He said nothing. Simply stared at her for so long she feared she would be the first to break. Until, at last, he saved her. “I enjoy gardens. There is something so peaceful about them. Was it not Cicero who saidif you have a garden in your library, everything will be complete?”
“He was right.” She had always liked gardens. Until they had moved to the home next door to her sister-in-law’s, the Winter siblings had never dwelled in a home which had boasted gardens,truegardens. “Gardens and libraries are two of my favorite places to be.”
A sudden gust of cool wind whipped past her then with such force, it caught her bonnet and lifted it from her head. The smart little piece of millinery—newly acquired with her sister-in-law’s approval—sailed through the air and landed at the earl’s feet like nothing so much as a felled bird.
Eugie started forward, determined to catch it lest another burst of air send it flying once more. She sank to her knees, reaching for it at the same time as Hertford, and their heads knocked together. The surprise pain sent her to her rump in an undignified heap.
“Are you injured, Miss Winter?” the earl asked solicitously, something in the tenor of his voice changing and deepening.
For the first time, he sounded sincere. She could not shake the impression she was hearing and seeing the real him for the first time. It was as if the polite mask he wore had been momentarily lifted.
His concerned face loomed before her.
“I…” There was his luscious mouth again, taunting her. She forgot what to say for an indeterminate span of time as heat unfurled inside her, chasing away the early winter’s chill. “Yes. That is to say,no. I am not terribly injured. Forgive me, my lord. I have always had a bad habit of forgetting to tie my bonnets in place.”
He stood and held his gloved hand out to her.
She stared at it for a moment before accepting his aid. The earl pulled her to her feet with a fluid ease and grace that left her feeling weightless. And all too aware of how near to each other they suddenly were. She could see the striations of gold, green, and cinnamon in his gaze, the fine shadow of whiskers on his angled jaw.
Even his eyebrows were handsome, perfect slashes above his unique eyes. Strange she had never noticed such a feature on a man before, unless the brows in question were bushy as twin caterpillars.
Something was wrong with her, surely. The knock to her head had addled her wits.
He settled her hat where it belonged with ginger care. “There you are, back in place.”
But instead of taking a step in retreat and putting some much-needed distance between them, he lingered. Their eyes held. She forgot to breathe.
Eugie could not have been more startled when his fingers grazed the underside of her chin as he tied the ribbon for her. She inhaled suddenly, the cold air sharp and almost painful in her lungs. A welcome distraction from the unwanted sensations he made her feel.
“Thank you, Lord Hertford,” she forced herself to say.
A strange, wicked notion occurred to her, from out of nowhere. It was the perfect solution to the problem which had been plaguing her ever since her brother Dev had gotten this misguided notion into his overprotective mind that all his sisters must marry noblemen.
She could determine for herself which of the suitors present at the house party were worthy of her sisters and which decidedly were not. She could discern the fortune hunters from the gentlemen, the scoundrels and the rakes from the genuine and honest. She could distinguish between those who were truly appreciative of her sisters and the men who simply needed to marry their fortunes. Each potential suitor she investigated and found deficient would be one less fortune hunter her sisters needed to guard their hearts and reputations against.
Since her reputation already hung in tatters, she was the one who must do the deed.
She saw it all clearly now.
Yes, it must be her.
And she would begin here and now, with the Earl of Hertford.
She rose on her toes before she lost her daring and pressed her lips to his.
The contact was startling. His mouth was warm, smooth, and supple. Softer than she had expected. The only other man she had kissed, Baron Cunningham, had been thin-lipped, his mouth wet. Her first reaction to this kiss was that the Earl of Hertford’s lips felt as fine as they looked.
Her second reaction wasdear, sweet Lord, I am kissing the Earl of Hertford.
She inhaled swiftly. A mistake, as it happened, because she breathed in his scent. Shaving soap and man. And shelikedthat scent. Liked it far too much. And that scent initiated a wave of something wicked crashing over her.
In the next moment, everything changed.
Because she was not merely pressing her mouth to his. He was kissing her back. His gloved hands were on her face, holding her as if she were made of gossamer. His lower lip was fitted between hers as if it were where it belonged. Everything about this kiss, this moment, felt right in an instinctive way. Even in the depths of her scarred heart.
She told herself it was because this man, unlike Cunningham, allowed her to retain the power while seductively asserting his own. He kissed her, and yet the moment, the kiss, was hers to break. One step backward, and it would all end. But she did not want it to end.
She wanted it to go on.
