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Emma relaxed when she realized Garrick wasn’t coming. But as the evening wore on, she began to feel badly about her treatment of him. Aside from that kiss, which he’d apologized for on more than one occasion, he’d acted honorably in the face of . . . well, if she were being honest, her animosity. He owed her nothing.

Though Sowlis had nothing but kind words for the earl and his family, he’d given her escort nothing but scowls. Something told her that she was the reason. Did he sense that Emma forgot to breathe every time the earl ventured into the room?

It couldn’t possibly be Garrick’s fault that the very power and confidence she claimed not to want in a husband nonetheless attracted her like a blacksmith to molten iron. Mayhap she should apologize to the man. Of course, this was neither the time nor the place for such a gesture. She could, and should, wait until the morning. But patience had never been a favored virtue of hers. So before she thought too long on it, Emma stopped at his door instead of her own. She knocked on the door and stared at the iron pattern of lines crisscrossing it, which made it appear more ornamental than practical.

It swung open so fast she hardly had time to prepare her greeting.

She swallowed. This had been a bad idea.

His face was no longer cleanly shaved. Eyes flashing, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked half-wild. White hot desire pooled inside her, threatening to suffocate her. Emma couldn’t speak even if she’d remembered what to say.

“Lady Emma.”

His voice, low and seductive, beckoned her inside, despite everything.

“I’m sorry.” She’d finally remembered her intention.

“Sorry?”

“For avoiding you. For acting so foolishly to someone who only meant to help me.”

His hand lay high on the door, propping it open. Her gaze fell to the opening in his shirt, but she immediately caught herself and looked back up to his face.

“You’ve been avoiding me?” he asked. She knew by his hint of a smile that he teased her.

“Mayhap a bit.” She’d said she was sorry, which was all she’d really come here to say. It was time to leave. But why didn’t her feet listen?

“Why?” If anyone ever accused her of being overly direct, she’d point them in the earl’s direction.

“Because . . .” How precisely should she answer that?

“Because I am neither available nor desirable?”

Oh God . . . he had heard them. Every last lying word.

“No. I mean, aye. What I mean to say is . . .”

“You were wrong about one thing.” The light inside his chamber flickered as he spoke.

She didn’t know if the guest chamber next to him on the other side was occupied, but she lowered her voice just in case. “Which one?”

She knew not why she’d spoken at all. She already knew the answer. He was most definitely not available—his betrothal to the Scottish earl’s daughter ensured it—and he knew she desired him. She’d allowed him to kiss her after all . . . nay, she’d kissed him back.

“You said I was neither available nor desirable,” he pressed.

His eyes narrowed, giving him a predatory appearance. Nay, not predatory exactly. Just consuming.

“And you are betrothed.”

“Aye, my lady. ’Tis an unfortunate fact.”

Unfortunate?

“As for being desirable, I don’t believe it matters under the circumstances.”

Blast it! She’d just admitted she desired him. Which was not much of a revelation at all, of course.

“Perhaps not,” he said. “But that’s not what I refer to.”