Page 44 of Reckless Desire

“By walking with you in the garden?”

“That is one way,” he replied.

Ladies’ giggles filtered through the din of voices. Who was staring at them now? Who wasn’t?

“I have to use the ladies retiring room,” she said. “I will return.”

Kenna hurried into the hallway leading to the ladies retiring room, but kept going to the small parlor she knew was located just beyond it. She managed to reach the room and enter without being seen. No fire burned in the hearth. Mrs. Balfour probably hadn’t expected anyone to leave the ballroom. She reached the balcony doors and opened them. Cool night air washed over her. She crossed the balcony and gazed up at the stars. What in God’s name was Lord Wilshire doing here?

She knew the answer before she’d finished the thought. He believed Lord Hensley and Lord Newhall were her lovers and decided he wanted to bed her, too. Worse, his presence at tonight’s party guaranteed her continued popularity. Whatever small hope she’d had for making a love match was gone.

Lord Newhall’s words that last night in Sir Stirling’s parlor returned.

“I want to marry you.”

Why had he said that, and why couldn’t she forget the words? Worse, the kiss they’d shared haunted her. She grasped the railing. She was a foolish woman who wanted to believe that a man like Lord Newhall—or Lord Newhall himself—might actually want to marry a woman like her. Not in her wildest fantasies had she imagined wanting to marry a man she’d known for less than two days. Not to mention, a man who was insane.

But still, the press of his lips on hers lingered.

The smell of him. The warmth of his hand on her breast.

The creak of the door yanked her back to the present. Good Lord, had Lord Wilshire followed her? She would cut off his bollocks if she had. Kenna whirled and started for the room.

“Lord Wilshire, if you care to keep your—” She stepped into the room and halted.

Lord Newhall walked toward her.

“You,” she breathed.

He stopped three paces away.

Her stomach flipped. How was he more handsome than she remembered? Oh, the wretch! He was trying to entice her by wearing a jacket that fit perfectly across his broad shoulders and a snow-white cravat that contrasted his tanned, muscled neck.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He lifted a brow. “I believe I told you, I grew up on Skye.”

“In the north,” she said with emphasis. “You are here to try and convince me to marry you.”

“Perhaps,” he replied. “Perhaps not.”

She lifted her chin. “As you can see, I am doing well. I have invitations to many parties. My ruination has made me uncommonly desirable to local society.”

“Does that mean you have had other offers of marriage? From Lord Wilshire, perchance?”

“That is no concern of yours.”

He stepped closer, so close she was forced to tilt her head back to make eye contact. “You cannot seduce me into marrying you,” she whispered.

“Then I will have to settle for seducing you.”

“If that is all you want, why offer marriage?”

She started when he lifted a hand and rubbed a tendril of the hair curled at the side of her face. His eyes followed the slide of his fingers. Kenna resisted the urge to rub her cheek against the back of his hand.

“I want more than seduction,” he murmured. “But I will take anything you are willing to give.” His eyes shifted to her face. “Consent, and I will marry you this moment.”

“Good Lord, why?”