She was a siren. Resisting her charms required a herculean strength Alex was unsure he possessed.
But, no, she took no notice of him, flipping through the book, unconcerned about their physical closeness. She scanned the pages, her lips pursed into a decidedly kissable bow. He noted the wee birthmark on her cheek, so close he would only have to lean to press his lips there.
Alex swallowed and forced his eyes away.
“This here,” she finally said, leaning so close, her shawl draped over his arm. He could feel the puff of her breath on his neck.
The onslaught of sensation rendered him light-headed.
She pointed to a page.
“I love how Mrs. Wollstonecraft describes the importance of women being educated.” She skimmed a paragraph with her fingertip. “She basically asserts here that a man who does not have an equally educated wife forgoes the greatest gift of all—of being loved by one who could understand him.”
Alex read the words her finger traced. “‘As in the society of his very wife, he is still alone.’”
Lottie nodded. “Can you imagine choosing your spouse as one might select furniture?” Her voice dropped, doing a credible imitation of a London buck. “‘Dash it! I daresay this lady will do. Her temperament matches the drapes well enough, and she should wear well over time.’”
Alex chuckled. “You have a rather low opinion of gentlemen, Cousin.”
“Are you saying that Wollstonecraft is wrong?”
“No. Of course not. I am merely stating that not all men feel this way. I know I do not.”
She lifted her head to meet his gaze, only to pull back as if startled to find him so close.
Me too, my lady,he thought.Me too.
He expected her to scramble back to the relative safety of the foot of the bed, but she did not. Instead, she stared at him from a mere two feet away.
“What are your thoughts then?” she asked.
He darted a glance down at the book still open in her lap.
“Only that I agree with Wollstonecraft. My future wife, whoever she should prove to be, will never be decoration for my life. She would be the very dearest of friends. The one to whom I could turn with any idea, any problem or thought, and she would nod and say, ‘I understand. I hear. I see.’” He paused before continuing more quietly. “And I would know that I was not alone.”
Her eyes skimmed him, landing on his lips, his chest, his hand resting on the counterpane.
She swallowed and pressed her own hand to her stomach.
“How do you do this?” Her words held a nearly plaintive tone. “You pluck the very thoughts from my brain.”
“Me?” Alex barely stifled a surprised laugh. “I would have said the same thing about yourself. Though I think there is another truth here. That just as ye can know someone for years and never understand them, the opposite can also occur. Ye can know someone for only a wee while and feel a deep connection.”
Her eyes locked with his, holding for the space of three heartbeats.
One.
Two.
Three.
She looked away.
Alex feared for his veins. He could nearly hear the blood whooshing through his body. He could certainly feel it in the pulse points on his neck and thumb and chest.
He longed to pace the room, to somehow diffuse this energy within him. He settled for shifting upward in the bed.
She looked back at him, brows instantly drawn in concern.
