They were standing closer now, she realized with a start. Somehow during their argument, the distance between them had closed. She could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the slight shadow of evening stubble along his jaw, the way his cravat was tied with military precision.
Respect spread across his face. "How refreshing. A woman who speaks plainly."
"I always speak plainly," Anthea said. "I find it far more efficient than the alternative."
"As do I." He took a step closer, and Anthea realized with a jolt that their argument had somehow brought them into very close proximity indeed. "Though I notice you still have not explained why you were truly hiding in this room."
He closed his eyes briefly, as though steadying himself, and when he opened them again, they had widened with sudden realization and accusation.
"That scent," he said abruptly, his voice turning cold. "You are wearing that particular perfume deliberately, are you not?"
Anthea blinked, thoroughly confused. "I beg your pardon?"
"Do not play coy with me, Miss Croft. I passed a woman in the corridor earlier wearing that exact combination, jasmine and vanilla. It was you, was it not? You positioned yourself where I would notice, then lured me here with this elaborate charade about stepsisters and misunderstandings." His jaw tightened. "You are more clever than the others, I will grant you that. But the scheme is the same."
For a moment, Anthea could only stare at him in complete bewilderment. Then fury, pure, incandescent fury, flooded through her veins.
"You think I—" She took a step forward, her voice shaking with rage. "You absolutelunatic. You believe I orchestrated some elaborate seduction scheme involvingperfume? Are you mad? Have the pressures of thetonfinally cracked your mind entirely?"
"I am not?—"
"You are delusional," she cut him off sharply. "Yes, I wear jasmine and vanilla. Half the women in London wear jasmine and vanilla. It is hardly an exotic combination. And if you happened to pass me in a corridor, that was mere coincidence, not some grand conspiracy!"
"Then why are you truly here?" he demanded.
"Because my stepmother sent my sister Poppy to this room to be caught alone with you!" Anthea said, her voice shaking with fury. "She arranged the entire thing—the timing, the witnesses, everything. She intended to trap you into marriage. I discovered her scheme and managed to warn Poppy before she could enter, but then you arrived and I—" She stopped, realizing she had said too much.
There was complete silence between them.
Anthea's chest rose and fell as she breathed hard, staring at the strange man before her.
"Your stepmother," he said slowly, his voice dropping, "orchestrated a trap. And you prevented it."
"Yes," Anthea said firmly. "So you see, Your Grace, not every woman in London is attempting to ensnare you. Some of us are trying to protect our families from such schemes."
His expression shifted—something between respect and confusion. "Then you have my apology. And my gratitude."
"I require neither," Anthea said, though her voice had lost some of its sharpness. "I simply require you to believe that I had no part in my stepmother's machinations."
He studied her for a long moment, his green eyes searching hers with uncomfortable intensity. The music room had grown quieter. Outside, she could hear the distant strains of the orchestra, muffled by walls and distance.
She became aware of how isolated they were. How far from the ballroom and its crowds. The impropriety of it struck her anew, but she refused to step back. Refused to show weakness.
They were practically nose to nose now, both bristling with hostility, both refusing to back down. Anthea could see the sharp intelligence in his green eyes, could feel the heat radiating from his large frame, could smell sandalwood and something indefinably male.
This is ridiculous, she thought furiously.Why am I not stepping away?
"So for the last time," she said through gritted teeth, "I was not deceiving you. I was protecting my stepsister from being forced into a compromising situation with a man she does not know. A man who, I might add, has proven himself to be deeply suspicious and insultingly accusatory."
"And I was protecting myself from fortune hunters and scandal-mongers," he countered, his voice equally sharp. "A task madeinfinitely more difficult by women who hide in music rooms and then claim innocence."
"I am innocent!"
"Are you?" He gestured sharply at the space between them, or rather, the lack thereof. "Because from where I stand, Miss Croft, we are currently alone together in a private room, standing far closer than propriety allows. If anyone were to walk in right now?—"
"Then it would be a disaster," Anthea interrupted, sudden cold realization washing over her. "For both of us."
"Indeed." But neither of them moved.
