“Call me Ash,” he invited. “All my familiars do.”
Her lips pursed as if she had just tasted something sour. “I am not your familiar.”
“You were quite familiar earlier,” he reminded her, although he knew he should not.
For both their sakes. This mad flirtation would have to come to an end. As would his equally mad desire for her.
“You were the one who was familiar,” she snapped back. “Too familiar, if you will recall. Your advances were improper.”
He grinned. “Improper advances are the only kind I prefer to make.”
The guilt was still there, festering beneath the surface of their every interaction. Reminding him this was dangerous territory. But he could not help himself when it came to this woman. She was intoxicating.
“You are a rake and a scoundrel, Lord Ashley,” she said, but the sting was absent from her words.
She sounded, instead, intrigued.
“Ash,” he prodded, making the mistake of reaching out and taking up a tendril of her hair. Because it was silken in his fingers. And he could not let it go, nor could he stop thinking about wrapping it around his fist. Running his fingers through it.
Damnation.
“Lord Ashley,” she said again, emphasizing the formality.
Just as well, he supposed. He forced himself to release that seductive lock of her hair. “Miss Winter,” he returned, then reminded himself of the bawdy book. “Were you, or were you not, reading a bawdy book earlier when I came across you in the salon?”
“I was reading poetry,” she denied.
He admired the way the candlelight played over her features, softening them. “Poetry books are not often accompanied by engravings, are they, my dear?”
“Engravings?” There was an edge to her voice.
Guilt, he thought.
“When your book fell to the floor, it opened to a certain page,” he elaborated. “I did not mistake what I saw.”
“Why are you not abed, Lord Ashley?” she asked, clearly changing the subject. “Why are you continuously wherever I am?”
“Would you believe I am searching for my lessons in proper courtship?” he teased. “I could not sleep for wondering what the next lesson would be and when I could receive it.”
“Now is as good a time as any, my lord,” she said coolly. “If you are attempting to court a lady, you should never seek her out without a proper chaperone. Nor should it be in the midst of the night. You should certainly never see the lady you are courting when she is indishabille, wearing her nightdress and her dressing gown. You also should not see her hair unbound. Nor should you encourage her to address you in any less than a formal manner.”
“That all sounds deadly boring to me,” he told her. “It is fortunate indeed that I am not courting you.”
Her chin tipped up. “I did not say you were. Nor would I accept your suit.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
He should not ask, he knew. It mattered not. If Gill wanted to wed her, he would have her. Lord knew the coffers needed her funds. Besides, Ash was not the marrying sort. He liked living his life as he saw fit, unbound by vows. The very notion of chaining himself to one woman for the rest of his life, why, it made him…
Good God.
Strangely, the notion did not distress him as much as it once had. What the devil was the matter with him?
“You are a rake, my lord,” she told him primly. “You think nothing of kissing ladies you have only recently met—”
“You are the only lady I have kissed since my arrival here,” he interrupted, indignant in spite of himself.
“You are accustomed to ladies being wooed by your charm and your handsome face,” she continued as if he had not spoken.
