‘I feel the same way,’ he murmured, loosening his cravat. ‘And for the record, I much prefer your … understated look.’
He muttered the last words in a way that conjured memories of all the moments he’d berated her in less than suitable attire – a borrowed nightgown, a soaked picnic dress, corset and petticoats – and this time there was no denying her flush.
She swallowed, searching for something to say.
‘That is a highly improper thing to say,’ she muttered finally.
‘Since when did you care a jot about propriety?’
She looked up sharply and found his eyes had darkened in a way that wasn’t in the least bit apologetic.
‘You see, that is what intrigues me most about you,’ he continued. ‘You dress like a boy, you’ve more courage than most, you put the life of your sister before your own, and then you hide at a social dinner I would have thought you’d relish … given your impending nuptials.’
Phoebe flinched, her mind racing.
‘That’sreallywhy you’re here, isn’t it?’ he asked, standing abruptly and removing his mask. ‘And it explains all the scrapes and adventuring, too. Because no matter how fearless you pretend to be, deep down … you’re terrified.’
Phoebe stared into his accusing eyes, feeling as exposed as she had the night of the library.
Which meant what now?More ridiculing? Something else to tell Aurelia?
She caught her breath.
‘I’ve said it before, but my behaviour is no business of yours!’ she scowled. ‘And just because there are some things I don’t yet…’
Phoebe tailed off as the viscount stepped towards her, his eyes glinting in the lowlight.
And suddenly it was there, the very same draw she felt the first night; a visceral heat that reached between them, intensifying the closer they drew, fading out every sound and fogging every thought except this moment. It was intoxicating and breathtaking and addictive all at once.
‘Why society mothers don’t tell their daughters more, I will never understand,’ he whispered when he reached her, picking a stray magnolia petal from her hair. ‘There are so many things I would like to tell you … to show you … given the chance.’
He spoke huskily, as though caught in the slew of a dream as his fingers dropped to the top of her bodice, and gently lingered across her warm, exposed skin as he pressed closer, until she could feel every hard line of his taut body.
Briefly she closed her eyes, listening to the thump of his chest, before summoning the willpower to pull away, reminding herself he was the same arrogant, promised viscount that had riled and thwarted her from the day they met.
She drew a ragged breath.
‘Yes, I’m sure that would be mostentertaining,’ she flared in a way that left him in no doubt as to whom she was referring.
His expression hardened abruptly.
‘I have never betrayed your confidence,’ he blazed, ‘except in frank admiration of a young woman who appeared unafraid of anything. If I spoke too freely, it’s because I’ve never met anyone quite like you!’
For a moment there was a poignant silence, when all Phoebe could hear were the evening crickets echoing the thump of her heart.
‘You must know,’ he added, his voice dropping again, ‘that ever since that night in my library you have … plagued me. You have stolen my peace in ways I cannot explain… I thought I had known every feeling there is to know, that no one could surprise me, but … I cannot help but believe that deep down, you know I am lost.’
His tone was more accusing than that of a lover, and yet it felt as though every blossom-strewn branch stilled to listen. Phoebe hardly dared breathe, so aware that she must be dreaming, that the most vexing man of her existence couldn’t be standing before her now, saying these things. And yet, it was his dark face that inclined towards her, and his lips that chased tiny, burning kisses down her neck in a way that made the glade spin like a top.
‘Tell me,’ he whispered hoarsely, when he came up for air, ‘tell me that you feel the same way? Tell me you think of nothing else? You must know, from the past few weeks, that I cannot stay away from you.’
Phoebe exhaled raggedly, every chance meeting and scathing judgement suddenly taking on new meaning. Could it really have been masking something else entirely?
He was so close she could count each of his eyelashes, while his eyes lingered on hers, almost as though he was scared to look away. She inhaled unsteadily, conscious of the oddest fluttering in the pit of her stomach, and suddenly she realised she wasso closeto tipping point – that it was happening again – whatever happened in his library.
Phoebe fought to order her thoughts. The viscount had been nothing but arrogant and interfering since the day they’d met, but he also made her feel more alive than anyone else she knew. And right now, if she didn’t do something, she would doeverything, and that would be the biggest scandal of all her born days.
She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to think of Aurelia.
