How impossible it was to be impervious to this man, when she loved him so.
His gaze seemed to devour her with a hunger she recognized all too well. “You were tremendous tonight as Miranda. Even better than the last time I saw you.”
“You were in the audience tonight?” She gripped the damp towel, twisting it in her fingers.
For some reason, she had not imagined he would watch her again. Perhaps it had been easier for her to believe. She was not certain how well she could have performed had she known his eyes were upon her.
“I was,” he confirmed.
She could not help but to note the taut manner in which he held his lips, the firm clench of his jaw. The dark stubble of whiskers shaded it, as if he had not shaved in a day or two. The urge to skim her hand there, to caress him, rose within her.
“Why?” she asked, though she knew she should not.
Though she feared the answer.
“I had to see you,” he said, the admission sounding as if it had been torn from him.
“You have seen me,” she said, gripping the towel harder than ever. “You may go now.”
“I had to speak with you also, Johanna.” He took another step nearer.
Instinctively, she took one in retreat. Her heart was thudding faster. If he touched her, she would be lost. Helpless to resist.
“We have already said everything that needs to be said,” she countered.
One more step backward, and her bottom connected with the sharp corner of the table upon which the basin and bowl of water sat. She cried out at the unexpected pain.
He rushed forward, reaching for her, taking her arms in a firm grip “What is the matter?”
“I ran into the table.” She wrenched herself away from him, putting some distance between them once more. “It is nothing. I was merely surprised.”
His scent washed over her, familiar. Haunting. Like the ghost of a caress.
He remained where he was, his countenance solemn. “How are you?”
She summoned up a false smile. “I am well. Can you not see? But I will be better when you leave.”
“I understand you are angry with me,” he began.
“Anger does not begin to describe the emotions I feel for you,” she interrupted, holding on to her indignation. It was all she had left.
“You have every right to feel the way you do,” he said softly. “I understand, Johanna. But what I do not understand is the danger you are placing yourself in by refusing to remain at Lark House where you are safe.”
So that was the reason for his visit? He must have learned from Hazel that she had left, much to the duke and duchess’s dismay.
“I have no intention of doing my brother’s bidding ever again, if that is what concerns you,” she assured him coolly.
“That is not what concerns me,” he said, stepping forward yet again.
It was rather like a dance between them. He tried to close the distance. She tried desperately to maintain it.
“To be candid, I do not care what does or does not concern you, Your Grace,” she snapped. “I do not care about anything to do with you at all.”
That was a desperate and terrible lie, of course, but one she needed to maintain all the same.
He flinched as if she had struck him. “Do you hate me that much?”
Quite the opposite. Shelovedhim that much.
