Mollified by the statement, Lillian felt herself relax a little. She didn’t even protest when he reached out to pull her into his lap, her long legs dangling over his. A warm hand slid beneath her gown to her hip in a clasp that was more comforting than sensual, and he stared at her shrewdly. “Marriage is a partnership,” he said. “And since I’ve never entered a business partnership without first negotiating terms, we’ll do the same in this situation. Just you and I, in private. No doubt there will be a few points of contention—but you will find that I am well versed in the art of compromise.”

“My father will insist on having the final say about the dowry.”

“I wasn’t speaking of financial matters. What I want from you is something your father can’t negotiate.”

“You intend for us to discuss things like …our expectations of each other? And where we are to live?”

“Precisely.”

“And if I said that I did not want to reside in the country…that I prefer London to Hampshire …you would agree to live at Marsden Terrace?”

He regarded her speculatively as he replied. “I would make some concessions to that effect. Though I would have to return here frequently to manage the estate. I gather you’re not fond of Stony Cross Park?”

“Oh no. That is…I like it very much. My question was hypothetical.”

“Even so, you are accustomed to the pleasures of town life.”

“I would want to live here,” Lillian insisted, thinking of the beauty of Hampshire, the rivers and forests, the meadows where she could envision playing with her children. The village with its eccentric characters and shopkeepers, and the local festivals that enlivened the leisurely pace of country life. And the estate manor itself, grand and yet intimate, with all its nooks and corners to nestle in during rainy days …or amorous nights. She couldn’t help blushing as she reflected that the owner of Stony Cross Park was by far its most compelling attraction. Life with this vital man, no matter where they resided, would never be dull.

“Of course,” she continued pointedly, “I would be far more disposed to take up residence in Hampshire were I ever allowed to ride again.”

The statement met with a barely suppressed laugh. “I’ll have a groomsman saddle Starlight for you this very morning.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said sardonically. “Two days before the house party ends, you’re giving me permission to ride. Why now? Because I slept with you last night?”

A lazy grin curved his mouth, and his hand moved stealthily over her hip. “You should have slept with me weeks ago. I would have given you full run of the estate.”

Lillian bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling back at him. “I see. In this marriage I will be obliged to barter my sexual favors whenever I want something from you.”

“Not at all. Although…” A teasing light appeared in his eyes. “Your favors do seem to put me in an agreeable disposition.”

Marcus was flirting with her, relaxed and bantering in a way that she had never seen him before. Lillian would wager that few people would recognize the dignified Earl of Westcliff in the man who was lounging on the carpet with her. And as he shifted her more comfortably in his arms, and drew his hand along her calf, ending with a gentle squeeze of her narrow ankle, Lillian was aware of a delight that went far beyond physical sensation. Her passion for him seemed to dwell within her very bones.

“Would we get on well together, do you think?” she asked dubiously, daring to play with the knot of his necktie, loosening the gray watered-silk fabric with her fingertips. “We’re opposites in nearly every regard.”

Inclining his head, Marcus nuzzled the tender inside of her wrist, his lips brushing the blue-tinted veins that lay like fine lacework beneath the skin. “I am coming to believe that taking a wife who is exactly like myself would be the worst conceivable decision I could make.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Lillian mused, letting her fingertips curl into the gleaming close-cut hair at the side of his head. “You need a wife who won’t let you have your way all the time. One who…” She paused with a little shiver as his tongue touched a delicate spot near her inner elbow. “Who,” she continued, struggling to gather her thoughts, “would be willing to take you down a notch when you become too pompous…”

“I am never pompous,” Marcus said, drawing the edge of her gown away from the vulnerable curve of her throat.

Her breath hitched as he began to kiss the wing of her collarbone. “What would you call it when you carry on as if you always know best, and anyone who disagrees with you is an idiot?”

“Most of the time, the people who disagree with me do happen to be idiots. I can’t help that.”

A breathless laugh escaped her, and she let her head rest back on his arm as his mouth traveled to the side of her neck. “When shall we negotiate?” she asked, surprised by the throatiness of her own voice.

“Tonight. You’ll come to my room.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “This wouldn’t be a ruse to lure me into a situation in which you would take unscrupulous advantage of me?”

Drawing back to look at her, Marcus answered gravely. “Of course not. I intend to have a meaningful discussion that will put to rest any doubts you may have about marrying me.”

“Oh.”

“And then I’m going to take unscrupulous advantage of you.”