Who Will Take This Man?

Hot tears pushed behind her eyes, and she pressed her lips together to contain the sob rising in her throat. She frantically tried to tame her wild hair by twisting it into a knot while she looked about in panic for her hairpins.

Spotting several, she grabbed them, and began jabbing them into her hair.

“Meredith. Stop.” He reached out and grasped her wrists, halting her efforts to repair herself. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. She drew in a deep breath, fighting off the panic threatening to overwhelm her.

Gathering what scraps of her dignity remained, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Please let me go. I want to leave.”

“I can see that. But I cannot let you leave… not like this. We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to say… except I’m sorry.”

“What the devil for?”

“For my… behavior.” Dear God, it was nearly impossible to look him in the eye.

His eyes filled with concern, and, releasing one of her hands, he gently brushed a tangled curl from her cheek. “My God, Meredith, you’ve nothing to apologize for. You were… extraordinary. If anyone should beg pardon, it should be me, but God help me, I cannot apologize for something that was so beautiful. The only thing I am sorry for is that you so obviously feel regrets over what we shared.”

“How can I not? It was a mistake.”

His eyes darkened. “It was nothing of the sort. It was incredible. And inevitable, given the attraction between us. Although it was perhaps precipitous.” He brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Although I desperately, and obviously, want to make love to you, it was not my intention to seduce you this evening.”

She pointedly looked about the room. “Indeed? Then why did you go to all this trouble?”

“To court you. Properly.”

“There is nothing proper about any of this, Philip.” And she knew it. Had known it from the moment she’d walked into this room. Yet she’d stayed. She had no one to blame for the outcome of the evening but herself. Damnation. It would have been so nice to assign the blame somewhere, anywhere else. On him-but he’d taken nothing she had freely given. On the wine-but she’d only had one glass.

“I assure you my intentions were honorable. Yet once you were in my arms, I’m afraid I forgot everything else.” He cupped her cheek in his palm. “You intoxicate me, Meredith. Everything about you captivates me. Yes, I want to make love to you, but I want much more than that.”

Everything in Meredith stilled, and she stared at him with dawning dread. His words, his serious, hopeful expression, his declaration that he’d arranged this evening to properly court her and that his intentions were honorable… she actually felt the blood drain from her head.

Dear God, did he intend to ask her to be his wife?

Fourteen

Meredith jumped to her feet, trying to hide her mounting alarm. Abandoning the idea of fixing her hair, she scanned the room for her reticule, every fiber of her being intent on escaping. Before he gave voice to an impossible proposal.

Philip rose and grasped her shoulders. “Meredith, I-”

She rested her fingers against his lips, cutting off his words. Trying to keep her voice calm, she said, “Don’t say anything else.”

Hurt and confusion flashed in his eyes. “Why not?”

Because I know a simple “no” will not satisfy you, that you ‘d want more of an explanation. And I cannot think of a lie in my current state of confusion that would satisfy you. And I cannot tell you the truth. And because it’s now obvious where talking to you leads-to me lying on my back. “Because I… I am not ready to hear anything more. I need time to think, and I cannot do that in your presence. You’re far too… distracting.”

A measure of the tension left his face. “You affect me in exactly that same way. Which is why-”

“No!” Full-fledged panic rose in her, doubled by the unmistakable hurt and confusion in his gaze. “Please, Philip. Please do not say anything else. Not now.”

His unwavering gaze completely unnerved her. “You know what I want to ask you, Meredith.”

She didn’t dare pretend she didn’t, lest he indeed ask her. “Yes. But not here. Not now. I… I need to think.”

He studied her for several seconds. “Very well. But we will discuss this, Meredith.”

She nodded. “But not now.” Not until I’ve had a chance to gather my thoughts and shore up my defenses against you.

“I’ll return for you here once I’ve seen to the carriage.” He quit the room, closing the door quietly behind him. The instant she was alone, Meredith buried her face in her hands.

Dear God, what had she done?

Albert pushed aside the heavy blue velvet drapes and stared out the drawing room window. Without even a glimmer of moonlight, nothing save blackness and his own somber reflection greeted his stare. He listened to the mantel clock chime, announcing it was midnight. Surely Miss Merrie would return home soon from the fancy dinner party. Would Lord Greybourne choose one of the fine ladies he’d invited to be his wife? Or would he follow his heart?

An image of Charlotte rose in his mind’s eye. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rested his forehead on the cool glass and blew out a long breath. She’d gone upstairs hours ago to put Hope to bed and had not returned. Obviously she’d retired as well.

Instantly the image in his mind shifted, and he imagined Charlotte, lying in bed, her blond hair fanned out across the pillow, firelight flickering across her golden skin. His body tightened, and he gritted his teeth, trying to banish the sensual image, but to no avail. Reaching out her arms, she said, “Albert…” A groan of misery-filled longing he could not suppress escaped him.

“Albert… are you all right?”

His eyes popped open, and he jerked upright. Reflected in the window, he saw her standing in the doorway.

Heat rushed into his face. Biting back a curse, he tried to will away his obvious arousal, but it was hopeless. And damn it, he’d left his jacket and waistcoat in his bedchamber. There was nothing to shield his condition from her.

“I’m fine.” The words came out in a strained, hoarse voice.

He watched her reflection, watched her hesitate, praying for all he was worth that she’d turn and leave him. Instead she frowned, then walked slowly toward him.

“You don’t sound fine. I heard you groan… did you hurt yourself?”

“No.” The word felt ripped from his throat. His heart pounded harder with every step she took. She didn’t stop until she stood next to him. Her delicate, flowery scent wafted over him, and he clenched his jaw and fisted his hands at his side. Although she’d retired hours ago, she still wore her gray day gown. Thank God. If she’d shown up in her night rail…

Bloody hell, don’t think of her wearin‘ a night rail. He felt her staring at his profile and resolutely fixed his gaze out the window, but that didn’t help, as he could clearly see her reflected in the glass. Her lovely profile. Her full lips. Her soft hair. Her feminine curves. God help him. Perhaps if he ignored her she would leave. Before she saw the effect she had upon him.

“I came down to make a cup of tea. Would you care for one?”

“No.” The word came out much harsher than he’d intended, and he saw her flinch, saw the look of hurt, surprised confusion pass over her features at his biting tone. Damn it all, he was making a muck of things. He had to get away from her. Now. Intent upon escaping as quickly as possible, he turned swiftly. Too swiftly. As he did so often, he tripped over his own bloody feet, and would have fallen fiat on his face had she not grabbed hold of his upper arms to steady him.

He straightened and found himself standing less than a foot away from her, her hands grasping his upper arms.