The Discerning Gentleman's Guide

‘That is not the answer I was hoping for. I want to hear the words I will not do it again.’

‘Now you are splitting hairs. That is exactly what I just said.’

He laughed at her cheekiness. ‘I am a politician, Miss Mansfield. I know full well the power of words. The way something is phrased tells me a great deal about a person’s intent. Just now, for example, you specifically used the words I will try. There is a vast chasm of difference in the meaning of try and will; therefore that leads me to believe that you have no intention of listening to me at all on the matter.’

‘Perhaps...’

‘Another response that confirms your lack of commitment. Now I see why you and Aunt Augusta get along so well.’

His easy sarcasm made her giggle. ‘Are you suggesting that I am...how did you put it? Difficult, outspoken and naughty?’

Yes, he was and he quite liked those traits, bizarrely. Perhaps because she was a lady’s companion who’d grown up in Cheapside and was, therefore, completely off-limits. ‘You are certainly unconventional, Miss Mansfield; I will give you that.’

She was also playing havoc with his nerve endings, cuddled against his chest, compliant for once and nestled in his lap; those nerve endings were getting lustful ideas again. The temperature might be close to freezing, the fog creating glistening ice crystals on the brickwork they passed, but Bennett was hot.

Very hot.

All over.

‘I shall take that as a compliment. I would hate to be considered conventional.’

Her body trembled slightly with her laughter and it made him wonder if she would tremble with passion too. It had been a reckless and ill-considered decision to put her on his horse whilst he still sat on it. As a gentleman, Bennett probably should have offered the horse to her and walked home. He certainly should not have dragged her against him and shared his coat with her. What he had originally intended as an act of polite chivalry was now almost torture. Whatever had possessed him to do so when such things were simply not done, he could not fathom, aside from the fact that he had felt the most overwhelming urge to protect her. Leaving her alone with his horse had been as unacceptable as ignoring her and letting her walk.

Of course, then she had been shivering with such violence that it had caused him genuine concern. Now that she was all soft, friendly and warm from the heat of his body, he knew he would be doomed to thinking about how well her rounded bottom fitted between his thighs and how her hair smelled of spring flowers for the rest of the evening—and probably most of the night too. Each time she spoke, her soft breath warmed his chest through his clothing and he wished that there were not quite so many layers of fabric between her lips and his bare skin. Or so many layers between his bare skin and hers.

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