James turned, facing her. She’d always believed “handsome” was too paltry a word to describe a man whose face conveyed the nobility of his character. His blunt, even features exuded uncompromising strength. The unyielding slant of his jaw was somewhat softened by his lips, the bottom one possessed of an unexpectedly voluptuous curve. His steel-blue gaze could express a spectrum of emotions, ranging from wry amusement to stern command.
Right now, his stare was incredulous.
“Am I all right?” he stated.
Although discussing emotional topics was not Evie’s forte, she didn’t know why he was repeating her question. It was a fair one, given that he had shot someone to save her life. Perhaps he was more rattled than he let on.
“Tonight’s events were a trifle disturbing,” she ventured. “It would be understandable if you were experiencing a negative reaction in the aftermath.”
He continued to gaze at her as if she’d lost her mind. This began to irk her. While she was lacking in many ways, she prided herself on her ability to reason clearly and well. She was a scientist, after all. Her botany experiments had earned her a reputation for intellectual rigor. As a member of the Botanical Society of London, she had written a paper which she hoped to present and perhaps even someday publish.
“You think you understand my current state?” James asked.
She lifted her brows. “Do you disagree with my observation?”
“As a matter of fact.” He stalked toward her.
She had the instinct to bolt like a frightened rabbit, yet she held her ground: this was James, after all. The one man she trusted, who’d never done an uncivilized thing in his life…well, except for killing her kidnapper. As far as she was concerned, that act had been wholly justified. Yet did he regret what he’d done? His honor was everything to him, and killing a woman—even a deranged, cold-blooded murderess—would not sit easily with him.
He gripped her shoulders. Pleasure quivered through her at his touch. When she tilted her head back, she was riveted by the blaze of silver in his eyes.
“A negative reaction does not begin to describe my feelings.”
She collected herself. “It must have been difficult seeing your sister in danger?—”
“As relieved as I am that Gigi came to no harm, this isn’t about her. Bloody hell, Evie, I almost lost you tonight. And you think I am a trifle disturbed?”
His tone, while quiet, had the power of a shout. Her pulse raced, and a part of her wished she had run. Not because she feared him, but because she feared herself. For years, she’d worked at keeping her secrets safe. She’d sealed herself inside a shell of prim rationality, never giving her dangerous impulses a chance to emerge. She’d learned to control her yearnings—to stay on the safe path. The only possible path given that she’d chosen to marry the man she loved and did not deserve.
Now James’s intensity struck her like a blast of heat. Like the sun’s imperious summons to ripen and release. Longing swelled inside her, threatening to burst free.
No, you must not reveal who you are. You cannot hurt him. You cannot lose him.
Longing was a fist around her heart. It was a familiar sensation. She could—and would—manage it.
“Thanks to you, nothing happened.” She was surprised by how calm she sounded. “I am none the worse for wear. I could, however, use a bath.”
She prayed he would take the hint. Her gentlemanly husband certainly would. Yet this James merely clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching along the chiseled edge.
“The bath can wait until after we talk,” he stated.
No, no, no. Why does he have to choose this moment to be stern and commanding?
While James was courteous by nature, he was no milksop. As the Earl of Manderly and heir to the Marquessate of Blackwood, he wore the mantle of lord and master with natural authority. He was firm when required and did not suffer fools readily. Yet with her, he chose to be gentle and accommodating…as if she were a fragile bloom he feared to crush. Even when she showed her thorns, he handled her with care. Rarely did he lose his temper. When he did…she didn’t know what it said about her that she found him even more attractive.
It is not fair, how perfect he is. How undeserving I am of him.
Heat pushed behind her eyes. Pushing it back, she took refuge in propriety.
“If you insist,” she said coolly. “But do make it quick, for I am quite fatigued.”
“You didn’t seem fatigued when you kissed me earlier.”
She felt her jaw slacken. The husband she knew would not bring up her wanton behavior, which had occurred in the reckless moments after he’d rescued her. He would never embarrass her in such a fashion.
Her lips moved before she could think better of it. “I believe you kissed me.”
“Can you blame me?”
