It took a moment for the rogue to gather his confidence, then he puffed out his chest, sauntered forward and raised his fists. With an angry snarl he swiped wide, but Greystone blocked his attack and punched him in the stomach. The rogue retched, doubled over and dropped to his knees. Greystone grabbed his brother by the collar of his coat and dragged him out of the stone circle.
Amid the rustling wind and the scuttling in the woods, Lydia heard the man’s cries of protest—then she heard nothing.
Seconds passed.
Greystone stormed back into the circle with a look just as deadly as the one she’d seen minutes earlier. He came to an abrupt halt before her.
“Is he dead?” she said nervously.
“Of course not.” He held his hand out to her and hauled her to her feet. “But you, madam, will tell me what the hell you’re doing out here alone at night?”
His thunderous expression made her catch her breath. “I needed time away from the house.”
Lord Greystone stepped closer, forcing her to shuffle backwards until pressed against the sacrificial stone. “And you thought to come here, knowing Gilligan arranged the card game?”
“I forgot about that. Must you be so angry?”
“So angry? Do you have any idea what would have happened had I not arrived when I did? Where the hell is your maid?”
“At home.”
Those words held some sort of power over him for a weary groan escaped his lips. He dragged his hand down his face as if an internal war raged within. The wind caught the open neck of his shirt revealing more of his chest. The dusting of dark hair made her stomach flip. She couldn’t help but stare. Her breathing came a little quicker and no matter how many times she swallowed, her mouth was dry.
“Continue to look at me like that, and I’ll not be responsible for my actions.” His voice was smooth now, so rich and exquisite. His heated gaze explored her face, came to settle on her mouth.
Never had she felt such a rush of elation. Inside, her body turned to liquid fire. “Thank you for coming to my aid,” she breathed.
“I recall you said I was the last person you would turn to for help.”
“I didn’t exactly ask for your help.” With him standing so close she had to focus on remaining upright. “Besides, I said that before I knew you.”
“And you think you know me now?”
After putting her trust in Mr Gilligan, she wasn’t sure if she was qualified to judge anyone. And yet a part of her felt as though she’d known Greystone her whole life, known him intimately in some other place, some other time.
“I know you’re not a devil.” Unable to stop herself, she laid her hand lightly on his chest, came up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Greystone froze.
“I know you acted every bit the gentleman tonight,” Lydia continued. “And I thank you again for your chivalry.”
“The night is still young.” His words breezed past her ear, and she shivered in response. “I fear you might be mistaken.”
Lydia pulled back a fraction. “And why is that?”
“Because when I’m with you, my thoughts are wickedly sinful. The idea of tasting your lips makes me lose my mind. After kissing you, I suspect all of life’s pleasurable experiences will fall hopelessly short.”
“Oh. I see. Th-then there is only one way to test your theory.” Never had she been so bold. Never had she longed to kiss a man. Doubt crept into her mind, but she refused to let it hamper her confidence.
“And what is that?”
“You must kiss me, Lord Greystone.”
For a moment he si
mply stared at her and all her senses burst to life. She could see her reflection in his eyes, could hear the soft swooshing of the wind teasing the evergreens. The earthy scent of his skin, coupled with the clean smell of shaving soap—bergamot perhaps—enveloped her. All she needed now was to taste his lips.
He reached up, tucked a few loose tendrils of hair back behind her ear and brushed his knuckles gently across her cheek. “What happened to your bonnet?” he said in a velvety voice that made the simple question sound positively sinful.