“The Welsh blacks,” she continued, just to goad him. “Great large eyes and sweet dispositions. And they would look quite artistic on those Welsh hills.”
“English pastures,” he corrected.
She let her eyes grow wide. “Well, that’s silly. Who would put Welsh cows in England? People would think they’d gotten lost.”
He huffed in impatience, but she could see the sly twinkle in his eye. “If we don’t figure out how to manage my mess, I won’t have a cow to wander anywhere, artistically or not. So, I would appreciate your letting me give my report so we can both go home and revisit things tomorrow.”
“You spoke with Priscilla?”
“I did.”
And then he turned her toward the window, and everything changed.
Georgie should have refused. She should have found an excuse of some kind rather than join him. She knew it the minute he cupped her elbow like fragile porcelain, setting off the most alarming reaction.
Chills, shivers, the oddest feeling that her feet weren’t connected to the rest of her. A definite urge to get closer to him.
She did not want to become attracted to this man. Well, to be honest, she did not want tostayattracted to him, no matter how his touch sent chills skittering through unmentionable nooks and crannies in her body. It shouldn’t make any difference that he smelled like starched linen, citrus, and pine, or that the feel of his hand on her arm, even though they wore gloves, both startled and settled her at the same time. Or the fact that he was humming the music they’d been dancing to, which was endearing. She did notwantendearing. She wanted...she wanted...oh, bother. She was so distracted she didn’t know what she wanted. Except more of this very enticing feeling, or that delicious fizz of matching wits with him. Or both.
“She took it well,” he said as he swept the curtains aside and stepped out into the moonlight.
Georgie looked up to answer him and blinked, the sight of him stealing her wits. The gibbous moon sent bright lightwashing over Greyville, limning his hair and casting shadows that sharpened the angles of his face. Hard, suddenly, strong. Solid but not threatening. Compelling in a way Georgie hadn’t really noticed before, which she should have anticipated somehow, considering the records of his courage she’d been reading for years. Somehow his features fit his heroism, as if he’d been cast in a play about brave soldiers.
For a moment she couldn’t think at all, she was so struck by it. By the almost spectral look of him contrasting with the very solid feel of him. By the confusing, exciting lightning set off by no more than the touch of his gloved fingers.
She had been attracted to other men before. She had sneaked off for a kiss or two in shadowy gardens. But never had she been struck literally dumb.
It was when she looked into his eyes that she realized she wasn’t the only one affected, and that set off new, even hotter sparks all along her skin, deep in her belly, robbing her of breath. Places she had never so much as acknowledged, much less understood, suddenly demanded attention.
Was it better or worse that she could sense the same confusion in him? He was staring hard; his fingers tightened on her arm. She could feel the brush of his breath against her hair. And she wanted….
“She took it…” she stammered, trying to pull her wits back together again. “Oh, yes. Priscilla.”
Still staring, he licked his lips, which unnerved her even more. “Pri...”
“Priscilla. You, uh, spoke to her.”
It still took him a moment to respond. Georgie wasn’t certain if that was better or worse.
“Oh. Yes.” He nodded abruptly, removing his hand to take a step back, which should have made things better. It should have made the night cooler.
It didn’t.
“You told her about the girls,” she said to him, her palm pressing against her own chest, as if it could quell the sudden thundering of her heart. “Amelia and Sophie.”
This made no sense. She had been with him twice, had had perfectly normal conversations both times. How could she so suddenly feel as if she was flying apart, just from the heat in his eyes, the strain in his voice?
He nodded, his movement jerky. “Indeed. Priscilla knew. She sends her thanks for your efforts. If those don’t work, she is considering an elopement.”
“Oh, no,” Georgie protested, struggling to pull her thoughts back to order. “That will not do at all.”
“Exactly what I told her. I told her that impulsive decisions rarely end well.”
His words were a warning, and Georgie wished she could have attended better. But he was looking at her again, and Georgie was feeling it right down to her slippers.
She was twenty, for heaven’s sake. She had met this man twice without incident. Oh yes, she’d been attracted to him, but what wickedness was the moon causing? She suddenly had images in her head, and they were none of them polite. But oh, they were tempting.
She licked her own lips and found his gaze focused there. More blasted chills, chasing up and down like lightning. “Eddie…uh….” She cleared her throat, struggled for coherence. “She said that Prissy’s parents were in the middle of a full-scale whispered dispute. I’m sorry your friend Bowdern isn’t here. He might have put a coda on the business.”
