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His shoulders fell.
Why did his throat close every time he tried to speak?
“I have been going over and over our encounters since we accidentally met on Bond Street,” she continued. “First, you tell me that being alone is a very bad idea—”
“Terrible,” he corrected. “I said being alone with you was a terrible idea.” He paused, willing her to understand. “I was wrong.”
Her brow furrowed, casting faint shadows across her forehead. “Second,” she resumed her list as if he hadn’t spoken, “you swear me to silence, before accusing me of breaking that promise. Next, you chastise me for asking questions. Then, you bombard me with a kiss. And finally, you blackmail me!”
“You blackmailed me first,” he pointed out. He’d been reacting to her from the start, failing to confront his true desires. “And then you abandoned our agreement, leaving me no choice but to chase you down Bond Street.”
“I don’t recall being chased.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “And you shouldn’t have scowled at Preston like he wronged you by becoming my friend.”
That focused him. “I like Lord Preston. He has the potential to grow into a fine young man. But you know Preston harbors more than friendly feelings toward you.”
“Perhaps he does... And maybe I...”
Asquith stood.
“And maybe I...” She inhaled. “Maybe I want...”
“Lenora,” he said in a quiet, dangerous tone, “are you trying to tell me you have transferred your affections?”
She pursed her lips as if about to utter another maybe. Her breath came out in a puff. “Devil take you, Asquith. You know I haven’t.”
A curse in her sweet, feminine voice was like a kitten’s bite—sharp and painful but also disarming.
She was trying to hurt him and using Preston as a weapon.
“But if Preston wants to...” she tried again. “If he...”
“Preston is a boy,” he prowled across the room, “and a friend of Willard’s.”
“Willard has many friends. In fact, I understand he’s quite popular amongst the ton.”
“Only in a certain set. Jackanapes, one and all.” Now was no time to talk about Willard. Nearly toe-to-toe, he came to a stop. “Preston has a long way to go before he is worthy of any lady, let alone you.”
She inhaled sharply. “Preston and I are of age.”
“In years, perhaps, but not in spirit.”
“But Preston—”
He cupped her cheek and tenderly lifted her face. He’d show her he could be gentle, even when angry.
“I gave you leave to call me Simon, remember?”
If eyes could whimper, hers made the sound—soft at the edges, glossy but not quite wet.
“I don’t want to talk about other men,” he whispered.
She stiffened, rallying for another hit. “You just said Preston was a—”
He brought his mouth lightly over hers, cutting off the word boy.
The brief kiss landed in his body with the thud of a thrown gauntlet.
“Lenora.” He infused each syllable with his longing, his desire. “This time, did you like the way I said your name?” His hand, trembling and damp, moved toward her neck, and he pressed his cheek against her hair. “Lenora.”
