“Best, yes,” he agreed.
“But when has what is best ever been what is most pleasing?” his friend asked, his voice contemplative.
“Never,” he agreed.
Still, he knew, right then and there, that he must avoid Miss Eugie Winter for the remainder of the house party. He could not afford to kiss her again.
Ruin was far too dear a cost these days. Especially when he was about to lose everything he had left unless he married.
And fast.
Chapter Six
The hour waslate.
Eugie could not sleep.
One lone word had been pressing upon her shoulders with the weight of a boulder ever since Grace had interrupted her reckless interlude with the Earl of Hertford earlier in the day:ruin.
What a silly notion it was, that ladies could be forever tainted by one action. One word. One lie.
Though she had donned a dressing gown over her night rail, it was most unseemly to be wandering in the night, alone, at a house party, in a state of dishabille. But no amount of turning over in her bed, fluffing her pillow, stoking the fire, or pacing the floor had enabled her to fall into the waiting arms of slumber. She was too hot. Then too cold. There were too many coverlets on her bed. There were not enough.
She was vexed with Lord Hertford. But she still wanted to kiss him.
The only distraction which could save her, she was certain, was a book. Surely there was one to be had in the massive library. She rounded a bend in the corridor and ran into a wall.
A wall of muscle.
That smelled deliciously of soap and man and the Earl of Hertford.
Large hands grasped her arms in a gentle, yet firm, hold. Her palms flattened over a sturdy chest that was covered in the unmistakable lawn of a shirt. When her touch moved higher, she encountered hot, bare flesh and a soft smattering of hair.
His shirt was open.
He wore no cravat.
She was touching his chest.
Realizing the impropriety of the situation—and recalling she was angry with him—she attempted to draw away with such haste, she tripped over one of his feet and nearly went sprawling to the floor.
Hertford had quick reflexes, even in the lack of light, and he caught her, holding her to him.
“Steady,” he said, his voice low and delicious.
The rumble of it beneath her fingertips was temptation incarnate. Much like the man himself. Why did he have to smell so wonderful? Why did he have to be so solid and masculine?
“Forgive me my clumsiness,” she murmured, reluctant to extricate herself as the reminder of the word which had sent her fleeing from her chamber echoed in her mind once more.
Ruin.
There was so much at stake.
For her brother. For her sisters. For Eugie herself.
She should go. Turn and flee back to the safety of her chamber. But doing wrong had never been so tempting. Never so alluring. Sin had a face and a name, and it was the beautiful Earl of Hertford, enrobed in darkness.
“Eugie?” he asked, surprise coloring his voice. “I ought to have known it would be you.”
