In short, a disaster. Anyone with eyes would easily guess what had transpired between them.
Heath could not help but think she had never looked more beautiful.
“Miss Winfield…” he began.
Captain Pugboat let out an excited yip, scrambled up Heath’s right boot, and began humping his ankle without further ado.
Miss Winfield’s laughing eyes met Heath’s. “He now hastwotricks.”
He gave a sage nod. “Lady Roundtree will be so proud.”
Shyly, Miss Winfield nibbled her lip. “Thank you for dancing with me.”
“I swear that the pleasure was mine,” he said firmly. She could not begin to guess just how much pleasure holding her body in his arms had stirred within him.
“And for…” She blushed and looked away.
Heath was grateful she did not complete the thought. If Miss Winfield had thanked him for being a bounder shameless enough to take a kiss without giving anything in return, Heath would never forgive himself.
It might already be too late.
He had held her, kissed her. He, a man consumed with upholding the highest standard of integrity and honesty.
Had he lost his mind? Or had he finally found his heart?
Heath ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Stop that,” Miss Winfield chastised him, and pushed a stray lock back in place.
She was achingly tender. It all felt so perfectly right. And yet Heath knew it was wrong.
He tried to imagine bringing her home to his family.
It would never work. His mother would suffer hysterics. His father would disown him… If the baron noticed the commotion.
Heath was the heir. As such, he’d always known his lot was to marry for the betterment of his title, not for the sake of his heart. Love had nothing to do with it.
By definition, a baroness needed to be the sort of woman who would best complement one’s family, one’s home, one’s status, one’s title. A paragon. Content in the knowledge that he would never scandalize her, and she would never scandalize him. How could she? His future baroness would be part of his world, of his class, above reproach.
And yet all he wanted to do was lower his lips to Miss Winfield’s eminently kissable mouth and lose himself once more in the welcome heat of her embrace.
Heath knew all the reasons why such an infatuation was madness.
First, he should never have tarried with a woman he could not wed. Such improper comportment was the last thing a gentleman should do. He had been taught better.
Although he was still decades away from inheriting the barony, its shadow constantly loomed over him. The title was the reason he could move freely in Society, but also the reason his freedom was limited to what Society would allow.
He could not have her.
But he was not ready to give her up.
“Do you have plans tomorrow?” he asked urgently.
“The same plan as every other day,” she said with a bemused expression. “Accompany Lady Roundtree whilst she is awake.”
“But you will be here?” he insisted. “Do you take tea at the same time every day?”
“The baroness takes tea at the same time every day, and I accompany her,” Miss Winfield said, enunciating carefully. “If you wish to speak with Lady Roundtree, I suggest you arrive an hour earlier. She will be happy to have you at the table.”
