It had started the moment he'd seen her in the drawing room doorway, looking achingly beautiful, smiling at everyone… everyone except him. As much as it irked him to admit it, he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her all evening. Even when he'd managed to focus his attention elsewhere, he'd been aware of her every minute, knew whom she was speaking to, what she ate. And when their eyes had met across the length of the dinner table, he'd felt as if someone had punched him in the heart.
Her presence had distracted him all evening, and he'd breathed a sigh of relief when she'd retired shortly before eleven. But his relief was short lived because he couldn't get the damn woman-her eyes, her smile, her luscious mouth-out of his mind. It galled him that he had to keep reminding himself that she knew things she shouldn't know, couldn't know, without a reason other than the 'visions' explanation she'd given him.
But every time he tried to convince himself she was up to something with her talk of visions, that she might be involved with the blackmail scheme and couldn't be trusted all his instincts rebelled. There was a kindness, an innocence, and damn it, a trustworthiness about her that kept trying to stomp down his suspicions every time they cropped up.
Was it possible that she was merely placing too much credence in her own undeniable intuitiveness, calling it 'visions'? Could her words and actions truly be no more than what she claimed-an attempt to help him?
He entered the stables, making his way toward Myst's stall, but halted when a subtle scent wafted to him, a scent out of place with the smell of leather and horse. Lilacs.
Before he could react, she emerged from the shadows and stepped into a shaft of moonlight. 'Good evening, your grace.'
Much to his annoyance, anticipation skittered down his spine. She still wore the cream silk gown she'd worn to dinner, and that same long, tempting auburn curl drew his gaze. 'We meet again, Miss Matthews.'
She stepped closer to him, and he noticed her expression. She appeared distinctly annoyed.
'Why are you here, your grace?'
'I might ask the same of you, Miss Matthews.'
'I am here because of you.'
'I suspected you might plan to ride.' She raised her chin a notch. 'I'm here to stop you.'
He couldn't contain his bark of disbelief. 'Indeed? And how do you intend to do that?'
Her eyes narrowed. 'I don't know. I suppose I was hoping you'd be intelligent enough to heed my warning about danger befalling you should you choose to ride at night. Clearly I was mistaken.'
Bloody hell, who did this woman think she was? Approaching her slowly, he didn't stop until only two feet separated them. She didn't retreat so much as an inch, just stood her ground watching him with a single raised brow that irked him further.
'I don't believe anyone has ever dared question my intelligence, Miss Matthews.'
'Indeed? Then perhaps you weren't listening, your grace, because I just did that very thing.'
Full-blown anger struck him like a slap. He'd had more than enough of this damn woman. Before he could give her the scathing set down she deserved however, she reached out and pressed his hand between both of hers.
A tingle sizzled right up his arm, effectively cutting off his angry words.
'I still see it,' she whispered her eyes huge, trained on his. 'Danger. You hurt.' Releasing his hand she laid her palm against his cheek. 'Please. Please do not ride tonight.'
Her soft hand lying against his face ignited his skin, overwhelming him with the desire to turn his head and brush his lips over her palm. Instead he grasped her wrist and pushed her hand away from him.
'I do not know what game you're playing-'
'I am not toying with you! What can I do, what can I say, to convince you?'
'Let's start by you telling me what you know about my brother and how you know it. Where did you meet him?'
'I never met him.'
'Yet you knew about his scar.' He allowed his gaze to roam over her in an unmistakably insulting fashion. 'Were you his lover?'
Her eyes widened with shock too real to be forced. Relief swept through him, a reaction he did not care to examine.
Yes, yes, so you've said. And you can read minds as well. Tell me, Miss Matthews, what am I thinking right now?'
She hesitated her eyes searching his face. 'I am not always able to tell. And I'd need to… touch you.' He held out his hand. 'Touch me. Convince me.'
She stared at his hand for several heartbeats, then nodded. 'I'll try.'
When his hand was firmly pressed between her palms, he closed his eyes and purposely focused his thoughts on something provocative. He imagined her in his bedchamber, backlit by the golden flames dancing in the hearth. Reaching out, he flicked open the pearl-encrusted clip holding her hair in place. Silky tendrils tumbled down into his hands, falling over her shoulders, down, down-
'You're thinking about my hair. You want to touch it.'
Heat stung him and his eyes popped open. The first thing he saw was her mouth… that incredible, kissable mouth. If he leaned forward just a bit, he could taste it-
She released his hand. 'You want to kiss me.'
Her whispered words brushed by him, setting his pulse thrumming. Damn it, yes, he wanted to kiss her. Needed to.
Giving in to a craving he couldn't explain or fight any longer, he leaned forward.
She stepped back.
He closed the distance between them, but again she retreated her expressive eyes filled with uncertainty. Hell, the woman hadn't backed down before him once-not in the face of his anger, his sarcasm, or suspicions. But the thought of his kiss sent her into retreat.
'Is something amiss?' he asked softly, stepping closer.
'Amiss?' She backed up and nearly tripped on her hem.
'Yes. It's an English word meaning 'wrong.' You seem… nervous.'
'Certainly not,' she retorted, inching backward until the wooden wall stopped her. 'I'm merely, er, warm.'
'Yes, it's quite warm in here.' Two long, unhurried strides brought him directly in front of her. He braced his hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders, bracketing her in.
Raising her chin a notch, she stared at him with what he had to admit was a fine show of bravado, but her rapid breathing spoiled the effect.
'If you're trying to frighten me, your grace-'
'I'm trying to kiss you, which will be much easier now that you've stopped moving about.'
'I don't want you to kiss me.'
'Yes, you do.' He moved closer, until only inches separated them. The scent of lilacs filled his head. 'Have you ever been kissed?'
'Of course. Thousands of times.'
Recalling her stunned reaction when he'd asked if she'd been William's lover, he raised a brow. 'I meant by a man.'
'Oh. Well, then, hundreds of times.'
'By a man other than your father.'
'Oh. In that case… once.'
Unexpected irritation rippled through him. 'Indeed? And did you enjoy it?'
'Actually, no. It was rather… dry.'
'Ah. Then you were not
'And you wish to kiss me properly?'
