Page 27 of One Dangerous Desire
He moved to stand next to her. Too close. So near that his citrus and spice cologne made her mouth water.
“You’ve never struck me as a woman who required rescuing.”
May sensed him watching her, not appraising her as those in the ballroom had. His gaze was different. It always had been. He looked at her as if she mattered. Not her fine clothes, whatever beauty she’d inherited from her mother, or her father’s wealth. Just her. What she thought and needed and desired.
“Which sort of woman do I strike you as?” She hadn’t meant to speak the question so breathily, to let him know how eager she was to hear his opinion. Even now, after so many years apart.
He turned fully, facing her, though she continued to keep her focus ahead. His gaze pressed like the stroke of fingertips against her face.
“Strong willed.” His voice was too deep, too full of admiration.
“You mean stubborn?”
He chuckled and a bit of her armor began to crumble. “Well, you are your father’s daughter.”
“I won’t tell him you said that.”
“You’re a clever sort of woman.” He crossed his arms as he watched her. “Too intelligent to waste your time talking about horse races.”
She swiveled to face him. “How did you know we were talking about horseracing? You were on the other side of the room.”
“Does Devenham ever talk about anything else?”
He smiled, and May felt an answering tug at the corners of her mouth. She tried for one of those English sniffs of disdain and only managed to get a whiff of him. Not his cologne, but the unique scent of his skin. She’d never forgotten it.
“I’m sure Henry can speak on many interesting topics. He would have been tutored in polite conversation as he was in all the other rules of etiquette.” Her throat burned and she loathed the brittleness in her tone as she reminded Rex of Henry’s virtues. Perhaps she was attempting to convince herself.
“Fascinating man, the earl, I’m sure.” He seemed as unconvinced as she was and flashed one of his potent grins. “Yet you knew where I was in the room. His chatter was so interesting that you took the time to look for me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was looking for Emily.”
“Liar.” He took a step closer, hovering over her.
A single step forward and she could touch him. Kiss him, if she lifted onto her toes. She bit her lip, resisting the urge to move toward the broad, heated shelter of his body.
“You can’t lie to me, May. I know your tell.”
“My tell?”
He raised his hand as if to touch her. She leaned in, aching to feel his skin against hers. He offered her no satisfaction.
“Your right eyelash flutters.” He traced his finger in the air over the arch of her brow. “Not quite a squint. Just an agitated little quiver.”
“I do not quiver.” But she was, if one counted her belly, her thighs, the tickle up her spine, and, probably, that traitor of an eyelash.
He lowered his face toward hers. Looked her straight in the eyes. “Don’t deny what you want. That’s not the May I remember.”
“Perhaps I’m different now. As you are,Mr. Leighton.” May took a step back. She hated that he knew her so well, that she’d allowed him into her heart, let him see parts of herself no one else had. If he’d valued those moments, loved her as she’d loved him, it would hurt so much less. But he hadn’t.
“Because you’ve learned the etiquette of London aristocrats?” He closed the distance she’d created by stepping toward her. “You needn’t follow all their rules, May.”
How dare a man who barely knew the rules of polite society lecture her on ignoring them?
“Not all of us can remake ourselves and do as we please.” Her tone was more complimentary than she meant it to be. Wistful, even. Hadn’t she considered remaking herself weeks before when presenting her sketches to Emily? Dreamed of starting her own business, as he had, and succeeding in design rather than the drawing room.
“There’s a difference between you and me.” His voice dipped low, a husky tone she felt like a whisper puffing against her skin. “You’re lovely just as you are. No changes required.”
Her heart thrashed in her chest as she bit back the words that welled up. She wanted to tell him that he was lovely. With the moonlight setting his eyes aglow and casting all the striking angles of his face in light and shadow, he was beautiful. Far more appealing than any chiaroscuro drawing she’d ever attempted. And the man he’d become—his confidence and accomplishments—all of that impressed her too.
