She steeled herself to demand who he was, prepared to insist, even prepared to forcefully drag him out into the light if she had to—she was that angry. The words weren’t necessary, were actually forgotten. A light appeared in an upstairs room, near enough to the window to cast down a beam of gold that filtered through the upper tree limbs at an angle. It was selective, that beam of light. Where it broke through the leaves above, it touched only certain parts of the man’s upper body, his hands, a shoulder clad in black velvet—his face.
Roslynn was simply not prepared. The breath sucked right out of her. For several long moments her mind became such a blank, she couldn’t have remembered her own name if asked.
There was a wide mouth gently turned at the corners, a strong, arrogant line of jaw. The nose was chiseled sharply, aquiline, proud. The skin was darkly tanned, swarthy, yet still a sharp contrast to the ebony hair that crowned his head in thick waves. The eyes—God protect the innocent from such eyes—were purest blue, heavy-lidded, with the barest suggestion of a slant. They were exotic, hypnotic, framed by black lashes and slashing brows. They were assessing, probing, boldly sensual—warm, too warm.
It was her weakness from lack of air that jolted Roslynn back to her senses. She breathed in deeply, slowly, and exhaled on a sigh. It simply wasn’t fair. Gramp had warned her. She didn’t have to be told. She knew. He was one of them, one of the “not to be considered.” He was too ruthlessly handsome not to be.
Her earlier annoyance was forgotten. A new irritation took hold. She had the strangest urge to hit him for being what he was. Why him? Why did the oneman who took her breath away have to be the only type of man unacceptable to her?
“You are staring, sir.” Where had that come from, when the rest of her thoughts were so chaotic?
“I know,” he said simply, his smile deepening.
He refrained from pointing out that she was staring too. He was enjoying himself too much just watching her. Words were unnecessary, an intrusion, even though her husky voice rubbed over his skin like a caress.
Anthony Malory was purely fascinated. He had seen her before she came outside. He had been keeping his eye on Reggie through the nearest window, and then she came into his line of vision. He hadn’t seen her face then, just her slim back sheathed in teal satin—and her hair. The glorious red-gold color caught his interest immediately. When she moved out of sight before he had gotten a better look at her, he actually stood up, prepared to brave the masses just this once, the urge to see the face that went with that hair overpowering.
But she came outside. He relaxed back against the bench, patient now. With the light behind her, he still couldn’t make out her features clearly, but he would. She wasn’t going anywhere until he did.
And then he simply watched her antics in hiding beside the door, and bending over to peek back inside. The shapely derrière she presented to him brought a grin to his lips.Oh, sweetheart, you can’t know the invitation you’re offering.
He almost chuckled aloud, but it was as if she had read his thoughts. She straightened, glancing across the terrace. When she stared in his direction, he thought he was discovered. And then she managed to shock him, coming toward him,runningtoward him,flashing into a patch of bright light, making him doubt his sight with the breathtaking loveliness of her face finally revealed to him, disappearing into the shadows briefly before she reached the patch of light directly in front of the bench. She stopped there, looking now as shocked as he was, only his surprise waned quickly when he realized she hadn’t been running to him, hadn’t known he was even there. But she did now.
It was amusing, the emotions that flitted over her flawless features. Shock, curiosity, then pink-tinged embarrassment, but no fear. With intense, gold-flecked eyes, she started on his leg and worked her way up. He wondered how much of him she could actually see. Not much probably, standing in the light as she was, but he had no inclination to reveal himself just yet.
On one level he was amazed that she hadn’t run off immediately, or fainted, or done some other silly thing that a previously sheltered young debutante was likely to do when presented with a strange man lurking in the shadows. Unconsciously, he sought a reason that she should react differently from all the other innocents he staunchly avoided. When it came to him, it was another shock. She wasn’t that young, not too young for him anyway. She wasn’t off limits, then.
That knowledge worked on Anthony’s system immediately. Where before he had simply appreciated her beauty like a connoisseur, now he registered that he needn’t be damned to only look, he could also touch. And then the light came on upstairs, and she was staring at him with a new look, obvious fascination, and he was never so glad in his life that women found him appealing to the senses.
It was suddenly imperative for him to ask, “Who guards you?”
Roslynn was startled to hear his voice again after the long silence; she knew very well she should have walked away after their first brief words had brought no more. Only she had stood fast, unable to take her eyes off him, not caring that she was staring, that he was too.
“Guards me?”
“Yes. Who do you belong to?”
“Oh. No one.”
Anthony smiled, amused. “Perhaps I should rephrase my question?”
“No, I understood. So did you. My grandfather recently died, you see. I lived with him. Now I have no one.”
“Then have me.”
The soft words tripped her heart. Oh, what she wouldn’t do to have him. But she was almost certain he didn’t mean what she wanted him to mean, but what she should be embarrassed over hearing instead. But she wasn’t embarrassed. It was something she would expect a man like him to say. They were never sincere, Frances had told her. And they loved to say shocking things to enhance their image of being dissipated and unprincipled.
Still, she had to ask. She couldn’t help herself. “Would you marry me, then?”
“Marry?”
She had managed to discompose him. She almost laughed at his look of horror.
“I don’t mince words, sir, though I’m not usuallythatforward. But considering what you said to me, my question was perfectly in order. So I may assume you are not husband material?”
“Good God, no!”
“You needn’t bethatemphatic,” she said, disappointment just barely discernible in her tone. “I didn’t think you were.”
