“How do I know you’re not wearing a wig?” she said with a giggle.
Alexander raised a brow. “You would have seen me take it off when I stripped to go swimming.”
Her face flushed, and she bit down on her bottom lip.
“And in answer to your question,” he continued, “if we were alone, I would want to kiss you.”
Wanting to and doing so were two entirely different things. Once his mouth touched hers, he knew he would struggle to control the urges of the man and the monster.
She gripped his hand a little tighter, and the pulsating returned. “If we were alone, I believe I would allow you to.”
It sounded like a challenge, a deliciously tempting challenge. Damn it all, he’d been selfish all of his life. Why couldn’t he be selfish now?
“I’m not the sort of man an innocent lady should kiss,” he said trying to dismiss the thought of her moist mouth, of her fingers running through the hair at his nape.
“I know. But are you not the least bit curious? Do you not wonder what this madness is that exists between us?”
Curious was far too mild a word. “Madness? It is an act of lunacy to dream of something that can never be.” His gaze dropped to the soft, creamy flesh bulging out of the neckline of her gown and he pressed his tongue to his teeth for fear of them protracting.
She sucked in a breath. “Yet still you followed me here. Still, you came to Mytton Grange at night, spent hours sketching my likeness.”
“I was suffering from a bout of boredom.”
“No,” she said sharply. “I don’t believe you.”
He looked down into her eyes. The sense of longing that consumed him was hard to disguise.
The dance came to an end all too quickly, and as he escorted her from the floor, she turned to him. “Will you stroll with me in the garden?” Her words held a hint of desperation that mirrored his thoughts.
He blinked slowly and sighed. “I can’t.” Sensing a wave of rejection, he added, “You must decide how you feel about Mr. Sutherby. I would not want to be responsible for influencing your decision.”
“Are you so confident in your ability to please?” she teased.
He scanned the chestnut curls falling from her coiffure, her full lips and wide blue eyes rousing an image of her swimming naked in the river. Her earthy essence had bewitched him, even on that first night when her cape hung from her shoulders like a tatty rag, her hair a mass of straggly tendrils.
“I am confident in your ability to please, Miss Bromwell.”
Before she could respond, they heard a high-pitched cry, and when they pushed through the crowd, Mr. Sutherby rushed to her side.
“Please, Miss Bromwell, I need your help,” he said, taking her arm. “Charlotte has fainted, and I cannot rouse her.”
“Charlotte? What happened?”
With a look of panic, Miss Bromwell followed Mr. Sutherby to the listless figure sprawled out on the floor.
“Please, let Miss Bromwell look at her,” Mr. Sutherby said to the group of people congregating around.
As soon as Miss Bromwell knelt down beside the patient, the lady batted her lashes, her lids twitching as she tried to open her eyes. Alexander had never known anyone make such a quick recovery. Mr. Sutherby was obviously growing desperate and would resort to any tactic necessary to gain Miss Bromwell’s attention.
Miss Bromwell touched the lady’s head. “Can you hear me, Miss Sutherby?”
The patient groaned. “Evelyn. Is it you?”
Alexander had never seen such a pathetic display. It didn’t matter to him if he stood there all night. Sutherby would not win.
We know what you are.
The words drifted into Alexander’s mind, and he swung around so quickly the people behind him jumped back. He scanned the shocked faces, desperate to find the culprit. But his gaze was drawn to the doors leading out to the terrace.