So she had.
“How unkind of you to take note and remind me,” she grumbled.
His thumb rubbed slow circles over her inner wrist. And the effect this small gesture had upon her was no different than it had been the previous occasion he had caressed her thus. Her insides were melting.
So much inner frenzy and furor, all from a mere thumb.
Good heavens, the Marquess of Dorset was intoxicating.
And not mine, she reminded herself sternly.
“Why unkind?” he asked softly.
His gaze was intent, and she felt it all the way to her toes, that something special that happened to her whenever he was near.
“Because I was too familiar, and I should not have been.”
“I think we have been too familiar with each other from the first.” His hand covered hers, resting upon the slumbering kitten. “From the moment that despicable bee brought us together.”
The look he cast her way was laden with such tenderness. Her foolish heart leapt.
But no. Surely she was imagining it?
“You were too familiar with me that day,” she said tartly, trying to keep her guard firmly in place.
“Thanks to your lack of drawers,” he teased.
Her mortification returned. “It is ungentlemanly of you to remind me of my folly.”
“Have you not learned by now?” A wicked grin curved his sensual lips. “I am no gentleman. Else I would not have enjoyed the tantalizing glimpse of your limbs I had that day. Nor would I have been plagued by it every day since.”
“A rakehell through and through,” she said, trying to keep the breathlessness from her voice.
The grin slid from his mouth. “What if I could be reformed? By the right lady, of course?”
“What are you suggesting, Lord Dorset?”
“When I emerged from the river, I had an astonishing realization.”
So had she.
Calm down, heart. You shall get us into a great deal of trouble if you do not cease this nonsense.
“Oh?” She was careful to keep her features calm. To show none of the sudden upheaval within her.
“I realized I was wrong.”
She waited for him to say more as everything within her tensed as tightly as a freshly wound watch spring. But he was silent, his expression implacable as he watched her.
“And what is it you were wrong about?” she prodded when she could bear the silence no longer.
“About getting married.”
That was not precisely what she had wanted to hear.
“To anyone, or have you a specific lady in mind?”
“Oh, no. I could not marry just anyone,” he said, resuming those maddening circles of his, this time on the back of her hand. “It would have to be a very specific lady indeed.”
