“And an exiled man.” she said lightly, watching his reaction. “He left England after threats were made against him.”
He frowned then nodded. “Yes, now that you mention it, I recall hearing that as well. Shame. Personally, I think he should be awarded a trophy.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because his book provides information not readily available anywhere else. I believe knowledge equates to power.”
She couldn’t hide her surprise. “Yet that was what those who made threats against him objected to. They didn’t want women to have such information, or anything for that matter, that might equate to power.”
“Then I can only say that those people are ignorant. Personally, I prefer well-informed, intelligent women.” His intense green gaze roamed her face. “Indeed, you might say I harbor a weakness for them.”
She ignored the warmth spreading through her at his unabashedly admiring regard. “You’re apparently a man of many weaknesses, Mr. Cooper.”
For several seconds he said nothing, just looked at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher other than to know it made her skin feel as if it were on fire. Finally he cleared his throat then said softly, “So it seems.”
She moistened her suddenly dust-dry lips, noting how his gaze dropped to her mouth. “So…you’ve no objection to women having information, even if that knowledge might lead to power?”
“Knowledge, experience, power…I find them all very attractive qualities in a woman.” His gaze again flicked to her lips. “Very attractive.”
“You’re not afraid of being…overpowered?”
His gaze caught fire and seemed to burn into hers. “I suppose that would depend on who was doing the overpowering.”
The certainty that his meaning encompassed more than knowledge rippled a secret thrill through Genevieve, one that set up an insistent throb between her thighs. She’d led the conversation into these treacherous waters to determine if he had any interest in her connection to Charles Brightmore, and, unless he was a superb actor, it appeared he didn’t. That was good, and a huge relief to be sure. The way he made her feel, however-as if her clothes were suddenly too tight and her skin too small-was not good. It was, in fact, most alarming.
Yet, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from wading further into the hot, churning waters he inspired. Wasn’t there a saying about keeping one’s friends close but one’s enemies closer? Perhaps Mr. Cooper wasn’t her enemy, but neither could she call him a friend. Besides, what harm could there be in a little flirting? He wasn’t a titled gentleman looking for a mistress, merely a steward enjoying a brief holiday. They were surrounded by hundreds of people. Nothing could or would come of it. She’d see to that. Indeed, given how he unsettled her, she had no intention of seeing him again after today. So surely there was no reason to deny herself the pleasure of indulging in a little fantasy…to pretend that she didn’t have any physical flaws that would lead to rejection. To feel that she was free to touch and be touched, and to once again simply enjoy the company and admiration of a handsome young man. She could imagine herself…overpowering him. And him retaliating.
A delicious shiver trembled down her spine. She allowed her gaze to drift slowly over him, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, his strong hands holding his now-sleeping dog, the way his snug breeches clung to his muscular thighs, the play of those muscles with every step he took. When she once again met his gaze, she could tell he knew he’d just been ogled. And that he hadn’t minded one bit. “How would someone go about overpowering a man like you, Mr. Cooper?”
“A man like me?”
“Strong. Capable.” Beautiful. Delicious. Physically perfect.
“I suppose it would depend on who was doing the overpowering. Were you referring to someone specific? Such as yourself, perhaps?”
Genevieve’s blood whooshed through her veins. “And if I were? Would I require a pistol or saber?”
Amusement kindled in his gaze. “Do you have a pistol and a saber?”
“Naturally. A woman needs protection, you know.”
“I rather thought that’s what Baxter was for.”
“He certainly deters unwanted attention.”
“When he’s not baking scones.”
Genevieve laughed. “Precisely.”
“Well, in your case, neither a pistol nor a saber would be necessary. Beautiful women have been overpowering strong men for centuries with nothing more than a single touch.”
Genevieve’s fingers curled inside her gloves and she winced at the aching soreness in her joints. A single touch…Yes, at one time she’d been capable of overpowering, seducing a man with her touch. Before the arthritis had stricken her hands-slowly at first, just a few twinges, that had increased in frequency, intensity and duration. The combination of the hot springs and her cream had offered relief and had enabled her to hide her growing discomfort from Richard for months. But when the swelling had begun, she couldn’t hide any longer.
She missed the woman she used be. Yet, since there was no point in dwelling on the past or on things she couldn’t change, she opened her mouth to steer the subject into safer waters. Before she could, however, he added softly, “Of course, if a touch doesn’t quite do the trick, there are other ways.”
“Indeed? And what are those?”
“I’m surprised that a woman familiar with Brightmore’s Ladies’ Guide needs to ask.”
At his mention of the Guide, her breath caught. She knew, of course, what he referred to. “Unlike you, I read it months ago. I fear my memory isn’t as fresh as yours.”
“Ah. Then allow me to remind you. According to Brightmore, Today’s Modern Woman should not hesitate to insist upon getting what she wants, be it in the drawing room or in the bedchamber-even if she has to tie up her man to get it.”
Genevieve’s heart began to beat in slow, hard thuds. She’d written those words-or rather, dictated them to Catherine because Genevieve’s hands had rendered writing so uncomfortable-never dreaming she’d hear a man recite them back to her. And so exactly. Clearly that passage had left an impression. “So you believe that a woman can overpower a man with ropes?”
“Not unless he’s willing. As for ropes…” He shook his head. “Something softer, such as a satin ribbon, would be much more…pleasurable.”
His quiet, husky tone dared her to contradict him. Which she needed to, of course. They were in a public place. Anyone might overhear them. Certainly anyone observing them would see the way he was looking at her. As if he wanted to devour her. And this conversation…it was completely improper. Beyond the pale. She needed to end this. Now.
Yet when she parted her lips, no words came forth. Nor could she pull her gaze away from his.
“Of course, if the lady wasn’t quick to do the overpowering, she might find herself overpowered instead,” he murmured.
An image of herself sprawled in her bed, her wrists bound with satin ribbons and him looming over her flashed through her mind.
Desire gushed through her, hardening her nipples, swelling the aching folds between her thighs, dampening her drawers. She felt flushed and out of breath and, damnation, she needed to sit down before her shaky knees gave away the fact that she felt less than steady.
As if he read her mind, he pointed to a copse of trees ahead, on the fringe of the festivities. “There’s a bench over there. Would you like to sit down?”
Not trusting her voice, she nodded and quickened her pace, resolved that she’d sit only as long as she needed to to regain her composure, then she’d plead a headache and beg off from his company. Clearly, her instincts that had warned her there was more to his trip to Little Longstone than he’d told her had been wrong. She now felt fairly confident his reasons for being here had nothing to do with Charles Brightmore. Which meant they had nothing to do with her. Which meant there was no reason to prolong their outing or to see him again. She would return to her cottage, resume her routine of visiting the springs to ease the pain in her hands, and forget all about Simon Cooper.