The revelation slammed into him without warning. Desire slid through his veins like warm brandy.
Provoked by his body’s response to the sight of her, he spurred his mount down the incline, some part of him bent upon spoiling her revelry. He entered the brook without hesitation, his mount’s hooves splashing, churning water, angrily grinding stones beneath the crystalline surface.
With a gasp of surprise, she spun to face him. “My lord!”
He arched a brow.
Her eyes widened in recognition. And then suddenly she was gazing up at him, her expression one of adoration.
Bloody hell.
“My lord,” she said again, and her eyes turned liquid. “I cannot believe you’ve come!”
Christian knew she was addlepated—must be. There was no way she could know who he was, and still look so damned grateful to see him. But then, all she really knew was that her brother had supposedly written him and reinstated the offer of matrimony, only with a lesser dowry. “Of course I came,” he said, “did you think I would not?” Though he didn’t smile to reassure her.
She shook her head, and actual tears sprang to her eyes.
Damnation.
There was no need for her to weep, was there? Taken aback by her unexpected reaction, he scowled, not quite able to tear his gaze away from her liquid green eyes; how singularly beautiful they were. As they had been that day so long ago. They’d haunted him then. Bewitched him still.
He forced his gaze lower, to her full, sensual lips, and concluded that his business with her brother might not be so unpleasant, after all.
Quite the contrary. She was possibly one of the fairest women he’d ever laid eyes upon. Not beautiful, precisely, though something about her made him feel she was—those eyes... and those lips that seemed made for kissing.
She was a bold little thing, he decided. The longer she stared the greater her danger of being soundly and ruthlessly kissed. He was tempted.
Why postpone the inevitable?
“My lord,” she said softly, demurely, “I shall forever be in your debt!”
“Really,m’mselle?” He couldn’t keep himself from baiting her, knowing she couldn’t possibly recognize him and look so damned grateful. “Won’t you tell me just who it is you think I am?”
She peered up a little anxiously. “Why, Lord... Christian... of course...”
She sounded so beautifully anxious, so very uncertain, that Christian found himself grinning down at her. “In the flesh,” he confessed, “though how you placed me so quickly after all these years, I shall never know.”
Why was it he felt suddenly so relieved?
Pleased, even?
“How could I ever forget you, my lord?”
She smiled sweetly, and it pricked at his heart.
3
Jessie found herself staring unabashedly, regarding Lord Christian’s windblown locks with both fascination and scandalized horror. The truth was that he was not at all the man she recalled. Gone was the genteel boyish quality she remembered, and with it every last pretense of civility.
Whereas decent men wore dignified headpieces and powder, he wore only his natural dark mane, bound at his nape—and heaven help her, her first impression of the man before her was that he held himself accountable to no one.
Why had he come?
It didn’t matter, she told herself.
The years had changed him much, but all that truly mattered was that he had come to her rescue and she was heartily grateful despite a new tide of misgivings.
If only he would stop staring at her so...
