Page 87 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

He turned toward Cordelia. “Forgive me, Miss Maubry. I should have said that you are exquisite in every respect and left your figure entirely out of the discussion.”

Cordelia made a strangled sound, and when he winked at her, she promptly lowered her gaze, though not before he caught the smile she was struggling to conceal.

Katherine, meanwhile, looked as though she might expire from indignation. “Upon my word, my lord, you are quite outrageous, and you appear to take considerable pride in it.”

“So I have frequently been informed, though I assure you that I indulge the failing only when the occasion warrants.”

Cordelia pressed her napkin to her lips, and he suspected she was laughing. The knowledge pleased him immensely. He had not intended to provoke Lady Katherine quite so deliberately, but he would be damned before he sat silently while anyone made Cordelia feel ashamed of her body.

He adored her curves, the softness of her waist, the generous swell of her hips, and the lush fullness of her breasts. He adored the way her gowns embraced her figure, and he had spent far too many nights imagining what she might look like without them. Indeed, the memory of her beneath him at Aphrodite had become a particular torment. He had kissed her with every intention of maintaining some measure of restraint, only to discover that his control was considerably less reliable where Cordelia was concerned, and the astonishing creature had responded with a passion that still haunted his dreams. George reached for his wineglass, reminding himself that such thoughts were hardly appropriate at a dinner table occupied by the lady in question and her formidable elder sister, although propriety had never been his most distinguishing virtue.

“Ladies,” he said, rising once dessert had been cleared, “I trust you will forgive me if I leave you to your conversation for a little while.”

Katherine inclined her head, but Cordelia looked up at him. “Are you retiring?”

“Not yet.” He crossed to the sideboard, selected a decanter of brandy, and lifted it with a faint smile. “I have a small evening ritual that I am reluctant to abandon, even for the pleasure of such charming company.”

Katherine's expression suggested that she doubted anything he did in private could properly be described as charming, and George almost laughed as he bowed to them both and left the dining room. The evening air was cool and wonderfully fragrant when he stepped outside. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the lawns and turning the distant lake to burnished gold. Somewhere beyond the gardens, a dog barked, and the answering calls of several others drifted over the grass. George drew a deep breath, welcoming the hour when the estate settled into the quieter rhythms of evening. The workers would finish their rounds, ensuring that the animals had been fed and sheltered for the night, while those permitted to roam would soon seek their favored resting places.

He had always found the peace of Seaview Manor restorative, but tonight his thoughts refused to be still. He could scarcely believe how thoroughly Cordelia had become part of his life. He had invited her to Kent because he wanted her to understand something of the world he had created here, yet the invitation had meant more than he had allowed himself to acknowledge.

Never before had he brought a woman to Seaview Manor to show her all that the place meant to him, and certainly he had never waited so anxiously upon another person’s judgment. Cordelia's pleasure in his animals, her delight in his home, and the sincerity with which she had spoken of his work had moved him more deeply than any praise he could recall receiving. He wanted to go on deserving the trust in her eyes, to see that tender warmth whenever she looked at him, and the strength of the desire unsettled him.

“George?”

He stopped, wondering for an instant whether he had imagined the soft call of his name, then turned to find Cordelia standing several paces behind him. Her pale gown caught the slanting sunlight, and she had loosened the ribbons that had confined her hair during dinner, leaving a few auburn curls to rest against her temples. There was something so intimately familiar about the sight of her that his chest tightened.

“Cori.”

She smiled faintly. “I wished to apologize for Katherine, who was rather curt at dinner. I fear she has been watching you as though she expects you to commit some dreadful offense at any moment.”

“Only one dreadful offense? I had rather thought she expected several.” When Cordelia gave him a reproving look, he smiled but added more gently, “There is no need to apologize. Your sister is concerned for your welfare, and I should think considerably less of her if she were not.”

Cordelia looked down at her hands. “She has her reasons.”

“I suspected as much.”

After a moment she drew a quiet breath and looked toward the lake.

“When Katherine was first courted by her husband, everyone warned her that he was a rake. He was charming, handsome, attentive, and terribly persuasive. He sent her flowers and wrote the most beautiful letters, promising that she was unlike any woman he had ever known, that he had never truly loved until he met her, and that he wished to spend the remainder of his life proving his devotion.” Her voice softened as she continued. “Katherine believed him. She fell desperately in love, and when they married, she was happier than I had ever seen her. For a little while, I think she truly believed herself the most fortunate woman in England.”

Bloody hell. “And now?”

“He has a mistress. It is not merely that he has been unfaithful. He makes no great effort to conceal it and behaves as though Katherine ought to accept his conduct because he is a gentleman and she is his wife.”

George had encountered enough men of that persuasion to know the type. They considered fidelity a charming virtue in women and an unreasonable restriction upon themselves. Indeed, it had been the discovery of her husband’s mistress that had prompted the countess to throw herself into his arms that night. George had been briefly tempted to oblige her obvious desire for revenge, but, much to his bewilderment, his cock had remained indifferent and his heart curiously unmoved. Both had stirred to life only when he had seen Cori.

“I am sorry, Cori,” he said, and meant it.

“And the mistress is with child,” she added, her voice trembling despite her attempt to steady it. “He has betrayed his marriage vows, humiliated my sister, and now another woman is carrying his child. Katherine is devastated, though she tries very hard not to show it.”

He looked away for a moment, the full measure of Lady Katherine’s mistrust finally comprehensible. She had placed her faith in a charming libertine and been grievously hurt; naturally, she feared her younger sister would make the same mistake. Her coolness at dinner had been more than disapproval of his reputation. It had been the vigilance of a woman who knew precisely how costly misplaced trust could become.

“Ah,” he murmured, and when Cordelia echoed the word with a questioning glance, he turned back to her. “There is one rather important distinction between your brother-in-law and me.”

“And what distinction might that be?” she asked warily.

“He was a rake, whereas I am a rogue.” He lifted the decanter a fraction. “An enormous distinction, I assure you.”