She had to forcefully remind herself that despite the clandestine nature of the moment—and Bridget’s insistent comments about hunger, yearning, and seduction—the reason she’d requested Waring’s presence was not personal in the slightest.
It was about the necklace. Nothing more.
“Lady Eleanor.”
Her name, spoken in the now familiar rich tones and casual cadence, caused a shiver of awareness to snake down her spine. It was amazing, really, that she heard it at all considering the continued roar of the Cascade and the added sounds of mechanical movement she could hear now that she was around the rear of the display. But the viscount’s low voice easily threaded through the noise.
She turned in place to him standing several steps away in a dense thicket of trees.
He looked every inch the rogue in that shadowed wood. But there was more she sensed in him here that she hadn’t noticed in the glittering ballrooms and drawing rooms of society.
There was a different sort of ease in his manner. His broad shoulderswere even less rigid. His stance more confident and relaxed. At the same time, his expression…appeared somehow both more intenseandmore comfortable. There was a different sort of self-assurance in his gaze and the half smile that curved his mouth. As though covert meetings such as this were a regular and welcome occurrence for him.
How many women had he met in similar circumstance for very different reasons?
As soon as the question slid through her mind, Eleanor tensed. She didn’t want to know.
Realizing that he hadn’t moved upon seeing her, Eleanor started toward him. She’d requested this meeting after all, she may as well do what she’d called him here to do.
She stepped silently across the soft ground, doing her best to appear poised. But as she approached him, his manner subtly shifted. The curve of his mouth twitched and his gaze—though still intent and piercing—darkened.
She suddenly recalled the way he’d looked at her in her garden when he’d lifted his hand to her face and murmured something about courting her. A tingling rush of heat arced through her, ignited a frisson of sensations across her nerves before she reminded herself that that had been a show for anyone watching.
But no one was watching now…
Was she mad to think this was a good idea?
Too late.
She joined him within the dense copse of trees, releasing a breath as she murmured softly. “Lord Waring.”
His voice was just as quiet as he replied, “I wasn’t certain you’d be here.”
“Of course I’m here. My note said I’d be.”
Amusement flickered across his face. “Right. It also said you’d changed your mind.” He paused and lowered his chin. “About the necklace, I presume?”
Eleanor nodded. She found it difficult to think and speak coherently. The darkness and whispers felt too intimate. She’d hoped the privacy and being out from under the gaze of society would make it easier to speak to him.
It didn’t.
Instead, she seemed to feel everythingsomuch more intensely. Her trembling went deeper, the swirling was heavier, the hum beneath her skin even more tingling and searing.
What did she think she was doing? Who did she think she was? Why did she think she’d be capable of engaging with a handsome, charming man in such a clandestine way?
“What is it you wished to tell me, my lady?” he asked, dipping his head toward hers. His warmth and the soothing scent of sandalwood drifted around her.
More heat angled through her core. Her skin grew flushed and her stomach twisted wildly. Feeling lightheaded, Eleanor drew a shaky breath then licked her lips. “I…uh.”
Dammit. She sounded like a nitwit. All she had to do was say what she knew about the tragic wedding of legend, but she’d seemed to lose the connection between her mind and her tongue.
“Are you all right?” he asked in concern, taking a small step forward as his hand lifted to the side of her face.
At the light touch of his fingertips across her cheek and along her jaw, she closed her eyes. A powerful shiver coursed over her skin. When his fingers came to rest gently against her nape and his thumb brushed the pulse in her throat, he paused.
“Your heart is racing. Take a slow breath with me.”
He drew an extended inhale, deep into his lungs, expanding his chest with air before slowly, deliberating releasing it. So slowly it just barely disturbed the wisps of hair at her temple. After his third exhale, she realized she’d matched her breath to his. And each breath she took seemed to expand inside her, providing the space for everything thathad gotten so tightly knotted to loosen and unravel.
