There he stood. Tall. Golden. Leonine. Unsure of himself. The door closed at his back, and he remained where he was. His gaze found hers, unerringly, even across the chamber.
He bowed.
Quite elegantly, too. She could find no fault in it.
She curtseyed, thinking it silly to observe the proprieties when they were meeting in secret. And yet, thinking how it seemed to heighten the anticipation, until the air between them was fairly quivering with a mixture of formality and anticipation.
Wicked anticipation.
“Miss Winter,” he said.
“You are late,” she told him. “Your Grace.”
She was mocking him. She knew she ought not, but she had just spent one quarter of an hour believing he would not deign to meet her. Worse, that he would not deign to kiss her. He had earned some nettling.
“I am sorry.” He moved toward her, his strides slow and deliberate.
For a man who was not at all a rake, he certainly made her heart beat faster.
She watched him approach, and she could not help but think about kissing him. But she was determined not to give in so easily.
“Why were you late?” she asked.
He stopped before her, just out of reach, his blue eyes hot and intense upon hers. He said nothing. His jaw was rigid. She understood he was struggling. Battling against whatever internal forces made him detest conversation. She had taken note that her initial interactions with him always began in a more stilted fashion. He was the icicle. She was the fire.
Which meant she would need to take the reins of this particular moment.
She took two steps, then settled her hands upon his shoulders. They were rigid. Strong. He did not possess the lean build of a rake or a lord. Rather, he was sturdy and thick, much like a laborer.
She liked it.
She likedhim.
“Your Grace?” she prompted, making certain their eyes remained locked. “If you do not tell me why you were late, I shall have to guess.”
He made a low sound in his throat, part growl.
A promising sign.
“You forgot how to read the time?” she asked. “You were waylaid by a dragon en route to the west wing? You had to rescue a mouse from a hungry feline?”
He made another sound.
“Oh,” she continued airily, as though he had spoken, “you need not tell me dragons are not real. But being delayed by a mythical creature is one of the only acceptable reasons for your tardiness. Obviously, rescuing a mouse would be an excellent excuse, for mice are quite adorable. Mouse ears are endearing, do you not think? And their noses. To say nothing of those tiny paws…”
“Miss Winter,” he said at last, his voice sounding choked.
She tried not to smile. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“You are the strangest creature I have ever met.”
Hmm.Not precisely the words of a practiced seducer. He would have to work upon that.
“I am neither strange, nor a creature,” she informed him, allowing her gaze to travel over the rest of his handsome countenance now that it seemed she had managed to thaw some of his ice.
His jaw was so wide and strong. She could not contain the urge to touch it. So she gave in, gently running her fingers over the delicious angle. His face appeared smoothly shaven, but there was the slightest hint of his whiskers abrading her fingertips.
He inhaled swiftly, his lips parting. “You were just attempting to convince me a rodent is adorable, and now you are petting me, Miss Winter.”
