And yet, somehow, Fate had landed them on opposite sides of this quarrel. A quarrel she had opened her mouth and created.
And now, holding his gaze . . .
He was handsome, she realized with a startled blink.
No.
Attractive.
He wasattractive, which wasn’t quite the same thing as handsome, but infinitely more troubling.
Handsome . . . one could simply admire.
But attraction—
Attraction was fraught.
His beauty was that of a blade, sharp lines and broad strokes. The bold slash of his nose. The acute angularity of his jaw. The sleek shine of his mink-brown hair. The coiled strength in the lean lines of his body.
This was a man who knew his own mind.
The sort who, when he committed to a woman, would devote his entire self.
I would welcome such devotion.
The thought rocketed through her before she could call it back.
And on its heels, that dratted attraction fluffed and stretched, expanding in her chest.
An onslaught of unwanted and objectionable physical responses immediately followed.
A sharp tang of awareness, a catch in her lungs, an abrupt flush of blood beneath her skin.
He was a physician. Surely he had studied such phenomena. Could he discern her thoughts from observation alone?
Oh, heavens. Was she going to blush?
Donotblushdonotblush.
Lottie forced a slow breath in through her nose and out her mouth.
Enough. You have not been so long out of company that this man will render you mawkish.
“I trust ye are well?” Dr. Whitaker asked.
Scotland rolled off his tongue in a smooth brogue. It brushed up against her Englishness, as alluring as it was unsettling. Though she supposed the sensation summed up a thousand years of Scottish and English history.
“Yes, quite well.” She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, as if it could protect her from the onslaught of . . .him. “Thank you.”
What did one say to the man who could decide her future? Who felt like he could be . . .more. . . and yet was clearly in the box labeledEnemy—Do Not Fraternize?
A plainGood day, sirfelt . . . anticlimactic.
But then falling to her knees and begging him to sign the attainder so Freddie could inherit the marquisate would likely be deemed overly dramatic.
Besides, was it her imagination or did his eyes continue to linger on her? And if so, why? Though she wanted to fidget, she met his gaze instead.
He startled, as if embarrassed to have been caught staring, and abruptly turned back to the painting he had been contemplating.
