NDBRs: There are a few changes in the first part.
Paladin116
"How often would you expect me to come to your bed?"
Philippe had been comfortably sitting down to breakfast when Sabine's question made him choke on his coffee. He stared at her a moment, his eyes tearing up as he attempted to catch his breath.
"Excuse me?"
"How often would you expect me to come to your bed? Or would you come to mine?" She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed as she stared at him.
He lowered his eyes and stared at the contents of his clay mug, unsure of what to say or how she expected him to react. The manly part of him that longed for feminine attention wanted to tell her every damned night, perhaps twice a night, but the gentlemanly side of him didn't expect the marriage to be consummated on the wedding night, if ever.
Convenience for her, he thought to himself, and companionship for himself. He would take care of her and expect her to take care of him, but he didn't expect intimacy as part of the bargain. The thought of looking elsewhere, however, sickened him. He didn't want to be a man who bought or roamed the streets in search of pleasure. That wasn't how his father had been, that wasn't what he'd imagined for himself.
"I honestly haven't thought about it," he lied. He'd thought endlessly of what it would be like to caress her bare shoulders and back, to trace the curve of her hips and hold her smooth, warm body in his arms.
"Would you at least wait until after the birth?"
"Yes," he answered at once, noting her concern. "Of course." If there was one thing he knew for certain it was that he had no desire to make love to her while she carried another man's child, especially Turro's. "I suspect you'd want the same, wouldn't you?"
She nodded but didn't reply. He couldn't tell if she was being honest with him, but at the same time he couldn't ask for her word when he wouldn't give her his own.
"Are you accepting my offer?" he questioned.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Of marriage," he said as though it were blatantly obvious.
She gave a snort, which made his face white hot with embarrassment. Nothing was quite as mortifying as a woman who laughed in a man's face. "I don't think it's an offer yet."
He rubbed his chin and attempted to hide his smile, seeing the playful twinkle in her eyes. She didn't mock him, but she wanted to rile him. It didn't feel right to be attracted to her when she argued with him, yet he was certain he'd never wanted her or anyone else more. He'd been fond of her for a long time and knew he could easily fall in love with her, every aggravating bit of her.
"It's an offer, just not a very appealing offer," he said.
She turned away from him. "Honestly, I didn't expect a proper proposal."
His smile became a frown of pure frustration, as he didn't know how to approach her. He paused a moment and wondered if her tone was meant to be scathing. Only a moment ago she'd been friendly and playful. The change in demeanor seemed unjustified. "From me, you mean?"
"No," she said quickly. "From anyone."
His jaw tensed, and he watched her as she rearranged the creamer and sugar bowl. He knew that she ignored him on purpose, which only made him more determined to garner her complete attention.
"My apologies, mademoiselle, but I've never proposed to a woman before."
"Of course not."
Blood rushed into his cheeks and heated his face. He fought to control his breathing and feign calm since he had no desire to show her what she did to him. Both of his hands slid beneath the table and clenched.
"If I were to properly ask for your hand, would you agree?"
She glanced at him from over her shoulder. "Are you sure you've never asked a woman for her hand? You make it terribly romantic, Monsieur Dupree."
"I would only be romantic for you," he replied dryly.
"How thoughtful and kind of you."
He inched his chair away from the table, prepared to reach for her. The blood in his veins pumped hot and fast, every instinct telling him to go to her. "Yes, it is."
Her body tensed, stilled at the sound of his would-be approach. He watched her and wondered how Karl had first addressed her, if he'd waited until she turned her back and then dragged her to his bedchamber. Or if he'd forced her to the floor in the dining room. How had he forced his child into her womb?
The thought did nothing to calm him. All he felt was a deeper sense of urgency in righting what he knew in his heart he'd inadvertently ignored: A dangerous man. He'd do whatever was necessary to give Sabine, her unborn child, and her sister a decent life.
"Is there enough time for a proper proposal?"
She took a deep breath, but her voice still trembled when she spoke. "If I wanted anything from you at all, Philippe, it would be the promise of a marriage, not a business transaction." A ragged breath escaped, and she cleared her throat. "But I don't want anything from you."
"Good," he replied. "No expectations. I suspect I can't disappoint you, then."
"Probably not," she snapped. She didn't look at him, but he knew she had more to say to him. Silently he sat and tried not to stare at her. "I've only…been…with one man. If that's what you would call it. I doubt you'd disappoint me as long as you didn't…" Her voice became choked with tears, and she couldn't finish her sentence.
His heart sank, and before he knew it, he was on his feet and by her side.
