Tonight or Never (5 page)

The sensual lips firmed; the dimple, which was normally deep-set when he smiled, indented slightly. It was John's look when he was thinking about something that he was not sure sat well with him.

Chloe took a deep breath and barreled ahead. Everything that meant anything to her was standing right before her. She looked him straight in the eye. "I know what I want."

John wondered if she had any idea of what she really would be getting into with such a bargain. The moniker
Lord of Sex
was better earned then her young mind could ever imagine.

A provocative flash of emerald glittered beneath the spiky crescents of his lashes.

"You think you know me?" he drawled silkily; the long lashes swept down.

"Yes."

"Everything you've heard about me is true; I have done all those sordid things." He baited her.
"And probably a great deal more."

Chloe didn't even flinch. Oh, she would curse him later in the privacy and safety of her armoire, but right now, she knew he was considering her proposition and it unnerved him. He was trying to scare her off.

It was almost decent of him, considering.

"You know, John, you are very like Don Giovanni; perhaps Mozart had you in mind when he composed it."

The corners of John's mouth curled.
"Not exactly.
I might engage in a dual with a husband, father, or lover, but I would never invite his ghost to dine with me. I can barely tolerate
Deiter
at the supper table."

"Do be serious, John."

He laughed.

Even knowing him all these years, she felt her heart flutter. Lord of Sex, indeed. That deep, full-throated sound was enough to give any woman tingles.

"Once a rogue, always a rogue, I suppose," she said under her breath. "In any case, I shan't be disappointed in my choice of tutor." She didn't know where she got the gall to point that out to him.

Silently, John continued to watch from under veiled eyes.

Nervous with his scrutiny and completely misinterpreting it, Chloe added, "Of course, I could find someone else for that part of the job, but I thought with your vast experience, you were the best man for the—
Oh
!"

John pulled her down with him onto the bench.
Right across his lap.

Flames of hot anger shot out of those watchful emerald eyes. "If there's any instructing to be done, Chloe-cub,
I'll
be the one to do it." His broad palm came down across her backside.

It was more of a response than she could have hoped for. Why, John seemed almost jealous! It had been years since he'd done this.

Chloe's spirits immediately sank. What was she thinking? This was the Lord of Sex, for heaven's sake.
Jealous
was not in his vocabulary.

Yet.

Chloe wiggled around so she could sit up.
"If you insist."
She purposely yawned as if bored with the topic.

John's pupils contracted to pinpoints.

Chloe took that as an encouraging sign.

"There is one thing, Chloe." He spoke in a low, measured voice.

"Yes, John?" She arranged a lock of his hair behind his ear for him.

"If I consider this"—Chloe perked up on his lap—"I said
if
—then I have my own condition to make."

"Condition?"

"Yes. While my 'tutelage' is going on, I don't want you seeing other men."

The pronouncement shocked them both. However, John recovered first. He didn't care to examine why he wanted this condition, only that once it had popped out of his mouth, he liked the idea.
More than liked it.
He was obsessive over it.

"I don't want my guidance interfered with." He tried to smooth over the odd request. "I have an expert technique; I don't want someone else spoiling my lessons by confusing you."

Oh, really
. It was all Chloe could do not to give a victory yell. It was more from him than she could have hoped. She carefully hid her elation.

Thinking fast, Chloe interjected, "I will agree to your condition if you will agree to the very same terms, John. No other women for you—while you are instructing me."

His eyelids flickered, and Chloe knew she had caught him at his own game.

"It's only fair." She smoothed out his lapels. "Improbable as it seems, I might teach
you
something. But if you don't want to, it's all right with—"

A muscle worked in his jaw.
"Very well.
But just until the instruction is over."

Chloe gave him a gamine grin. "
Which begins after we wed.
"

His nostrils flared in annoyance. How had he allowed this to happen?

"Does this mean you agree to the plan?" she asked in a composed voice.

John was not ready to make such a momentous concession. He shook his finger at her. "If, Chloe-cat.
If
."

Chloe nodded, smiling innocently up at him.

An answering dimple curved into his cheek.

I've got him
, she exulted.

John strolled through the extensive gardens of
Chacun
à
Son
Goût
.

The solitary journey always brought peace of mind to him. The beautiful, fragrant surroundings seemed to aid the thinking process. And he had much to think on.

Wed Chloe?

Him.
The most notorious rake in
England!

Is she insane?

She could do a lot better than him, he was positive. He kicked a pebble in his path.

Well, maybe not better, but surely as good.

He stomped his booted foot, scaring a flock of quail into flight. All right, so no one came close! He had certainly spent years acquiring and refining his expert technique.

Yes, he was the best man for the job; he could see that. He could even applaud her reasoning.

Truthfully, he had never considered marriage before. Despite pressure from his uncle to produce an heir, as well as being at the wrong end of several pistols held by irate fathers, brothers, and guardians, he had never been moved to the deed.

Despite his notorious reputation, he had never been a despoiler of innocents. On the contrary, he preferred knowledgeable bedmates, women who knew exactly what they wanted and exactly what he was prepared to give. No less and certainly no more.

