He had held her close—not to the tame quadrilles they had danced last year—but to something far more intimate.
He had openly flirted with her—scandalously.
Click.
Her body went taut. Her skin prickled beneath the probing intensity of a stare.
Oh, God. Hartwell.
He had recognized her. She had feared he might but trusted her carefully crafted disguise. That was why he had stared so intently.
He seemed to wait for Meghan to reveal herself.
Meghan’s eyes slid shut.
No. A man of his power and position would expect nothing less than an explanation.
The soft tap of a low-heeled leather boot drew nearer, confirming his approach.
Nausea roiled in her gut and she pressed her palms against her lower belly.
Then the air went still.
He had brought champagne.
“I had a feeling this is where I might find you, my treasure.”
Meghan’s legs trembled.
My treasure…
They had always bantered.
That’s all this was, but now with a flare of cruelty that hadn’t been there before.
She lifted her chin. “You were looking for me, my lord highwayman?”
The gold slashes of his eyebrows dipped beneath his domino. “The better question is are you waiting for another, sweetheart?”
“Hartwell,” she said, her chest gripped tight at even his name intruding here. “I should be expecting him.”
A dangerous energy simmered beneath the earl’s tensed physique. “Aye, the Tremaines like to take what is mine.” He wore a savage smile.
What is mine…?
Which meant he felt possessive.
Like the flutter of butterfly wings, warmth fanned across her chest. She searched his partially revealed face. “You are jealous,” she said with breathless realization.
She caught her mistake too late.
A flicker of distaste rippled along August’s hardened features. “There isn’t a man I’m jealous of, or even one woman on earth to merit such feelings on my part.”
They both knew that wasn’t true.
There was another woman. He was too proud to speak that truth aloud. The closest he’d come was his mention of beingpoached.
My sister.
