Page 62 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

His hand was cool against her heated skin, and his face was suddenly much closer, while his leg remained pressed lightly to hers.

“You are warm,” he said. “Are you feeling ill?”

“No,” Augusta replied, and her voice emerged higher than usual. “I am not ill.”

“You are flushed.” Ronan moved his hand from her forehead to her cheek, as though comparing the temperature.

Augusta’s breath caught.

“You are certain you are not sick?” he asked.

“Entirely certain,” Augusta said, pulling back more abruptly than she intended. “It has simply grown late, and Sarah should be taken to bed, while we should both retire as well.”

Ronan looked towards the clock.

“It is not especially late.”

Augusta began gathering the books, although her hands were unsteady and she placed one volume on top of another with more force than necessary.

Ronan watched her, “You are behaving strangely.”

“I am tired, and you shouldn’t focus so much on my mannerisms anyway. It could just be that I am having a strange night.”

Augusta rose too quickly, and the movement nearly caused her to step on the edge of her skirt. She steadied herself, then turned towards the bell pull.

“I will ask the nurse to take Sarah upstairs,” she said. “You should remain where you are until someone can help you stand.”

“I do not require help.”

Ronan continued watching her with quiet suspicion, and Augusta could feel the heat in her face deepening under his attention.

When the nurse arrived, Ronan allowed Sarah to be lifted from his arms, although the child stirred and murmured before settling against the woman’s shoulder.

“Good night,” Sarah whispered without opening her eyes.

Ronan’s expression softened again.

“Good night,” he replied.

Augusta followed the nurse to the door, then turned back.

Ronan had reached for his cane and was preparing to rise, while the open collar of his shirt revealed the same distracting glimpse of skin.

Her pulse quickened all over again.

“Good night, Ronan,” she said.

He paused.

“Augusta. You are still blushing.”

She stared at him. “I am fairly certain that you are seeing things, or it might be the fire that is casting a glow.”

“You said…”

“Good night.” Augusta left before he could finish.

She walked quickly through the corridor, although dignity prevented her from running, and only when she reached her bedchamber did she close the door and lean back against it.