than companionship, I meant that a husband is responsible for making sure you’re safe, gives you a comfortable house to reside in, clothes for you to wear, that kind of thing. But furthermore, he should be a partner to you, a helpmate, someone who shares your same interests and goals.”
She blinked several times, quirked a brow, and asked, “If you know so much about what a husband should be, why aren’t you one yourself?”
He should’ve felt offended, but he was the one who’d broached the topic. How did she manage to answer a question with a question and remain so coolheaded about it? “I’ve no need to marry right now.”
“Well, I’m certainly impressed with all the things you think a husband ought to be. But I have to ask how you think Sir Richard is lacking in any of those areas. He has a home, he has means, and I’m sure he’ll keep me clothed and fed, if that’s what you mean.” She licked her spoon then twirled it. He had the urge to rip the spoon from her hand, but he tamped down on his ire. He must keep his emotions in check—this was nothing more than a basic conversation about husbands and wives. There was no reason to let her get under his skin.
“Sir Richard is most definitely lacking.” The gentleman in question most certainly wouldn’t know how to please her in bed. Will scowled at the sudden thought. Blood rushed to certain areas of his anatomy, followed by his pulse pounding at his temple. “Miss Duvall, I don’t wish to argue with you, but the fact is, I arranged the match between Oliver and Arabella and look how happy they are.”
“Yes, that’s true, but that’s because you know your sister. You knew exactly what she required in a husband, and you don’t know one thing about me—not one thing.”
“I know plenty of things about you. I know you dressed as a man and pretended to be a jockey. I know you care a great deal for horses. I know you’re an excellent rider, otherwise you would have been killed or at least trampled upon.” Will coiled his fingers around the arms of his chair with an iron grip before pushing it back a second time and stood.
“That still doesn’t mean—”
“I know you’re purposely eating your food inappropriately just to vex me,” he said softly, while his blood boiled like a pot of stew soon to bubble over. “I also know that dress shows entirely too much—too much…” He waved a hand in between them. “Too much of your skin.”
Miss Duvall pushed back her chair and stood as well. She squinted her beautiful blue eyes at him but said nothing.
“I know Sir Richard is not capable of pleasing you as a husband ought to.”
“You have no way of knowing that.”
“I know, because I’m a man.” They stared at each other with the table between them acting as a giant chasm separating not only their differences of opinion but just how different they were in every way.
“I think I know a little bit more about what will please me than you do.” She scowled at him with her plump bottom lip sticking out. “And just because you’re a man means nothing.”
“I do know what’s best for you. I knew what was best for Arabella, and I know—”
“Stop right there,” she interrupted and rounded the corner of the table. She approached him as though she might very well reach her hands around his neck to strangle him. He knew he’d pushed too far, but the woman needed to be put in her place; she needed to understand that she didn’t want an old man as a husband.
Her hands fisted at her sides before she crossed her arms just below her breasts, effectively forcing her cleavage upward to become even more visible. Damn the woman.
“Let me make myself very clear, Lord Grandleigh.” She uncrossed her arms and pointed her index finger at her heart. “I will make up my mind about whom I marry. Me, and no one else. Let’s be very clear on this point, shall we?”
“Very well,” he bit off. The thud of blood pulsing at his temple struck
She blinked several times, quirked a brow, and asked, “If you know so much about what a husband should be, why aren’t you one yourself?”
He should’ve felt offended, but he was the one who’d broached the topic. How did she manage to answer a question with a question and remain so coolheaded about it? “I’ve no need to marry right now.”
“Well, I’m certainly impressed with all the things you think a husband ought to be. But I have to ask how you think Sir Richard is lacking in any of those areas. He has a home, he has means, and I’m sure he’ll keep me clothed and fed, if that’s what you mean.” She licked her spoon then twirled it. He had the urge to rip the spoon from her hand, but he tamped down on his ire. He must keep his emotions in check—this was nothing more than a basic conversation about husbands and wives. There was no reason to let her get under his skin.
“Sir Richard is most definitely lacking.” The gentleman in question most certainly wouldn’t know how to please her in bed. Will scowled at the sudden thought. Blood rushed to certain areas of his anatomy, followed by his pulse pounding at his temple. “Miss Duvall, I don’t wish to argue with you, but the fact is, I arranged the match between Oliver and Arabella and look how happy they are.”
“Yes, that’s true, but that’s because you know your sister. You knew exactly what she required in a husband, and you don’t know one thing about me—not one thing.”
“I know plenty of things about you. I know you dressed as a man and pretended to be a jockey. I know you care a great deal for horses. I know you’re an excellent rider, otherwise you would have been killed or at least trampled upon.” Will coiled his fingers around the arms of his chair with an iron grip before pushing it back a second time and stood.
“That still doesn’t mean—”
“I know you’re purposely eating your food inappropriately just to vex me,” he said softly, while his blood boiled like a pot of stew soon to bubble over. “I also know that dress shows entirely too much—too much…” He waved a hand in between them. “Too much of your skin.”
Miss Duvall pushed back her chair and stood as well. She squinted her beautiful blue eyes at him but said nothing.
“I know Sir Richard is not capable of pleasing you as a husband ought to.”
“You have no way of knowing that.”
“I know, because I’m a man.” They stared at each other with the table between them acting as a giant chasm separating not only their differences of opinion but just how different they were in every way.
“I think I know a little bit more about what will please me than you do.” She scowled at him with her plump bottom lip sticking out. “And just because you’re a man means nothing.”
“I do know what’s best for you. I knew what was best for Arabella, and I know—”
“Stop right there,” she interrupted and rounded the corner of the table. She approached him as though she might very well reach her hands around his neck to strangle him. He knew he’d pushed too far, but the woman needed to be put in her place; she needed to understand that she didn’t want an old man as a husband.
Her hands fisted at her sides before she crossed her arms just below her breasts, effectively forcing her cleavage upward to become even more visible. Damn the woman.
“Let me make myself very clear, Lord Grandleigh.” She uncrossed her arms and pointed her index finger at her heart. “I will make up my mind about whom I marry. Me, and no one else. Let’s be very clear on this point, shall we?”
“Very well,” he bit off. The thud of blood pulsing at his temple struck
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