“Thank you.” Gathering up her courage, she turned to face him.

His eyes ran over her in a slow, sensual caress, sending a curl of heat into her midsection. “I will speak with Lord Dardington tomorrow,” he announced.

“Tomorrow,” Dorothea echoed. Her pulse began to thump as the full implication of his words registered in her brain. This was real, this was happening.

She had done it. She had secured a husband, had wrangled a proposal from one of society’s most eligible gentleman. Not only wrangled the proposal, but for all intents and purposes accepted it.

Saints above, I am going to be a marchioness. And someday, a duchess!

There was, of course, a very slight chance that Lord Dardington would refuse Lord Atwood’s offer. Yet given his current state of mind and excessive gratitude for Atwood’s rescue of his daughters, that seemed highly unlikely.

Besides, Carter clearly would not take no for an answer. Dorothea firmly believed if there were any objections put forth by Lord Dardington, they would be summarily disarmed.

She would marry him and in doing so achieve a noble and social status far higher than she had ever dared aspire. Yet shockingly, a sense of victory and accomplishment was not foremost in her heart.

“We should return to the drawing room, before someone is sent to fetch us,” Dorothea suggested.

“In a moment.” His hand caught hers, fingers entwined. She stiffened, but then he surprised her utterly by slowly raising her arm and tenderly kissing her palm. A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips. Temptation to once again melt into his arms reared at his gallant, lover’s gesture, but Dorothea strengthened her resolve. She would not succumb so easily, so predictably.

She had wanted a man whose kisses excited her, and Carter’s certainly did. Yet there was an edge to his passion she did not understand, an intensity that left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. It was equally intoxicating and troubling.

In addition to passion, Dorothea also wanted a man she understood, a man she could exert some control over. Carter was neither of those things. He was a puzzle she did not comprehend, an unmovable force she could not manipulate. Well, at least not easily.

She initially thought him to be a provocative, yet guarded man, but his kisses disproved her opinion. There was far more to the Marquess of Atwood than she originally believed.

If only she could decide if that was a good thing. Frustrated at her mixed emotions, Dorothea tried to control another burst of excitement as it fluttered through her. There was still time to change her mind. No one would force her to go through with the marriage.

But honestly, she’d be a fool to turn him down. He was handsome, titled, and rich. Without question this was the best offer she would ever receive. Yet, as they rejoined everyone in the drawing room, Dorothea continued to wonder, if this was such a wonderful, extraordinary match, why was there a nagging dose of doubt crowding into her mind?

“Well?” Dorothea prompted anxiously. “What do you think of Lord Atwood?”

She lowered herself into a dainty, gilded chair and stared across the room at her older sister. Gwendolyn creased her brow thoughtfully, then firmly declared, “You don’t love him.”

“Thank God.” Dorothea did not bother hiding her shudder. Falling in love with Carter at this stage in their relationship would put her at a great disadvantage.

“Then why marry him?”

Dorothea groaned. “Surely your eyes cannot be so blinded by your adoration of your husband that you cannot appreciate the finer qualities of another man, sister.”

Gwendolyn folded her hands and rested them across her large, pregnant belly. “Lord Atwood is very handsome.”

“And rich, and titled, and a physically appealing specimen,” Dorothea added pertly.

“Hmm.” Gwendolyn seemed to ponder that remark for a moment. “So tell me, how does he kiss?”

Dorothea smiled mischievously. Ah, her sister had remembered. “Divinely. He kisses like a man who has not eaten for weeks and I am a feast he has stumbled upon.”

“Passing your ridiculous kissing test does not make him a good choice for a husband.” Gwendolyn’s voice grew stronger, more commanding, as she took on the role of protective older sister. “Especially since his reputation would imply that he has a great deal of experience kissing women. Naturally, he has some skill.”

Dorothea swallowed. Gwen was right. To a point. But Carter’s experience with other women was not something Dorothea wanted to focus upon. “That is hardly a fair statement. You married a man with a far worse reputation, a man many labeled a rake of the highest order.”

“True, but I loved him. As he loved me,” Gwendolyn answered. “Jason wanted me as his wife, knowing full well he would have to reform. I am proud to say he has succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations, though I never doubted him for a moment.”

