deep bottom drawer of the kneehole desk in the corner, where David had always kept a ready supply. Adam retrieved a bottle and uncorked it. Without bothering to decant it — this business of a list of potential lovers could not wait for such niceties — he carried the bottle with him and set it on the candlestand between them. He topped off her glass before refilling his own.
After taking a restorative swallow of claret, he said, "You have a list."
She reached for the book she'd tucked beside the seat cushion and retrieved a folded sheet of paper from between the pages. "I jotted down a few names. What do you think of Lord Peter Bentham?"
Devil take it, he was going to have to think fast. "Bentham? Younger son of Worthing? Big, strapping chap with yellow hair?"
"Yes, that's him."
"I would steer clear of that one if I were you."
"Why?"
"I've heard the fellow has a hot temper and a violent streak."
"Lord Peter? I can hardly believe it. He seems like such a kind gentleman."
"Appearances can be deceiving. Most fellows are on their best behavior in public, especially around females. But one hears talk in the clubs. I would be uneasy if I thought you were involved with a man like Bentham. For my peace of mind, may we cross him off the list?"
"All right." Her voice was tinged with disappointment. Had she really been attracted to that great hulking oaf?
"Who's next?"
"Sir Dudley Wainfleet."
He chuckled softly. "You'll have no success there, my dear."
"Why not?"
"Just between you and me, the man is not particularly interested in women."
Her eyes widened. "You mean ..."
"Precisely. Cross him off. Who's next?"
"Robert Plimsoll."
He shook his head and laughed. "It is a good thing you sought my advice on this list of yours."
She lifted her chin at a challenging angle. "Is there some objection to Mr. Plimsoll?"
"Only that he keeps a mistress and their five children in a house in Hampstead."
She gave a little gasp of surprise. "You're joking? I never heard such a thing about him."
"Women never do. Sometimes not even wives know about their husbands' second families. Trust me, my dear. Every man of the ton knows about that house in Hampstead."
"Oh dear. How very frustrating. It is indeed fortunate that I asked your advice." She sighed and took a sip of wine as she looked down at her list. "Harry Shackleford?"
Adam frowned, but said nothing. This exercise was becoming
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