More so, perhaps.
His heart thumped hard.
She was Flora.
“Admit what, my lord?” she asked, feigning confusion.
And quite prettily too. The most ridiculous urge struck him. He wanted to kiss her, here and now, before the others. Without a care for propriety or who might be watching.
“Admit that you are Flora,” he elaborated, “and that you are trying—quite poorly, I might add—to divert me from my course.”
“Who is Flora?”
“The woman who all but begged me to kiss her last night.”
The woman I spent a good deal of time fantasizing about whilst taking myself in hand.
Words he could never say aloud.
Yes indeed, he was a true beast. He ought to be ashamed, but Neville was not certain if his discovery that Flora was Lady Charity made his base lust less or more appalling.
She pressed a hand to her heart, drawing his attention back to her bosom once more. “My lord, I would never do something so bold. I am afraid you must have me confused with another.”
He stepped nearer to her, forgetting in his need to make her admit the truth that they had an audience nearby. “I kissed you.”
And he wanted to kiss her again. Which was absolute recklessness on his part. Lady Charity was not any wiser a choice of bride than Flora had been. He did not want a wife who was bold and wild and dared gentlemen to kiss her in the moonlit gardens.
Did he?
Yes, whispered a voice within.
No, countered his mind quite sternly.
Her lips parted, and she gazed up at him much as she had the night before. “You did not.”
“I did,” he repeated. “And you liked it.”
He had liked it as well.
He had more than liked it.
This was a problem.Lady Charitywas a problem.
Neville severely disliked problems.
The air between them became charged, as if live electrical wires had been dropped into their midst. They stared at each other, gazes locked, in a stalemate.
“I have no idea what you are speaking of,” said those bewitching lips.
“Why are you lying?” he bit out, needing to know.
Was she toying with him? Had this been her plan? Had she known it was him on the terrace last night, and if she had, why taunt him into kissing her only to pretend as if she had no recollection of their fiery exchange the next day?
Questions without answers. Neville did not like those either.
“You seem distressed.” The corners of her mouth twitched, as if she made an effort to suppress her smile. “Is it your rash which has you at sixes and sevens? You never did say whether it is the sort of irritation which stings or itches.”
There was not a shred of doubt remaining within him that she was enjoying this.