Reform? Dorothea wondered if that was a word in Lord Atwood’s vocabulary. Her chair creaked as she readjusted her position. Silently, she looked around her sister’s finely appointed private sitting room, a recent gift from her husband. He had commissioned the room as a surprise when they discovered she was to have a child.

The pale greens and warm amber tones, inviting atmosphere, and comfortable furnishings captured Gwendolyn’s personality with alarming accuracy, but the costly furniture, rugs, and paintings reflected Jason’s exquisite taste in expensive furnishings. The home he provided for his wife was a testament to his determination to give her everything she could possibly desire.

Not that Gwen especially cared about material items. She had always been the more practical, down-to-earth sister, but love had mellowed her personality, had softened away any of her sharp edges.

Dorothea took a deep breath, trying to hide her annoyance. She had made a special effort to journey out from London for an afternoon to visit her sister, wanting very much for Gwendolyn to meet her future husband. Meet and approve of him, she silently admitted. Not question the choice.

“Love aside, I daresay you would not have married Jason if his kisses had not thrilled you,” Dorothea insisted.

Gwen snorted. “There is more to marriage than compatibility between the sheets.”

Dorothea’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Sex, Dorothea. I’m talking about the intimacy which occurs between a man and a woman.”

“I know to what you are referring, Gwendolyn,” Dorothea huffed.

“Yes, of course you believe you know, but you only understand the mechanics of the act. The biology behind it. The reality is far different.” Gwendolyn pursed her lips. “Without a deep emotional bond, a man of Atwood’s jaded tastes and experience will not be easy to keep entertained in the bedroom.”

Flustered, Dorothea squirmed on her chair. It had to be Gwendolyn’s advanced stage of pregnancy that brought on such frank talk. That, and Gwendolyn’s genuine concern for her happiness. Dorothea struggled to keep that in the forefront of her mind, hoping it would help her retain her equilibrium.

“Lord Atwood is a man of character,” she insisted. “He will treat me with respect and dignity. I cannot believe you don’t see it.”

“I can hardly form a judgment of his character after a ten-minute conversation in which we discussed your drive from Town and the unseasonably warm weather.”

“You may interrogate him over tea,” Dorothea decided. “We have several hours before we must begin our journey back.”

Gwendolyn leaned forward, then shifted back, obviously searching for a more comfortable position. Dorothea winced. Her sister’s distended belly was enormous. Though she was a tall woman, the baby she carried distorted her figure grotesquely. It hurt Dorothea’s back just to look at her.

“I cannot sit in a drawing room with a strange man and take tea in my condition,” Gwendolyn declared. “’Tis highly improper.”

“I assure you Lord Atwood is not especially strange,” Dorothea responded with a smile. “A bit odd at times and exceedingly vexing, but not that peculiar.”

“Brat,” Gwendolyn replied with affection. “If my back were not aching so horribly, I’d throw this pillow at you.”

“Enceinte or not, you would most certainly miss me by a mile.” Dorothea’s grin widened. “Well, at least I’ve finally coaxed a smile from you.”

“I warn you, it won’t last. My mood changes quicker than the weather these days,” Gwendolyn grumbled.

“It’s to be expected,” Dorothea said, though in truth she had no idea if that was the case. She had never before been around a woman so advanced in pregnancy, and frankly, the change in her sister was rather frightening.

Knowing it might take ten minutes for Gwendolyn to rise from her chair and pull the rope to summon a servant, Dorothea took the initiative to arrange for tea. The stately butler appeared in a moment, his expression blank as he averted his gaze from his employer’s expanded belly.

“Have tea brought in here,” Gwendolyn commanded. “There is sufficient room for the four of us to be comfortably seated if Mr. Barrington and Lord Atwood decide to join us.”

“Very good, madam.” The butler bowed stiffly. “Is there anything specific you would like Cook to include on the tea tray?”

“Whatever is freshly baked will be sufficient, but be sure there are a variety and quantity of sandwiches. I’m certain the men will be hungry.”

“I am sure Cook will not disappoint,” the butler declared, bowing a final time before leaving.

Dorothea watched him soundlessly exit the room, her mind turning. This was a far cry from the simple way they had been raised, with a handful of servants in a quiet, rural community. Yet Dorothea was heartened to see that her sister had adjusted well to a more formal atmosphere. She only hoped she too would adapt quickly, for she suspected her life with Lord Atwood would be even more structured.