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Her big brown doe eyes begged him to remain silent and not give her away.

“Oh, look,” she breathed, pointing toward the pale blue butterfly hovering near a tree branch shading the wall. She cast him a delighted smile, and his heart skipped a couple of beats.

“It’s a holly blue,” she said. “I’ve never seen one in the city before, although they are known to frequent town gardens.”

Fletcher stepped onto the lowest step. Balancing on the small protrusion with ease, he murmured low into her ear, “Promise ye’ll visit again, Miss Rayne Wellbrook.”

Her fragrance surrounded him, a heady, enticing aroma. Gardenia and carnation and woman. Sweet and spicy and—God help him for a fool—tempting as hell.

He was a bloody damned idiot for encouraging her to come here again.

Rayne tossed a fretful glance over her shoulder, then peeked up at him through those bronze-tipped, sooty lashes. Though she was tall for a woman and stood on a step, he still claimed several inches on her.

“I mustn’t come again now that you are in residence,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I cannot risk ruination. We haven’t even been formally introduced, Your Grace.”

“Rayne?” came the duchess again, this time much closer and with genuine concern weighting her voice.

“I shall speak with Sheffield on the matter.” Fletcher lowered his head until his lips nearly brushed the graceful curves of Rayne’s shell-like ear. Only half an inch to spare.

What would she do if he touched his mouth just there?

To the tantalizing, petal-soft flesh just below her earlobe?

He blew softly.

Sucking in a sharp, irregular breath, she stiffened.

He inhaled her essence, his pulse quickening with immediate arousal.

“I’m positive an introduction willna be hard to arrange, lèannan. I’ll insist on it.”