The scent of his cologne, warm and musky and decadent, hit her, along with the fresh scent of the outdoors. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. But she did not. Instead, he stared at her, his gaze seeming to touch her like a caress. Devouring her, it was true.
It was her turn to speak, she realized then.
“Why did you follow me?” she asked, attempting to summon her outrage.
His lips quirked. “For the usual reason, I expect. I wanted to speak with you alone.”
“Being alone together is foolhardy,” she said, irritated with herself.
Her heart was beating too fast. The ache that had never stopped since their near kiss yesterday throbbed with urgency. Despite her good intentions, she was looking at him and imagining all the forbidden acts she had read about inThe Tale of Love.
He peeled off his gloves and tossed them, along with his hat, to the settee’s cushion, his air indolent. As if he had all the time in the world. And not a care.
“Is it against the rules of proper courting?” he asked unrepentantly, his gaze fixed upon hers as he shrugged his greatcoat from his deliciously broad shoulders. “I confess, I do not know. A mutual acquaintance of ours was supposed to teach me, and she has been neglecting her duties.”
Of course she had been neglecting their silly wager. How was she meant to keep it up when all she wanted to do was kiss him and throw all caution out the window whenever she was in his presence?
She tipped up her chin, clinging to defiance, her only defense against him. “Perhaps I have decided to forego our wager. After all, you never had any intention of visiting my foundling hospital.”
He tossed his coat upon the settee, and it landed atop the discarded hat. Still, he did not wrest his eyes from her. “You may be surprised what I would do on your behalf, Pru. Hell, I think I would even surprise myself.”
How unfair it was for him to say such a thing to her.
He was close enough to touch.
And she wanted to touch him.
“Stop,” she commanded him.
“Stop what?” He took a step closer, crowding her with his big body.
Tempting her, too.
“Stop saying things you do not mean,” she forced herself to say. “Stop using your flattery and silver tongue upon me. I know this is a game to you, Lord Ashley, but it is not a game to me. This is my life you are toying with.”
Her voice broke on the last word, and she hated herself for that weakness. For the way he affected her. For the ability he alone possessed to make her so vulnerable. Vulnerable in a way she had imagined she was not capable of being, for she was the eldest Winter sister. The wisest. The most reasonable. The most pragmatic and calm.
The sister least likely to cause a scandal.
And yet, here she stood, oh-so-tempted to launch herself into this beautiful scoundrel’s arms.
He reached out. Just his forefinger. The fleshy pad of it caressed her chin. Her heart leapt. The aching need for him turned into a steady throb, beginning at her core and radiating outward, suffusing her in a heavy warmth.
“I have never uttered a word to you that I did not mean, Pru,” he said then, softly. “There is no flattery for you. There is only truth. I have never been drawn to another as I am drawn to you.”
She forgot how to breathe.
At least, that was how it seemed as his words settled over her.
“My lord,” she protested.
He traced a path up her chin, pressing his finger against her lips, silencing her. “Ash.”
She closed her eyes, trying to find her strength. But her attraction for him was so potent, it was overwhelming. She refused to say his name. Refused to refer to him so familiarly. For if she did, all was lost. She was lost.
And so, she remained silent, saying nothing, longing to run her tongue along his finger. To taste him.
“Say it, Pru,” he urged, his gaze hot upon her mouth. His finger moved, tracing the fullness of her lower lip, teasing her even further. “Ash. It is so easy to speak, one syllable only. As meaningless as what wood cast into the flame becomes.”
