You have no idea.
“Very much so.”She flattened her mouth.“I’m horrendous at most of the things young ladies ought to excel at.”
He studied her for a moment, his gaze briefly finding her mouth before sliding away.“I suspect that’s because you’ve no interest in them.”
It was her turn to study him, this man she was meant to destroy.In some ways, it felt like he saw her better than anyone else ever had.
She cast that thought aside and touched his arm before telling him conspiratorially, “I often wish I’d been born a boy, able to hunt, spit, curse, and get foxed.Such things are surely more fun than needlepoint, watercolors, and learning how to put together a menu.”
He flexed beneath her hand, a slight movement that drew her awareness to his muscled physique.Adrian Croft was a powerful man and she was merely an inch away, close enough to lean in and kiss him.
Or slash his throat if she chose.
24
Adrian shifted in his seat.Miss Carmichael’s touch threatened to sear him.It felt like a branding of sorts – a potent sensation he wanted both to harness and flee.This past week, since he’d last seen her, he’d wondered if the connection he’d felt with her had been imagined.A fabrication of his overactive mind.
He now knew it wasn’t.
The effect she had upon him, the need she instilled for something more crucial between them, had only grown stronger.
Of course, it also helped that Murry had found nothing else to report about her.Had there been a scandal attached to her name, he would have discovered it.As for the file his father had gathered on Harlowe, the information there gave no cause for concern either.According to the notes, he was a private man who’d mostly kept to himself since returning from the travels he’d undertaken during his youth.
He’d married late – or later than what was the norm – being already into his fortieth year when he’d spoken his vows.Now, at almost five and sixty years of age, he maintained his duty toward the women he and his wife had chosen to foster.
Adrian had been correct to take an instant liking to him.He was an honorable sort who’d probably make a good friend and ally.
As for Miss Carmichael…
“I can’t say I’m in favor of women behaving like heathens.Besides, getting foxed is extremely unpleasant.I doubt you’d enjoy it.”
“It’s the idea of it that’s enticing, I think.Hypothetically speaking.I mean, how would you feel if you were allowed to engage only in feminine pursuits like painting, embroidery, reading, and playing an instrument?If you were forbidden from going anywhere alone, from attending university, from smoking or arguing a case in Parliament?”
He was honestly dismayed by her suggestion.It went against everything a properly bred Englishwoman stood for.And while he might be prepared to make a few concessions, like supporting that she ride astride, he could not imagine involving himself with a woman who wanted to cast aside all things feminine in favor of living like…well…a man.
“Are these things you wish to do?”It was possible he’d misjudged her.
“No.”The honesty he saw in her eyes put him at ease.“But the not being allowed to do them frustrates me to no end.”
He saw her point and he understood her.More than that, he found he agreed.
The first few notes of Mozart alerted him to the concert’s commencement.All other chatter ceased and he turned to face the musicians.But even as he watched the violinist, cellist, and pianist gracefully embark upon a lyrical journey, his awareness remained on the lady beside him.
The warmth she exuded, her fragrance – a sweet floral scent so subtle he wanted to lean a bit closer in order to better examine the heady perfume – had a wonderfully calming effect.In truth, she as a whole was a soothing distraction from all his grief, anger, and hellish existence.
He’d looked forward to seeing her, he realized, for this very reason.Like an opium addict longing for his next trip into oblivion.
It helped that she’d known Evie, if only briefly.“It pains me to know that she’s no longer with us,” she’d said.
The comment provided him with more comfort than the hollow “I’m so sorry” and “My condolences” he’d received from nearly everyone else.
Because of the careful attention he paid her while notes rose and fell all around them, quieting to a near whisper before climbing to an emotive crescendo, he knew when she straightened and when she leaned forward.The distance between them was so very small.An inch perhaps?It would take so little for him to close it.
His stomach tightened as heat enveloped his body.How had it come to this?
He could not say.No other woman had ever held his interest this way, drawing him to her, instilling in him a need for discovery and conquest.
Everything he’d learned of the world compelled him to fight the temptation, to keep a level head, his wits about him.So he took a shallow breath and glanced to his right, past Marsdale, and away from Miss Carmichael.
