Confessions at Midnight

visitor, my lady,' the butler said, extending the polished tray.

Carolyn picked up the card, looked at the neatly printed writing. Her heart performed a quick acrobatic roll then settled into a rhythm of hard, fast beats.

Good God, what was he doing here?

'Are you at home, my lady?'

Carolyn swallowed. 'Yes. You may show Lord Surbrooke in.' The words somehow came out of her mouth in spite of the fact that they were the exact opposite of what she knew she should be saying.

Nelson inclined his head then withdrew. The instant he quit the room Carolyn dashed to the mirror hanging on the far wall. And barely bit back an Ack! of dismay. No need to pinch her cheeks to give herself some color-the crimson blush staining her skin made it appear as if she'd stuck her face in an oven. Good heavens, even her eyes appeared a bit red, not to mention somewhat swollen, courtesy of too much crying and too little sleep. Or perhaps it was just a reflection from her glowing cheeks.

She pressed her lips together and frowned. What difference did it make what she looked like? Why, none at all! She had no desire to impress Lord Surbrooke. None at all.

Footfalls sounded from the corridor, and with a gasp she hurried away from the mirror. Halting in front of the fireplace, she barely had time to smooth her suddenly damp palms down her gown when Nelson appeared in the doorway.

'Lord Surbrooke,' he announced. After a quick bow, he stepped aside and Lord Surbrooke moved into the opening. And Carolyn's heart performed another tumbling roll.

Heavens, the man looked far too appealing by half. As always, he was immaculately groomed. From his midnight blue cutaway jacket that perfectly matched his eyes and accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, to his snowy white shirt and cravat that fell in a perfect waterfall knot, down to fawn breeches that hugged his muscular legs, to his mirror-shined black boots.

He walked slowly toward her, and Carolyn could do nothing save stare, rendered mute by the predatory grace of his movements. Heavens. He walked well. Danced well. Kissed… extraordinarily well.

Heat raced through her and she barely managed to keep from fanning her hand in front of her face. Watching him made her feel as if she were standing next to a blazing hearth. You are standing next to a blazing hearth, her inner voice reminded her.

Relief raced through her and she moved several steps away from the fireplace. Of course she was. No wonder it was so warm in here. It had absolutely nothing to do with her visitor.

Over Lord Surbrooke's shoulder she vaguely noticed Nelson pulling the door closed. If she'd had her wits about her she would have called out to him to leave the door open, but it appeared she was fully witless. And speechless.

Lord Surbrooke halted, leaving a respectable six foot distance between them-one she felt distressingly tempted to lessen.

He said something-she knew because his lips moved-but his words didn't penetrate because the memory of their kiss inundated her with such intensity, all she could hear was her heart beat thudding in her ears.

There… his lips were moving again. Those beautiful, masculine lips that looked so firm and felt so wonderful. Those lips… those lips… dear God, she'd completely lost the entire thread of the conversation. Not to mention her mind.

Snapping her gaze away from his mouth, she looked into his eyes then cleared her throat to locate her missing voice. 'I beg your pardon?'

'I said I was afraid it might be too early to call. Thank you for seeing me.'

'Actually, you aren't my first visitor of the day.'

'Oh?' His gaze sharpened with interest. 'Would your other visitors have been Mr. Rayburn and Mr. Mayne?'

Carolyn nodded. 'Yes. They've visited you as well? They mentioned they intended to interview all the party guests.'

'They left my home not long ago. A terrible, shocking thing, Lady Crawford's death.'

'Dreadful. I hope they catch the killer quickly.'

'As do I. But until he is apprehended, you must take extra care. Do not go anywhere unescorted.'

'It is not my habit to do so.'

'Good.'

Silence fell between them. She cast desperately about in her mind for something to say, a difficult task, for the sight of him in her drawing room somehow emptied her mind. And in spite of the room's spacious size, his presence seemed to reduce the area to no larger than a box.

It was he who finally broke the quiet. 'Am I interrupting anything?'

She suddenly recalled what she'd been doing when Nelson announced him-preparing to toss the Memoirs into the fire. Her gaze darted to the settee and dismay washed through her. The edge of the book protruded from beneath the cushion.

'Nothing,' she said quickly. And perhaps a shade too loudly. 'You're not interrupting anything. However, I'm curious as to why you're calling.' Yes, please tell me. Quickly. Then leave. So I can start forgetting all about you.

A smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. 'May I sit down?'

No. Tell me then leave. And quit smiling. 'Of course.' She indicated the wing chair, but instead he settled himself on the settee. Directly over the Memoirs. She stared at the cushion in alarm… alarm that melted into chagrin as she realized her gaze was now riveted on his groin. His absolutely fascinating groin.

She sucked in a quick breath and lifted her eyes. And found him studying her. In a way that made that it clear that she'd been caught staring. At his fascinating groin.

Good God. This visit had barely begun and already it was a disaster. At least it couldn't get any worse.

Pulling herself together, she sat at the opposite end of the settee and managed to say in a perfectly composed tone, 'What did you wish to see me about, Lord Surbrooke?'

'I wanted to give you something.' He held out a glass jar sealed with wax, filled with an amber colored substance.

Carolyn stared at the offering in surprise. Where had that come from? Clearly he'd been holding it all along and she hadn't noticed. Because you were so preoccupied staring at his lips. And eyes. And fascinating groin.

She accepted the jar and held it up to the light. 'It looks like honey.'

He smiled. 'Probably because it is honey. From my own bees. I keep a number of skeps at Meadow Hill, my country estate in Kent.'

'I… thank you,' she said, unable to keep the note of surprise from her voice. 'I'm very fond of honey.'

'Yes, I know.'

'You do? How?'

'You mentioned it during one of our conversations at Matthew's house party.'

'Did I?' she murmured, far more pleased than she should have been that he'd remember such a minor detail. 'I don't recall.'

'I wished to give you something, but wasn't certain what it should be. But then you said you'd prefer a gift that reminded me of you. And honey reminds me of you,' he said softly. 'It is the exact color of your hair.'

Her brow pulled downward. Surely she hadn't said anything so… forward to him. 'When did I say that?'

He reached out and lightly touched a tendril of her hair. The intimate gesture stopped her breath. 'Last night. On the terrace.' His gaze seemed to bore into hers. 'Galatea.'

She actually felt the blood drain from her head, leaving nothing save a buzzing sound in her ears. Good God. Had she, less than a minute ago, believed this visit couldn't get any worse? Yes, she had.

Obviously she'd been very, very wrong.

Chapter Six