Whirlwind Affair

herself to ignore that involuntary softer leaning. After all, she barely knew the man. And indeed, it didn't matter what his secrets entailed or what he'd done-just the fact that he obviously had secrets and had done something was reason enough to be wary and keep her distance from him.

His hand slid away from her chin, and he stepped back from her. 'Tell me, were all your garments destroyed?'

She fought the urge to lay her fingers over the spot where his had just touched her, to hold in the warm imprint he'd left upon her skin. 'Not all of them. I still have two gowns-the one I'm wearing and one other.'

He nodded in a preoccupied fashion, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. She took advantage of his distraction to edge toward the door. With any luck, she'd quit his company before he thought to question her further. 'If you'll excuse me, I'd like to retire now.'

He turned back to her, surprise flickering over his face, as if he'd momentarily forgotten she was in the room. 'Of course. I'm certain your bedchamber has been put back to rights by now. Good night, Mrs. Brown.'

She murmured good night, then quickly exited the room. She'd half-expected him to leave the library with her, to prepare to return to his own rooms, but clearly he intended to stay for a while. There was no denying his presence in the town house made her feel safe, yet at the same time it left her achingly unsettled. And increasingly frightened of her own reactions.

Of its own volition, her hand rose to her face, her fingertips lightly brushing over her chin. Dear God, he'd barely touched her, yet she'd felt that gentle caress as if lightning had struck her. And the way he'd looked at her…

Her fingers moved up to her mouth. He'd wanted to kiss her. There was no doubt. She'd seen it in his eyes. A sigh whispered past her lips, blowing warm against her fingertips. What would she have done if he had?

Melted. Into a quivering puddle of want. And then-

She caught herself and, with an exclamation of disgust, yanked her hand down to her side. With unease cramping her insides, she walked briskly down the corridor to the stairs.

Heaven help her, these feelings he inspired in her terrified her. They were exactly the same dreamy, impractical emotions David had aroused… except for one thing.

The feelings Lord Robert aroused in her were even stronger.

*********

Robert stared at the flames, memories overwhelming him. He tried to stop them, but the danger facing Mrs. Brown, coupled by Lady Gaddlestone's tale at The Blue Iris and his own earlier words, brought the past flooding back like a giant wave, drowning everything in its path. Things can easily be replaced. People, however, cannot…

She had offered him an explanation, but damn it, he strongly suspected she had not told him the entire story behind that ring. He'd chosen not to press her any further, sensing she would not tell him anything more. But she had been in real danger. And she very well might still be. The thought of anything happening to her…

His hands fisted and his jaw tightened. No! No harm would befall her. He would personally see to it. He'd failed Nate. He would not fail again. Straightening, he paced in front of the fire.

The hell with propriety, he would remain here at the town house instead of returning to his rooms. After all, Elizabeth would never forgive him if anything happened to her friend. You’d never forgive yourself, his inner voice informed him.

Well, of course he wouldn't. He wouldn't wish harm on anyone… not just specifically her.

A groan escaped him, and he raked his hands through his hair. Who the bloody hell was he trying to fool with that cock-and-bull nonsense? Of course he wouldn't want anyone to suffer harm, but damn it, it was vital, crucial that no harm befall her.

Another groan eased past his lips. Walking to the leather settee, he sat wearily upon the cushion, then rubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his palms.

Damn it, he'd almost kissed her. Had wanted to so badly he could all but taste her upon his tongue… Had wanted to with an intensity that had actually frightened him because he somehow knew that something much more than a simple touching of lips would occur.

Blast it, she appealed to him more with each passing moment. He admired her courage and grit. Not once during any of their mishaps had she complained. He respected the great lengths and expense she'd gone to in order to trace the ring to its owner and attempt to return it, without any gain to herself. And the fact that someone had tried to hurt her, that she might still be in danger, called out to all his protective instincts.

And then there was simply the look of her, which attracted him in a way he'd never before experienced. He knew dozens of beautiful women, yet none affected him as she did. There was something in her eyes… in spite of her brave words and actions, there was something haunted and lonely, sad and vulnerable in her gaze that simply grabbed him by the heart. The contrast between the real woman and the woman in the sketch fascinated him.

'Argh!' Tipping his head back, he squeezed his eyes shut and expelled a long breath. Damn it, he did not want to feel this way. Not with this woman whose heart belonged to another man and whose home was on another continent. Why the bloody hell couldn't he be feeling all these things for an uncomplicated English girl?

And just what the bloody hell was he going to do about it?

**********

Allie stepped into the breakfast room just after dawn the next morning, and halted as if she'd walked into a wall of glass.

Lord Robert sat at one end of the polished mahogany table, drinking from a china cup and perusing a newspaper.

Good Lord, what was he doing here so early? She'd known that he would come to the town house today, yet she'd hoped to have the morning hours to mentally prepare herself to face him. Obviously she was not to have that luxury, for there he sat, looking strong and masculine in a dark bluejacket, snowy shirt, and perfectly knotted cravat.

He looked up from his reading and their eyes met over the rim of his china cup. Heaven help her if he looked at her as he had last evening…

But her worries were for naught, as he merely smiled at her in a friendly manner. 'Good morning, Mrs. Brown. You're up bright and early today.'

She swallowed to moisten her dry throat. 'I could say the same to you, Lord Robert.'

'Ah, well, I've always been a morning sort of person,' he said, lowering his cup to the saucer. 'Please join me for breakfast. The poached eggs are especially good.'

Breathing in the heavenly scent of coffee permeating the air, she walked to the sideboard where she filled a china plate with two eggs, several pieces of thinly sliced ham, and a thick slice of fragrant, freshly baked bread.

Sliding into the chair across from him, she heard him chuckle. 'It must run in the family,' he said.

'I beg your pardon?'

'I know you and Elizabeth are distant cousins.' He nodded toward her stacked plate. 'Clearly your love of a healthy-sized breakfast runs in the family. We all tease Elizabeth unmercifully about her fondness for the morning meal.'

Settling her linen napkin in her lap, she said, 'It has always been my favorite. One day, when Elizabeth and I were eight years old, we engaged in a contest to see which of us could eat the most eggs for breakfast.'

He smiled. 'Ah, so you did more with eggs than juggle them and splatter them upon your face, I see.'

'I'm afraid so.'

'And who won this competition?'

The memory washed over her, filling her with wistful nostalgia. 'Neither of us. As we both attempted to force down our seventh egg, Mama put a stop to it. We both suffered dreadful bellyaches the rest of the morning, to which Mama was totally unsympathetic.'