Her breath suspended—only this time her corset had little to do with it.
He was perhaps the most classically handsome man she’d ever seen, undoubtedly a nobleman, and not only because of his elegant evening attire. He had a bold straight jawline and patrician nose that screamed aristocrat, and thick black hair over a broad forehead and equally black brows, all set off by penetrating eyes the color of midnight—eyes that now assessed her with the practiced skill of a man who knew women …intimately.
His perusal was thorough, his approval obvious, even to a novice like herself. She could see it in his smile, his lips curving ever so slightly, and in his eyes, a glint of admiration in their deep blue depths, the dark brows lifting in surprised pleasure.
For the first time in her life, Nicole was grateful to be wearing a gown, outdated or not.
“You’re far too beautiful to cry,” he murmured, reclaiming the handkerchief and gently drying her cheeks. “Further, you’re far too beautiful to be racing about London alone at night. Where were you headed?”
Nicole moistened her lips, her mind totally unable to formulate a suitable lie.
“What’s your name?”
She blinked. “Pardon me?”
“Your name,” he prompted. “You must have one.”
“Oh. Yes. It’s Nicole.”
He smiled, and Nicole found herself wondering just how long someone could exist without breathing.
“Nicole,” he repeated. “It suits you perfectly—beautiful and delicate. Have you a surname as well?”
That snapped her out of her reverie.
“I must be going.” She made to rise. “I’ve already been away too long.”
Those amazing midnight eyes narrowed. “Away? Away from whom?” His gaze fell to her left hand. “A husband?”
Nicole smiled at the expectant note in his voice. “No. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no husband.”
“Disappointed? Au contraire, my mysterious beauty, I’m elated.” He caught her wrist, stroked it ever so lightly. “Sit. Just for a few minutes. Until the color returns to your cheeks.”
She found herself complying. “Very well.”
“Since we’re exchanging only given names this evening, mine is Dustin.”
“Hello, Dustin.”
He grinned. “Hello, Nicole.” His thumb traced the pulse in her wrist. “Why were you crying? Is it a man? If so, tell me his name and I’ll beat him senseless.”
She was uncomfortably aware of the heat his touch evoked, making her wrist tingle and burn. “No, it isn’t a man. It’s many things. Memories, mostly.”
“Sad memories?”
“No, actually happy ones.” She swallowed. “I was thinking about my mother.”
“You lost her.” It was a statement, not a question, and Nicole’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Dustin answered her unspoken thought. “I’ve worn that particular look myself.”
“I see.” Nicole inclined her head. “Why are you here?” she blurted.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Is that a philosophical question or a specific one?”
“A specific one. Not ‘here’ meaning on this bench, but ‘here’ meaning on the river walk—alone.”
“Is going for a solitary stroll so astonishing?”