-o-
Sophia knocked on Citrine's door and held her breath as she waited for an answer. Across the yard she could see Rene Monteclair preparing a carriage for Erik, whom she knew had intended to spend the late morning and early afternoon with his mother at the Turro Estate. She was happy for him, especially since she'd seen the light in his eyes, the importance of finding the woman he'd thought had abandoned him.
Just as she turned toward Citrine's door, it opened and her friend pulled her inside.
"Tell me everything," Citrine whispered, excitement in her voice.
As much as Sophia wanted to pretend she didn't know what Citrine meant, a rush of heat filled her cheeks. She furrowed her brows. "Tell you everything about what?"
"I saw him go into your house, of course, and it happened to be quite a long time before he left."
"You were watching for him?" She didn't know if she should laugh or smack Citrine for eavesdropping.
"I just happened to be sitting near a window facing your door," Citrine grinned.
"And I suppose you have nothing better to do?"
"With Gabe running errands? No, not a thing. The only thing I have to do is hope that my dear, sweet little Sophia has had a better, more fulfilling morning than I have. By the look of you, I'd say it went much better than you're letting on."
Sophia rolled her eyes. "I'm not telling you a thing."
"Fine. You don't need to say a word. Your eyes have already told me everything I need to know."
Sophia gasped and jerked her head back. "They do not!"
Citrine shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. If you're not going to tell neither am I."
"You're simply wicked."
Ctirine grinned. "True, but I still want to know what happened."
Sophia shook her head, determined to keep private moments to herself.
"At least tell me if he's a good kisser," Citrine begged.
Her straight face cracked into a smile. "Well…yes…I think so."
Citrine beamed. "I suspected he'd be a good kisser."
Sophia's eyebrows rose. "You did?"
She nodded. "When I've heard him play the piano I could tell he was very passionate." She smiled almost dreamily. "He has to direct that passion somewhere when he's not playing."
Sophia thought about all of those moments on a piano bench, of how electrified the air had felt around them when they sat close together. Citrine was correct: He was passionate when it came to music and when it came to the woman he loved. Passion still tingled along her flesh and through her blood, the need to touch him still dancing in her mind. Private, intimate thoughts, she reminded herself.
"I'm not telling you anything else," Sophia said firmly.
"Is there anything else to tell?" Citrine goaded.
"No," she answered firmly. "Nothing at all."
Citrine studied her. "I don't believe you, but I won't pry because I know there will be even more to tell soon and I can wait for that."
"You're horrible."
"Yes, I am."
"How would you like it if I asked you about Gabe?"
Citrine walked toward the kitchen and motioned for Sophia to follow. "What would you like to know?"
"Nothing, because it's none of my business."
Citrine laughed. "You know I just enjoy teasing you, Sophia. You're like a sister to me, and now I get to watch you grow into a hot-blooded woman."
She'd felt like a hot-blooded woman in Erik's arms. Never in her life would she have imagined that any man could touch her and bring such complete satisfaction. Never would she have thought that such total frustration could lead to relief, that the build up of tension could be released in a burst of pure bliss. She wanted to feel it all over again, but she didn't know if she could handle the same sensations twice in one day.
"Do you know how to…keep from bearing a child?" Citrine asked.
Sophia's face burned again with embarrassment. "I assure you that it won't be an issue."
"You'd be surprised at how urges can overcome senses."
"He knows that I want my wedding night to be memorable," she said firmly.
"Yes, but even you, in the heat of the moment, might decide—"
"I won't." She lowered her chin. "I swore on my mother's grave that I would…I would be the daughter she wanted. I almost went back on my word once with Karl—"
"That had nothing to do with you or your word," Citrine replied. "No matter what people may say, you played no part in that."
"Then you see there's nothing to tell," Sophia said, her voice sounding strained to her own ears. "We kissed and we…held each other." She blushed again, not wanting to reveal her secrets, the fresh discovered uses for hands and tongues.
Citrine grasped her by the hands. "Good. As long as you're happy, that's all that matters. Are you happy?"
"Yes," Sophia answered. "So happy that I want to share my wedding night with him," she blurted out. Almost at once she bowed her head, feeling as though she'd given far too much away.
Citrine grinned, which told Sophia she'd never be judged. "Do you think he wants the same thing? A marriage, I mean?"
"I have no idea. How would I be able to tell?"
"Ask him."
"But shouldn't he ask me?"
"Well, don't make it obvious. Drop hints.
Sophia cocked her head to the side. "How would I do that?"
"Entice him with a bit of feminine charm just like you'd drop bits of meat to make a dog follow you." Citrine smiled again, apparently aware that such devious acts were well above Sophia's head. She reached out a hand. "Forget I said that. You'll whoa him with my help, of course. Come on, sit down and we'll have a chat. You've got me all excited now, my dear."