He had never been a man who was hungry for money or property. John's true interests lay much deeper.

This could be tricky.

Exiting the rose garden, he turned left, heading into the maze.

Paying scant attention to the path he was taking—he could negotiate the labyrinth blindfolded—he continued to ponder Chloe's proposition.

The positive side was that she had set the parameters of the relationship, taking some of the pressure off what was to be expected. It was not as if this would be like a
real
marriage.

Something about that thought bothered him.

John ran his fingers through his thick, golden hair as he tried to view the proposition from another angle.

Of course it would be a real marriage! It just wouldn't seem like one.

And when they both were ready to… That is, when he had taught her all she needed to know…

Annoyed, he dropped that line of thinking.

Leaving the maze behind him, he headed toward the perennial gardens and the lake beyond.
Chacun
à
Son
Goût
was breathtaking this time of year.
Although, to him, the estate was incomparable every season of the year.

The idea of spending the rest of his days here with Chloe suddenly held enormous appeal. They had always gotten on famously.

For some reason, he had always been especially close to the girl. While he admired his uncle and felt very comfortable with him, it was Chloe that he always thought of when he connected to a place that dwelled deep within him called "home."

Maybe it was because he was responsible for the chit.

His lips tilted in a faint smile. Despite her mischievous streak and her tendency for headlong behavior, she had always been the sweetest of girls. He remembered one time when she was about eight—

A goose honked at her mate, breaking his concentration.

He sat down in the soft grass by the edge of the pond beneath a weeping willow tree. A gentle breeze stirred his shoulder-length hair. Gazing across the water, he thought back on his childhood. It was not something he liked to do often.

Like him, his father had been a wastrel. Only it was not women that called to the prior viscount—it was the gaming hells. By the time John had been five years old, his father had been well on the road to ruin. When John reached the age of eight, his father was found with a bullet in his head.
Presumably self-inflicted.

The strange part was that John's mother had still fancied herself in love with the ne'er do well, even after he had left them practically impoverished. The estate was gone, his inheritance gone; they barely had a roof over their heads. That roof was a small crofter's cottage.

His mother did what she could to protect her young son. Sometimes it was not enough. She died a few years later, leaving John alone.

It was believed she expired from a congestion of the lungs, but John knew better. In the young viscount's mind, it was his mother's love that had made her vulnerable; it was his father's weakness that had ruined them.

It was not the best of examples of the joys of matrimony to an impressionable mind. Nor was it a testimony to the noble aspects of love. Over the difficult years that followed—years that John never spoke to anyone about—the sensitive boy had learned how to protect himself.
In body, mind, and heart.

By the time his uncle found him at the age of sixteen, he was half-starved and wild. Still, somehow, throughout it all, he had retained his unique sense of humor and his brash attitude.

Maurice was convinced it was John's bravado that had saved him from worse horrors. But the trait also shielded him from having to face his emotions.

As he matured, the devil-may-care attitude continued to cloak him; a thick, impenetrable shield.

That year, he had met Chloe.

She was six years old.
A tiny girl with laughing violet eyes and carroty hair.
And no parents.
Her beguiling ways, winsome personality, and mischievous streak immediately captivated the young viscount. Chloe became the focus of his concern. He watched over her, protected her,
cherished
her.

From that moment on, John made himself responsible for her.

He believed he was the only one who could understand what could happen to her, so he was the only one who could shield her. Not once did it ever dawn on him that Chloe was never in any danger. He saw his own situation in her, and the young viscount guarded her zealously.

It was only to Chloe that his true vulnerability was revealed.

John threw a rock across the water, watching it skip across the surface. Remembrances of his past always brought on a melancholy mood. Why had he even ventured there? It had no place in his life today, no bearing on his current situation.

What should he do about Chloe's proposal? Marry her to secure her estates? The idea, which had at first seemed ludicrous, now held a certain appeal.
Especially in the quiet of this garden, next to the pond.

Stretching out on the soft grass, he rested his head on the pillow made by his folded arms. The light wind riffled his hair, cooling the back of his neck. The sound of the lapping water soothed him, and he felt himself relax, becoming drowsy.

What should he do about Chloe's proposal?

It was not gardens or estates he thought of as he drifted off to sleep. In that state between waking and dreaming, the lapping water became waves of red hair floating toward him. In his mind's eye, he saw himself reach out simply to touch a tendril of hair before it floated
away,
and instead found himself wrapping the strand securely around his fist.

There was no way in hell he was going to let it slip by him.

John was lying prone on the grass, fast asleep.

The classically handsome face turned toward her was almost completely hidden by his loose hair. Black breeches molded muscular buttocks and powerful thighs.

He looked too beautiful by half.

Chloe shook her head. John could fall asleep anywhere. She supposed it would be a necessary trait for a rake to possess.

She sat next to him on the lawn.
Watching him.
There was a silly little grin curving those sensual lips, and he seemed inordinately pleased with himself. The arm his head was resting on had a clenched fist.