She sounded repressive again. Unfortunately for her, he found her scoldings more appealing than another woman’s praise. Besides, he’d much rather hear disapproval than fear in her voice.
Still, he was annoyed that she dismissed his sincere compliment as a rakish trick. “You’d meet the standards of any intelligent man.” He paused. “Has nobody ever flirted with you before?”
Another dismissive snort. “I’m considered far too serious for anything as frivolous as flirting.”
Erskine laughed, enchanted by her dry assessment of the world’s opinion. “If you practiced, my dear Miss Sanders, I suspect you could become alarmingly proficient.”
“The world mistakes you, my lord.” For the first time, her voice held no wry note. “You’re not the rapacious beast of legend. Instead, I think you might be kinder than you want to admit. You’re trying very gallantly to distract me from our predicament.”
Heat prickled his neck. When she called him kind, he felt about a thousand years old. Damn it, she must be at least twenty. He wasn’t that much older than she was.
“Yes.” He paused. “And no. You’re so deuced convinced that nobody notices you.”
“Nobody does.” Not a hint of self-pity.
“I did.”
“Really?” She didn’t bother to hide her skepticism.
“Really.”
“You hardly spoke to me.”
He smiled into the darkness, encouraged to hear she’d paid that much attention. “Whenever I approached you, you regarded me with complete disdain.”
“I didn’t,” she said, shocked.
“You don’t approve of me, Miss Sanders.”
“I don’t know you.”
“No, you don’t.”
A prickly silence descended, and he heard the slide of fabric against the wall as she turned toward him. These soft, hellishly suggestive sounds of her body moving inside her clothing drove him crazy. He wondered if she wore one of his coats, too. The idea was arousing. The urge stirred to cross the mere inches between them and find out. But the memory of her earlier nervousness kept his hands at his sides.
This was a confounded odd encounter. He couldn’t see Miss Sanders, but every other sense was alive to her. Her scent teased him. Fresh and innocent. And as alluring as Eve to Adam.
“You must think me odiously judgmental.” Her voice was low.
He sighed. “I imagine that you listened to a lot of gossip before we met.”
She shifted again. Dear God, he wished she’d stop doing that. Every time she moved, his restraint battled the urge to touch her. And if he manhandled her, that would only prove she was right to despise him.
“That makes me sound even worse. Not only am I judgmental, I base my judgments on unreliable public report.”
He laughed softly, charmed despite increasing discomfort. “You’re awfully hard on yourself, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea.” Humor warmed her voice. “But you’ve behaved like a gentleman tonight, and I apologize for any unfavorable thoughts.”
“I’m no saint,” he was compelled to point out, much as he hoped to rise in her estimation.
Heaven help him, what had got into him? He never wanted a woman to think him a better man. He’d devoted his time to women who expected the worst of him, then generally got even less.
Philippa’s sigh was breathy and alluring. He fought the surging need to seize her in his arms. This tiny room transformed into a torture chamber.
“I assumed you set out to seduce my sister, but if that was so, you’d never have destroyed the letter. If nothing else, it would make a fine tool for blackmailing Amelia into doing what you wanted.”
When she paused, he leaned forward. Damn it, moving closer filled his head with her intriguing scent. After tonight, he’d know her among a thousand, just by her fragrance.