He lifted his hands. Her cloak. The one he’d helped her remove in the orangery.
All sorts of unrecognizable emotions shot through her at the reminder.
She blinked but accepted it from him and draped it over one arm. And then… “Of course, Mrs. Crabtree saw it. It’s how she knew we were there.”
At the mention of Mrs. Crabtree, his jaw clenched.
“And of course, she will have told the countess, I’m sure.” The words escaped Charley’s mouth before she could stop them. Lady Westerley was his mother. One didn’t go about complaining about one’s hostess to one’s host. “Not that I—"
“You mustn’t worry about that.” He stepped closer, and now she could make out the individual whiskers along his jaw. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, which she knew could be both firm and yet soft, and every single nerve in her body jumped to attention. She nearly stopped breathing when he reached out and tugged at her braid. “This is cute.”
He could tease her now? Or was he flirting with her? She touched her hair self-consciously. “It keeps it from tangling when I sleep.”
His eyes flared. “It’s longer than I imagined.”
What would he think if he was to see how unruly her very red hair could be?
“I also wanted to make sure you survived Chaswick, Mantis, and Greys.”
The corner of his mouth jumped again and so did her heart. Bubbles seemed to effervesce in her chest but in a good way.
She liked it. She liked it when he smiled at her. She rested one hand along the frame of the door to keep herself from leaning into him. Because all this giddiness wanted to dictate her actions.
“Your friends were most kind.” She still had difficulty wrapping her mind around all that they’d done for her.
“The Cocksure Gents.” Again, he teased.
“Yes.” But then she bit her lip. “Bethany knows—about us. I mean, that you’ve offered for me. Not about the bet,” she hastened to add. “But… well, some of it.”
Both corners of his mouth had lifted now. “There was little chance my sister would allow you to escape without badgering you for some sort of explanation.”
“I told her I needed to return to America. I wanted to go home.” Talking with him now, alone, wearing her dressing gown and barefoot in the shadows of the corridor, the feelings of homesickness weren’t quite as powerful as they had been before.
Because going home would mean never seeing him again.
She should never have given in to him. His pretending to court her had been a huge mistake.
Those invisible strings she’d felt in the cellar earlier that day suddenly felt like thick ropes. And they were winding around her again, tugging her toward him. She gripped the doorframe harder in order to resist them.
But he wasn’t nearly as determined to fight the pull as she was. He leaned forward, not for a kiss, but close enough that the scruff of his beard brushed along her cheek and jaw. There was not a thing in the world she could do to stop the shiver from running through her.
“You will change your mind.” At her side now, his breath was hot and damp near her ear. It wasn’t quite a whisper, but more of a softly spoken promise.
If he kissed her now, she surely would melt onto the floor. Her eyes fluttered shut and her body swayed toward his.
“Your maid?”
Charley tilted her head, craving his mouth on her neck. Just one kiss. Her skin, so close to his mouth, ached for his touch.
“Charley?”
Soft laughter sounded in his voice this time. She liked the way it felt. It was like she’d come to life for the first time. Those butterflies were now buzzing around inside of her—only butterflies didn’t buzz, she corrected the imagery. Bees did.
Her maid? Oh, yes. Daisy was just inside, likely doing her utmost to eavesdrop.
Charley inhaled deeply in an effort to extract herself from this magnetic pull she’d been caught in.
“Just inside.” Her voice came out sounding hoarse.
