“I know that,” she said as she came to stand almost between his legs. “But I don’t understand why you’ve done this to yourself.” She bent at the waist, examining him closer.
He must look a bloody fright, and the desire to reach for her and push her away assailed him at the same moment. But Evie took the choice from him.
She’d turned, crossed the room, and busied herself with something on the table.
On the verge of asking what exactly she was doing, Gray stifled a yawn instead. Questioning Evie never worked out well for him. She didn’t like to be doubted.
Then she was coming back to him. That gorgeous red hair of hers fluttered at her shoulder.
“Here.” She pressed a damp, cool folded cloth to his forehead.
Gray winced.
“You have a knot on your forehead,” she said softly, then stunned him by hooking her finger under his jaw and tipping his head up towards her. “What possessed you to knock your head against my door?”
“It was unintentional.” He whispered the words, fearful of disturbing whatever impulse had made her trust him enough to touch him so intimately.
For years, they’d done nothing more than nod a civil greeting at each other in ballrooms across London.
She pursed her lips, which made them even fuller. She’d be delectable to kiss. He imagined how she’d taste and—
“Rothwell, you look strange. Don’t fall asleep on me.”
“I wouldn’t.” He couldn’t, not with her standing so close. Every atom in his tired, liquor-warmed body was aware of every inch of her.
“How does one accidentally walk down a hall and knock one’s head into a door?”
“Oh, I was at your door already.”
Three things happened at once. Her auburn brows arched high, her lush mouth fell open, and she dropped the hand on his jaw to his shoulder.
“You were coming to my room?” she finally said in a breathy tone.
“A scandalous impulse, I acknowledge.” All at once, a bit of very sober guilt cut through the pleasant haze in his mind. He was a scoundrel for coming to her room, endangering her reputation.
“Why?” The hand on his shoulder tightened a bit. “Why did you come to my room?”
“I…”I missed youwas on the tip of his tongue, but it sounded silly from a man who’d seen hours ago. “I wished to see you.”
“And again, I ask you why.”
Nothing that sprang to mind seemed the slightest bit appropriate.I wanted to see that green glare of yours. Touch you. Kiss you. Taste you.
Damn it all to hell. Now that the thought lodged itself in his mind, he couldn’t stop staring at her lips.
“I wanted your help,” he said gruffly. It wasn’t entirely untrue, though it wasn’t what he wanted from her most.
She edged back as if surprised by his answer. “What do you need help with?”
“The ladies. The whole bloody thing. I don’t know these women. Do you?”
“A little. As much as you do. They’re all ladies you’ve met during the Season. Aunt Lydia and Lady Hepworth selected them with care.” She couldn’t muster any of her usual vehemence for that statement. Speaking of the bridal hunt house party seemed to irritate her.
He wasn’t much a fan of it all himself.
“I’ve met them, yes. But I don’t know them. Not like I know you.” He placed a hand on her waist.
She let out a little gasp but made no move to pull away.
