“Lord Vanover,” she nearly choked.
“First, we’ve known each other for years.I think it would be appropriate for us to call one another by our Christian names.”
She narrowed her eyes at him again.“And second?”
“I’m still waiting for an answer.Am I physically attractive to you?”
She huffed a breath.“Arrogant,” she murmured.
“What?”he said, his tone far too innocent.“A man likes to know.”
She blinked at him.“Fishing for compliments?”
“Not at all.”His tone dropped, just slightly.“We’ve established you dislike thesituation.Perhaps my beliefs.But me?”He tilted his head.“The man?”He waited a beat.“Am I truly so objectionable?”
She nearly snorted.Then she lifted her chin again.“Oh, come now.You must know you’re terribly handsome.”Her eyes flared wide and then, “I mean?—”
His grin was unrepentant.“No.No.You already said it.You cannot take it back.”
She nearly growled at him.What in the world had made her say such a thing?She’d given him precisely the sort of praise a man like him should never be trusted with.A grave mistake.
Archer stopped walking.Slowly, very slowly, he turned toward her.For a moment, he said nothing.Then softly, sincerely, “Terribly handsome, eh?”
Warmth rose traitorously along Bea’s cheeks.If only one could recall spoken words as neatly as one recorked a wine bottle.
He flicked the brim of his hat, a cocky smile lighting his features.“I have been called many things in my life, Lady Beatrix.Handsome, upon occasion.But I do not think I have ever been quite so glad to hear it as I am when it comes from your lips.”
Her breath stilled.
Oh no.She’d handed him a weapon to use against her.
Not to mention he was standing too close—far too close—and she became acutely aware of the way his coat fit across his broad chest, the subtle movement of his throat when he swallowed, the faint warmth radiating from him in the cool breeze.And worse—his mouth.
She should not be staring at his mouth.
His lips curved, not in a smirk, but something quieter.Warmer.Much more dangerous.
“Bea,” he murmured.
Her name in his voice—not clipped, not sparring, but almost tender—sent a jolt through her.And he’d used the name she preferred.Beatrix was far too formal, too pompous, too… Wait.How did he know she preferred that name?Was it another thing he’d observed about her, just like her political bent?
Archer reached as though to brush a loose strand of hair at her temple.His fingers grazed her cheek, featherlight.Without thought, she leaned infinitesimally closer.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
For one dizzying heartbeat, she wondered whether he would kiss her…and whether shewantedhim to.
Which was absurd.
Completely, utterly absurd.
She drew back so quickly she nearly stumbled.“We…should continue walking.”
“Should we?”he asked, clearly amused but not pressing.
“Yes,” she said coolly, gathering the remains of her dignity.“We absolutely should.”
They resumed their slow pace, though her pulse had not resumed anything resembling normalcy.
